Chapter 42 – Pleasing the Boss

I feel my eyes widen. I wouldn’t put murder past the Seymours.

But then I realize that Hadrian’s suppressing a laugh.

“asshole.” Then I allow a brief smile of my own.

“I don’t think it’s the best policy to use such vile words when talking about your new boss.” His tone says he understands the irony of the statement, considering the vile things he was just doing with his employee.

It also brings the spotlight back to where we started today—my new job. He holds his hand toward me. “Welcome to SNC, Ms. Shaw. I’m glad to have you on board.”

“Glad to be here.” I accept the handshake, his touch doing strange things to my insides, even after everything else we’ve done in the last half hour. “Really glad.”

“How about we go upstairs to Panache, and I’ll fill you in on the details?”

“Okay,” I say, even though spending any more time with Hadrian Seymour seems like a very bad idea on top of a slew of very bad ideas.

But he’s officially my boss now, which means I can’t really say no.

It also means this is probably the last of the sexual favors. The game will be boring for him without having the job to lord over me. He’ll likely move on to another woman he can play power with. An unattached woman. A woman who will be willing to give him more. Willing to give him everything.

And over a sure-to-be expensive dinner, I’ll try very hard not to let the thought of that eventuality disappoint me.

“What about hair and makeup?” Hadrian and I have been talking for almost four hours about the show and the terms included in my contract, and it’s only now, when we’re only fifteen minutes from my apartment, that I think to bring up Shiloh.

I don’t think I’m really a terrible friend. There has just been so much to go over.

“The network has a team of artists you can choose from.” Hadrian’s knees are angled toward mine and he’s sitting closer than necessary, especially in such a roomy limo, but we aren’t touching.

If I turned slightly…

It’s been a distraction for the entire ride, one I’m proud to say I’ve managed for the most part because the pull toward him is strong. It was easier at the restaurant, when we sat across from each other and the conversation was too packed with information to be swayed toward the chemistry between us.

Now, as we’re finally almost talked out, it’s harder. I am very aware of his damn knee.

Trying to keep my focus, I force my eyes to stay forward. “Would I be able to bring someone of my own?”

“And have the network pay for it?”

“Yes. I tried to introduce you to her on your grandmother’s birthday—you probably don’t remember.”

“The day you first called me an asshole. How could I forget?”

“Likely not the last.” My grin fades, and I turn serious. “I’ve known her for years. She’s very good at what she does. I’ve been hoping to bring her on as my personal makeup artist. I couldn’t make it happen at New Jersey Now, but they didn’t have the budget.”

“Isn’t your husband in charge of the budget?”

“Well. Yeah.” My gaze drifts out the window thinking about Elvis. He’s an unwanted guest showing up at my dinner party, and I feel selfish for wanting him gone. “With Shiloh and Elvis—it’s personal. They aren’t really fond of each other.”

“Really?” As with everything that involves me and Elvis, Hadrian perks up. “I got the impression you and Shiloh are close.”

I shrug. “Some people just don’t jibe.”

“Maybe Shiloh doesn’t think Elvis’s the right man for you.”

My throat tightens. How the fuck did he hit it on the nose like that?

Then I remember Hadrian likes to stir the pot. He didn’t hit anything on the nose. He’s guessing, trying to rile me.

I smile and turn my head back toward him. “Shiloh wouldn’t think anyone was right for me. She’s loyal, and that’s a hell of a good quality in an employee.”

His responding smile is paired with a knowing glare, as though he sees right through me. “Am I to understand that you’re going over your producer’s head on this?”

“I suppose I am. Can we add it to the deal?”

“I’m sure something can be worked out.” His subtext is clear, and my lower regions clench at the prospect of “earning” something else from the billionaire.

It’s then that I feel the brush of his leg against mine.

And because I’m a glutton, I press into it, pretending it’s a natural lean as the car turns a corner. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m sure you’ll show me just how much.”

I have to turn back to the window to hide my smile.

We ride in silence for several minutes. It’s the first time all evening we’ve had any sort of break in the conversation. He hadn’t even been planning to accompany me home, except that when he put me in the car, we couldn’t stop talking long enough for him to shut the door. In the end, he decided to drive with me so we could tie up any loose ends.

Through all of it, we’ve been nothing but professional, though there was a lengthy discussion about the wine Hadrian chose for dinner, one of his favorites. But there have been no references to the incident in the studio. No mention of sexual favors. Everything on the up and up, as if this job was given to me truly on merit.

The reminder that it wasn’t should make my stomach curl.

Instead, I’m trying to decide if there’s enough time to get on my knees and thank him properly for the opportunity he’s given me. Would he even want it? After the remark he just made about working something out, now would be a logical time to demand payment.

But he doesn’t.

Before I make a fool of myself, I remember that we aren’t having an affair, and that he’s my boss, and that this exchange of favors is dirty and indecent, and that I cannot be one to initiate any of it.

The draw to him, though, is so undeniable, that I have to divert my attention by focusing on other things he’s done to piss me off. “I still can’t believe you fired me.”

“I needed you in the city. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Do you really believe that, or is that what you think I want to hear?”

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