How to Kill Your Boss - An Erotic Love Story. Krissy Daniels

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ clients. “I’ve hired an auditor to tighten up productivity around here.”

      Franklin rose, lithe and poised, from the chair. He turned toward me and offered a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Tate.”

      Tate? Nobody had called me Tate except for my father and the assholes in high school. One-Date Tate. The nickname and the curse followed me like a perpetual shadow through most of my academic career.

      I would’ve corrected him, but when his full mug came into view, my tongue curled up and shriveled. My IQ dropped thirty points. Again, I quickly averted my eyes. I had no choice. They threatened to pop out of my head. There was good looking and there was gorgeous. This man played in a league that put both of them to shame. “Pleasure meeting you,” I managed to stutter. With grace comparable to a drunk college freshman, I grasped his hand and gave it one good shake. When I tried to pull away, he squeezed tighter and caressed a thumb across my knuckles.

      My girlie parts twitched. No joke. I needed to leave before I left a puddle of desire on the floor between my feet. Holy cow, I’d never been affected in such a way.

      “The pleasure is all mine.” Franklin tilted his head as if inviting me to admire him.

      Nope. No way. I would not look into those eyes again. The way my body reacted, I’d end up sprawled naked across the desk with a rose between my teeth. I reclaimed my hand and jetted through the door.

      Chapter 2

      “Enjoy your tea, Mr. Cruse. I added something special this time.” I winked, smiled, and tucked the empty vial of Kill-Wallace-Cocktail I’d whipped up earlier that morning back into the pocket of my slacks.

      He lifted the delicate cup to his lips and drew a long drink. “Delicious.”

      “I’m happy you like it.”

      “Why are you standing there? Get back to work. Receptionists are a dime a dozen. Without a college degree, you’re lucky to have this job.”

      I leaned my shoulder against his doorframe and crossed my arms. Anticipation was half the fun.

      Wallace slapped his hands on the desk. “I said, get back—” He coughed. Blood spewed down his chin.

      “How ya feeling, Wallace?” I asked with mock concern. “You don’t look so hot.”

      Mr. Cruse looked at me, confusion distorting his features. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a word.

      I swelled with pride when the first crimson tear trickled down his cheek. I tapped my finger to the corner of my own eye. “You’ve got a little something there,” I teased.

      Wallace wiped at his face and released a garbled screamed when he spied blood on his hand.

      I tapped my ear. “There, too.”

      He grabbed a tissue and dabbed first one lobe, then the other. He coughed again and choked on the fluid that bubbled up his throat.

      I smiled. Oh, it made my spirits soar to watch him suffer….

      A sharp pinch in the fleshy meat at the back of my arm jolted me from my fantasy. “Tate, where were you just now?” Franklin whispered in my ear, sending delicious tickles down my neck. “Boss-man is freaking out. Stop daydreaming and get your ass in there. Cruse needs his daily ego stroke.”

      I smacked his arm. The firm muscle underneath his suit jacket didn’t give in the slightest. Franklin had only been with Cruse Investigations for two months, but we were already the best of buddies. Office buds, anyway. His title? Auditor. His duties? Make the women drool, and some of the men, too, while gathering data and compiling reports to make the company more efficient, or something like that. For reasons I failed to comprehend, he spent more time in my office than his own.

      He was obscenely gorgeous and smarter than sin. I didn’t understand his career choice. Franklin should’ve been CEO of a Fortune 500 company, modeling, starring in movies, or traveling the world—anything. He didn’t belong in our cozy office. He was a bright star that needed space to shine.

      Not that I would dare complain.

      I grabbed my bold and obnoxious, red-rimmed glasses. I loved them, partly because they made me feel like a naughty librarian, but mostly because Wallace hated them. He’d mentioned, on more than one occasion, how ridiculous I looked, so I only wore them when I knew we’d be sharing the same space. I didn’t need glasses. My vision was near perfect. They were merely a fashion statement and a fun tool I used to get under the skin of a man I detested.

      “Good afternoon, Mr. Cruse.” I smiled, tilted my head in a sweet, shy fashion, and flashed my baby blues. Bastard didn’t even look up from his desk.

      “I’m leaving for New York tomorrow. Is the MacKenzie file ready? I need it ASAP, hoping to head out early today.” Wallace scribbled on a piece of paper and got back to typing on one of the four desktops occupying his workspace. Who, in God’s name, needed four PCs? Apparently Wallace did, as he made a point to use each of them every time I, or anybody else for that matter, visited his office. Perhaps to remind us he was king of the castle and important enough to need four computers.

      I rolled my eyes, confident he wouldn’t see. Wallace rarely looked me in the face. It’d been that way since I was a child. Mom used to tell me it was because kids made him nervous. What was his excuse now? I was all grown up. Did he feel guilty for the direction he’d steered my father’s company? Could he feel the animosity I harbored? Perhaps it was because I’d known him my whole life and could see through his bullshit.

      Wallace had recently turned the big five-o. Looked it, too, despite wasted efforts and thousands of dollars spent on beauty products for men. Everything about him, from his Italian shoes to his waxed brows, screamed mid-life crisis. The few wrinkles he owned were polished, buffed, and shined, nice and pretty. I wanted to laugh.

      Girlie-man. It wasn’t natural for a guy to primp the way he did.

      “The file is ready. I’ll grab it.”

      He looked up with dark, beady eyes. His gaze traveled the length of my body, starting with my red pumps. I’d been visually violated by the time his perusal rested on my breasts. When I inhaled, drawing my clingy white blouse tighter across my chest, his eyes bulged. Was I flirting? Of course not—just breathing, and hopefully torturing him a bit. He’d always acted nervous around me, especially when puberty settled in my chest and grew like a tumor—or two. When I’d hit my teens, Dad stopped bringing Wallace around as much. My father was amazing like that. My great protector.

      I turned, regretting my wardrobe choice. The tight gray pencil skirt accentuated my ample derriere. I was sure I heard a moan as I walked away.

      Franklin waited for me outside Wallace’s door and followed me back to my office. He wore a cheesy grin that didn’t match the dark shadows lurking behind his glare. When I leaned over my desk to grab the MacKenzie file, he moaned, too, mimicking Wallace.

      “Knock it off,” I scolded, unable to stifle a giggle.

      “You are so bad.” He pinched the bridge of my glasses, wiggled them up and down, and made a tisk, tisk sound.

      “I know. It’s so much fun, and he’s so damned easy,” I whispered.

      Franklin СКАЧАТЬ