Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance Read online

  “The boss had a catered meeting this morning. We have meals waiting for us. That is, if you like French cuisine?”

  I shake my head no and then yes because I have no idea if I do. I don’t want to look unsophisticated, so I nod. “Ye—Yes! Sounds good.”

  Donetta side-eyes me with a grin that says she knows damn well I’ve never eaten anything French beyond the day-old croissants I sometimes get at the discount grocery. She makes small talk as we leave the corporate offices and head down to the casino level. I had a tour when I was first hired and haven’t been down here since.

  It’s opulent and magnificent and looks like some lost Greek city revived from the bottom of the ocean. I only get a peek at the main floors before we move to a series of back hallways that feel very covert and hush-hush. Goosebumps rise on my forearms, along with that little prickle at the base of my neck. I don’t get time to ponder my reaction, as Donetta opens a pair of grand floor-to-ceiling doors and leads me into a private dining room.

  You’d never know there was a meeting in here. It’s immaculate, right down to the silk tablecloth and fresh beeswax candles adorning the single round table in the middle of the room.

  “Ah, perfect.” Donetta smooths the back of her pencil skirt and sits. An array of metal dome-covered dishes are arranged on the table. I feel one. It’s still warm, as if some ghostly waiter had been waiting just for us.

  I’m struck again at my good fortune. A little giddy, I listen raptly as Donetta lifts off covers and explains the various dishes. We serve ourselves, and to my surprise, she pours us dark red wine in huge goblet glasses.

  “Cheers!” She clinks her glass against mine, and I’m whirling with the knowledge that I’m having wine with lunch in the middle of a workday—and it’s sanctioned.

  Hell. Yes.

  I have it so good, I feel like I might burst.

  Donetta looks smug as she takes a huge bite and savors it. “He never does anything second best.”

  I know she’s talking about the boss and my curiosity is immediately piqued. Especially when an almost dreamy look crosses her face. It’s the same look she had yesterday when she off-handedly mentioned that he’d been away from the casino on business a lot lately.

  It’s pretty clear that someone has a crush on the old guy. Well, if he is old. I wonder what he’s like. Portly, probably. Old, but trying to hide it with expensive tanning cream and hair implants. Yet Donetta doesn’t strike me as the type to fall for someone just because he’s rich, and let’s face it, if the boss is how I imagine him, money is the only thing he’s got going for him. There’s no such thing as an ugly rich man, my sister Nathalie used to say.

  “What’s he like?” I blurt. I stuff cabbage in my mouth before I spout anything else.

  “Well, he’s driven and intense. Very intense.”

  I pause mid-chew. Driven and intense are code words for asshole.

  I swallow. “That’s it?”

  “Oh no. It’s just … he’s hard to get to know, actually. He’s sort of domineering and bossy … and, you know, just …really …”

  Her cheeks flush and I smile at how flustered she is. The seasoned professional has melted away into pathetic schoolgirl. An odd, charged kind of tension sparks between us as she tries to regain her composure. This is fun, though, and I’m not done with her yet.

  “Hot?” I venture.

  She laughs and it breaks the weirdness. “Mr. Masters is very handsome, yes.”

  “So, you’ve dated him?”

  “Ha!” She shakes her head. “No. No. He doesn’t date. I mean, he takes women to important functions, but none that he identifies as a girlfriend or whatever. In fact …” She crosses her arms and leans in. Her voice drops to a whisper.

  “I think his tastes are very particular.” She makes eyes at me as if I know exactly what she means.

  “Oh … so, like, he has a goat wearing a tutu tied up in his office, particular?”

  We clink our glasses again and laugh.

  “Maybe not quite that, but I sense he’s into some kind of kink. Prostitutes, maybe.”

  Yuck. I don’t say that out loud, though. I mean, to each his own. But I’ve had enough history with prostitution in my past that it’s something I can’t see past without disgust.

  “You know, there was this one girl. She accompanied him to a few events, which was odd. He never takes the same woman twice. She had, like, marks on her wrists.”

  “What kind of marks?”

  Donetta shrugs as she leans back in her chair. “I’m not sure. She apparently tried to hide them with bracelets, but a couple pics were taken at one event that showed the marks clearly.”

  I got the sense that she had a theory, so I push. This gossip is too good not to push.

  “Spill it, Donetta.”

  “Okay, rope burns. Like if your wrists got tied together too tightly, or for too long.”

  “He tied her up.”

  “Maybe. I told you. Kink!”

  My stomach sinks even as a flutter goes through me. I know exactly what she means. Being bound can be both a nightmare and a delicious fantasy. I’ve encountered both, not that I’m telling her. New friend or not, certain things stay behind brick walls.

  Those things stay behind walls when I’m alone, too.

  My mind runs rampant with some fictional image of Mr. Masters tying up a faceless woman, the cuffs of his dress shirt turned back, the muscles of his forearms flexing as he works a knot.

  My face goes hot and I drain the last of my wine.

  She rises from her chair and I quickly follow suit, eager to get back to work and away from my thoughts.

  “You know, if you’re brave, you could ask him yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She leads me down another hallway. “After this morning’s performance, you’ve earned an introduction.”

  I falter a little. No. No way do I want to meet the boss now. Not after the gossip and especially not after the sexy things that just twisted through my mind.

  “I really should get back to work.” Maybe it’s the wine, but my body suddenly feels hot all over. Plus, I really do want to keep working, considering the time crunch I’m under. I’m obligated to over-deliver at this point. I’m about to protest again, but Donetta waves me off.

  “Really, I think he’ll be very impressed with you. He has a knack for nurturing exceptional talent within the company. Trust me when I say that you want to be on his good side.”

  I realize she’s leading me up to the penthouse. I’m having a feeling of déjà vu, of a lack of control. I know it’s just because I was here before, the night I made my last delivery. But it wasn’t this side of the hotel. I don’t recognize anything around me.

  “He can seem intimidating, but don’t let that bother you. He’s like that with everyone.”

  Great. My mental image of him is as muddled as my head.

  I turn my attention to the opulence of the hall. Crystal chandeliers sparkle down in a vertical row from the ceiling. Billowing ferns in oriental urns line the wall. I half expect a fluffy Persian cat to saunter out with a gold-dipped mouse in its mouth.

  We stop by the only door at the end of the short hall. Donetta speaks into an intercom and a moment later, a click sounds as the door unlocks. She walks in with familiarity while I get more nervous by the second.

  Something about this feels off to me, but I can’t place it. Goosebumps skitter down my arms, despite the warmth of sun streaming in through huge windows.

  The penthouse is sectioned in two. We take an immediate right into a wide hallway, and I realize one area is living space, and the other an office. A middle-aged receptionist sits beside glass doors. She stands when she sees us and opens the doors, revealing a huge, airy office.

  Light from a row of floor-to-ceiling windows floods the room, glinting off white walls that are tempered by the dark mahogany furniture.

  A sun drop glimmers off a golden nameplate on the desk. BRENT MASTERS. I
spot him then, standing with his back to us as he faces the windows. My unease grows as I realize how obviously not portly he is … probably not old either, unless he works out, because damn. The tightness of his muscles is apparent by the way his suit perfectly cradles his body. Broad shoulders, a lovely tapered back that leads to a narrow waist.

  My hands start to shake as my palms go damp. Startled by my reaction, I discreetly wipe my hands on my skirt. This is the boss? My imagination isn’t even capable of creating such perfection.

  “Mr. Masters,” Donetta calls warmly.

  It hits me then, why I’m uneasy. It’s not just that the last time I was on this floor in this hotel, I went lip-to-lip with the stranger who still haunts my dreams. He creeps in whenever he wants, leaving me breathless and wanting. When I wake, I can taste him as if he’d truly been there. It’s because the last time I was on this floor, in this hotel, I was expecting not to leave it.

  “Good morning, Donetta.” He replies, not bothering to turn around. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets like he has all the time in the world and we’re an inconvenience. He might be hot, from the back anyway, but I don’t like him. Somehow, the impression is firmly rooted in my head and it won’t budge.

  I hope that my meetings with Brent Masters will be infrequent.

  “I’m sorry we missed you at the finance meeting this morning,” Donetta continues. “We’re happy to give you a verbal update until the printed report is done later today.”

  “Fine.” He clears his throat and it irritates me that he won’t turn and face us. Does he have some horrible facial deformity or something? My mind suddenly goes wild with images of elephantitis or a third eye. I stifle a nervous giggle, knowing it’s just my nerves.

  “Our new account executive just identified and recovered a two million-dollar error. She’s already found several other smaller errors on past accounts, and will have a full report for you by week’s end. I’d like to introduce you, sir.”

  My mouth goes dry at her praise, but I have to wipe my palms again. I’m sure he neither cares nor appreciates my work. Hell, two million is just not that much in this industry, shocking as that is to laypeople. Mr. Masters probably has that much under his couch cushions.

  I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what. She mentioned that he was particular, but this is ridiculous.

  Slowly, Mr. Masters turns, as if reluctant to leave the view. Inch by inch, his glorious body is revealed, the trim, hard length draped in the most perfectly tailored suit I’ve ever seen. I can barely pull my eyes from the breadth of his chest.

  But a small sound comes from him and I look up.

  Straight into his eyes.

  My lips tingle so hard, I touch them. Good thing, because it holds back the gasp that almost flies out of my mouth.

  It’s him.

  It’s him.

  It’s fucking him.

  I whirl back into another memory of that night six years ago when I handed him the package. He’d affected me with more than fear. Desire ran straight through me then, and it shoots hot, cold, and determined through me now.

  He rakes me with a hard, fast gaze, once, twice, and I know he remembers. He’s hiding it well, except for the twitch of his left eye and the firm set to his jaw. I can’t process anything over the beat of my pulse in my ears and the fast, relentless throb that’s pulsing between my legs.

  This can’t be happening. How can he be here? He was supposed to disappear like they always do. Get the goods, never to be seen again.

  His gaze burns over my body as he assesses me again, but slowly this time, as if he’s eating me up inch by blazing inch. Hunger illuminates his eyes as the tension between us ratchets. The only way to stop it, to break it, would be for one of us to move closer … to touch.

  My face goes numb as his hands come out of his pockets, his left thumb jerking as if he’s imagining tracing my lips. Maybe it’s the wanting I see in him that makes me feel numb. Maybe it’s the rage hiding just beneath his want that makes me feel again.

  He takes a step toward me and I hold my breath.

  Just as quickly, he turns his back, his voice booming over the sound of my pounding heartbeat.

  “Get her out. She’s fired.”

  2

  I don’t know how to feel.

  I’m standing outside the office by the receptionist’s desk. She’s pretending to type, but her fingers are hitting more air than keys. We keep making awkward eye contact, so I finally turn my back. I’m still rocked to the core, completely blindsided by what just happened.

  Brent Masters has criminal ties, and I can identify him. I am a witness. He’s probably regretting not killing me when he had the chance. Although I didn’t get that vibe from him then, or today. But it doesn’t mean he can’t slay me in other ways.

  For one, I appear to be newly unemployed.

  Donetta and Mr. Masters are arguing inside, and I’m both impressed that she has the clout (or balls) to talk back to him, and embarrassed that I can hear every negative thing he says.

  “Someone who looks like that cannot be qualified.”

  “She’s the most qualified applicant that we had! Not to mention, her work history included some heavy duty investigative account work—”

  “She’s too young. What is she, twenty-one?”

  “Did you miss the part where she saved your company two million dollars? Should I repeat it?”

  He starts to protest again, and she talks over him, repeating two million dollars and all I can think is that he’s going to fire her next. The verbal battle continues and he doesn’t fire her. Nor does he back down.

  “… aced the training. She’s smart as hell and impressed the stockholders. I don’t understand this, Mr. Masters.”

  “It’s not your place to understand.”

  I dare a look behind me at the receptionist as a hush falls over the space. It seems he’s topped her with those six words. I strain to hear more, but there is nothing. There was never anything to say. I know what this was about. I know why I’m fired.

  That one damn night.

  And that kiss.

  My life was supposed to change after that final delivery, and it had. It had! I worked my ass off to be where I am right now, and I can’t believe this is happening. To get this far, only to be shot down by the last person I expected to see again.

  My bewilderment is slowly being edged out by disbelief and anger.

  Donetta comes out, a grim set to her lips. She spares me a glance, and then looks to the floor and runs her palms down her hips. When she looks at me again, her expression is both apologetic and furious, and I know Masters won’t budge.

  I’m screwed.

  “He’s such a dick,” she hisses under her breath. “I’m so sorry, Erica.”

  She grips my shoulder and I believe that she’s genuinely sorry. It warms me a little. I’ve had a serious lack of genuine people in my life. It’s been too filled with people like Masters, throwing power around to stomp on little people like me. And for what? For doing my job all those years ago?

  “You’re the absolute best person for this job. I’m going to keep working on him. I don’t want to let you go.”

  Our eyes meet and I’m surprised to feel a sting behind mine. An hour ago, I was thanking my good fortune while sipping wine and gossiping with a true friend. Now … I’m back to being nothing.

  “Thank you for trying,” I respond dryly.

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s not right. This isn’t right.” Her voice trails off and she takes a big breath. “It’s just … he gets like this sometimes.”

  “I understand.” I don’t. Not really.

  “I think it’s his blood sugar,” she blurts. “I’m sorry—”

  I touch her hand and lightly shake my head. I’m going to actually miss her, I realize. “We both know it’s not blood sugar.”

  I give a hushed laugh, but there’s no humor in it. If he’s going to throw me out because of
our last meeting, then I’m going to speak my mind. The last time I saw Brent Masters, I was in no position to talk to him, period. Back then, I was worried he might kill me, but now I know he’s just a grade-A dick with a gorgeous face and a bad attitude.

  She pats my shoulder, her hand slow to leave my arm as I turn and leave. I navigate my way back to my office. I can’t believe this is happening. Leaning against the doorframe, I stare at my tiny space for a long time. Donetta didn’t follow me, so I figure she’s still trying to change Mr. Master’s mind.

  It’s a thin hope, but I wait for my cell to ring, just in case she’s successful.

  The call doesn’t come, and ten minutes later, I’m still staring at the wilting plant Donetta got me on my first day here. Pushing away from the door, I go to it and dump some water from the bottle on my desk into the pot. Then, slowly, I gather my things into a box until my desk is clean and the room is as stark as it was when I moved in.

  Picking up the box, I look both ways down the hall and bolt when it’s empty. I don’t want my co-workers to see me going like this. There’s probably already been a company email. It doesn’t take long for word to spread around here.

  My face starts to burn as I get in the elevator. I’m just so impotently pissed at the unfairness of this. I paid my dues heartily and worked my way up, and for what?

  A sudden image of my sister flashes in my mind and it flames my angst. I gave up my life for Nathalie—did things, so many things, for her. This job was supposed to be my reward for paying someone else’s dues.

  You know what? Screw him. I’m not going to let him do this to me. Not without speaking my mind. I punch a different button, the one that leads to his office. My heart is racing, but I don’t stop to overthink it. The demanding need to tell him where he can stuff his attitude won’t be silenced.

  What’s the worst thing he could do to me this time? He already fired me. Now the playing field is level, and I hold an ace of my own.

  Galvanized, I give the receptionist a big smile and plop my box down on her desk. Her mouth gapes as she stares at me.

  I point to his door. “Do you mind if I have a word with him?” I don’t wait for her response as I move past her and push through the glass doors. The scent of warm masculine musk greets me as I enter. It smells like pure sex and I’m momentarily stunned. Until I see him standing by the windows, exactly as he was the last time I was in here.