Boss Me Good (Boss Me #1) Read Free Page B

here. Because I can’t possibly be entertaining the idea of having sex with Emme. Of making her feel the way she deserves to feel. Beautiful. Wanted.
    Has no man really taken the time to give her what she needs? What a damn shame. A crime, really.
    I might be a nosy bastard for reading this book, but I’m a very good lover, and knowing I can give Emmy what she wants and needs—perhaps even more than she bargained for…stirs something deep in my chest.
    “No,” I say under my breath, closing the journal. No fucking way. I’m not going to have sex with her. It’s unprofessional. It’s unethical. I’m her boss, for fuck’s sake. I can’t take advantage of her like that. She knows it, and I know it. Hell, she doesn’t expect it to ever happen, and rightly so.
    Even though her words are practically begging me to give her everything she craves, show her how good it feels to have hot, dirty sex. For the rest of my life, I know I’ll never forget the things she’s written in here. The fantasies she’s had about her and me. Am I really supposed to be strong enough to resist such a delicious temptation?
    Is this the struggle my dad faced? For the first time in forever, a part of me views him in a slightly less disdainful light, wondering if maybe we have more in common than I thought.
    Then I remember the tear-stained face of his last secretarial conquest when he broke up with her—and subsequently fired her—and my stomach sours. Even my mother doesn’t know the extent of his philandering, though I bet she suspects. Just one of the reasons I quit working for his design firm and started my own several years ago. I couldn’t be dragged into his sordid life choices anymore.
    I swallow a big chug of coffee as my brain wars with itself on how to handle the situation. My email dings and, speak of the devil, there’s an apologetic email from Emme, explaining she had to leave early due to a sudden situation at home. No mention of the diary, not even a hint, and the explanation makes me believe her leaving the diary was accidental. Although perhaps unconsciously, she did want me to find it…
    I huff a big sigh and rake my hands through my hair. What the hell am I going to do?
    A gentleman, and honorable man, would put the journal back and pretend he never saw it. He’d go through each day with her, being polite and distant as usual. Or maybe he’d reassign her to another department in the company so there was no possible temptation to break all his important, self-imposed rules.
    I want to be a gentleman, an honorable man.
    But staring at the cover of the journal, I just don’t know if I am. Or if I really want to be in this specific case.
    Still, I rise from my desk and put the book back on her desktop. I might be a snooping bastard, but I’m not a thief. I’ll sleep on the issue tonight, maybe let a nice glass of Scotch at home help me decide what to do.
    I shut down my computer quickly, exit the building, and pull out of the lot, flying down darkened local streets to my condo. The whole time, Emme’s wicked words haunt me. I can’t get the images of us having sex out of my head. Bending her over her desk. Fucking her mouth in the conference room, fingers digging in her scalp, her curls twined around my hands. God, the dirty shit I want to do to her now…funny how I didn’t think about her to this degree, but seeing all her wicked thoughts on paper opened the floodgates of my own latent, surprising feelings.
    There’s no fucking way I can go back to viewing her the way I used to. I know what simmers below that smooth, quiet surface of hers now.
    And even more uncomfortable, she seems to know exactly what simmers below mine, or at least has a clue that there’s more to me than what I show everyone.

    * * *
    S cotch doesn’t help . Not one bit.
    I kick my feet up on my ottoman and take a deep swig from my glass, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat into my stomach. The light in my study is dim, with