Who's the Boss? & Her Perfect Stranger: Who's The Boss? / Her Perfect Stranger. Jill Shalvis

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      5

      CAITLIN GOT UP the next morning and discovered two unpleasant things. One, if she wanted to eat again in the near future, she was going to have to ask Joe how often she got paid. Weekly, she hoped as she stared with dismay into her nearly empty refrigerator thinking that, given a sorry choice of expired cottage cheese or a mustard sandwich on stale bread, payday couldn’t be soon enough.

      Two, and even more important, her car was gone. Missing. Vanished from the face of the earth.

      Just the thought had her hyperventilating. Her BMW, her pride and joy, the one thing her father had given her that she knew he’d bought with her in mind… Well, he hadn’t actually paid for it outright, but up until his death, he’d given her the money for the lease and insurance.

      She’d already called the police when it occurred to her that she might have missed a few payments.

      It wasn’t her fault, really. She’d been so busy. First in Paris with a girlfriend for holiday shopping. Then in Mexico at another friend’s resort for Christmas. She’d come home in time for New Year’s Eve at the Comedy Club.

      Then her father had died, and both her so-called friends and her money had disappeared.

      Well, at least she hadn’t been kicked out of her condo yet. That was something, wasn’t it?

      * * *

      CAITLIN HAD NEVER in her life had to rely on public transportation. It was every bit the adventure she’d thought it would be and more. And so, of course, she was late.

      She dashed through the foyer, waved to Amy, leaped on the elevator and stumbled into the office at ten o’clock to face a not-so-happy-looking Joe Brownley.

      “How nice of you to grace us with your presence,” he said overly politely.

      Usually, nothing flattened her faster than disapproval, but she wasn’t in the mood. Not today. She thought about telling him so, but stopped when she realized that, given how he’d grown up, he might not be exactly sympathetic to her losing the BMW she hadn’t paid for in the first place.

      “I’m sorry I’m a little late—”

      “A little?” He let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Princess, there are going to have to be rules in this…this…”

      “Relationship?” she suggested sweetly, making him scowl even deeper.

      “Office. This is not a relationship,” he said stiffly. “It’s a job. You come in at eight like the rest of us. In the morning,” he added with emphasis.

      He wore black jeans today. And a black polo shirt, untucked as usual. It stretched tight across his broad shoulders and snugged his hard, lean chest. With his hands on his hips and that scowl on his handsome face, he looked like a modern-day pirate, capable of pillaging along with the best of them.

      She definitely should not have stayed up late reading that fantastic lusty historical romance. The pirate hero had tossed the heroine over his shoulder and stalked with her into his private cabin, where he’d tossed the passionate but virginal redhead on his berth and—“What is that?” her pirate demanded, pointing to her outfit.

      Caitlin glanced down at herself, but saw nothing wrong with her canary-yellow captain’s jacket and matching short full skirt, or her equally yellow high-heeled pumps. She’d needed the extra height this morning to boost her lagging confidence and stomped-on spirits.

      She would have preferred an expensive shopping trip to Italy, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

      Of course, no one had told her she’d have to walk nearly a mile—twice—to catch connecting buses.

      Tomorrow, she was wearing her cross trainers.

      She’d only gotten on the wrong bus once. Okay, twice, but that second time hadn’t been her fault.

      “What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked.

      “Everything!”

      She looked again, just to make sure she’d buttoned all her buttons and didn’t have toilet paper stuck to her shoe, but everything was just fine. “What?”

      His sigh exploded out of him as he turned away. “Nothing.”

      “It’s something.”

      He whipped around to face her, plowing his fingers through his hair. His raised arms, stretched, tightened, and made her mouth go dry because he was so…

      “You said you’d wear…more,” he said at last.

      She laughed. “No, I never said that. You did.”

      He closed his eyes, a habit she’d noticed he fell back on when frustrated or furious, both seemingly constant elements of his charming personality. “I asked nicely,” he said, his voice strained.

      “You most definitely did not.”

      “Please,” he said after a moment. “Please, wear more. Lots more.”

      “Is that a rule, too?”

      His eyes flashed and she didn’t miss the quick humor they revealed. “If I said yes, would you follow it?”

      She grinned back. “Probably not. I don’t do the authority thing too well.”

      His gaze became serious. “This isn’t going to work.”

      “It will if you stop bellowing.”

      He went still. “I haven’t yelled at you.”

      “You raised your voice when I dropped the lamp on your thingie.”

      “Zip drive,” he said through his teeth. “It was a zip drive, princess. A very expensive one. And I didn’t yell—I nearly cried!”

      “You’re doing it again.”

      His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I tend to talk loud when I get—Never mind. Christ! How the hell do you always get me so off track?”

      “You were picking on me.”

      “I was not picking on you.” He stopped, drew a deep, ragged breath. “Forget the zip drive, okay? Just answer the phone. Nothing else.”

      She thought of his disastrous files, which she had started to organize. She could have the office fully operational in no time. “But—”

      “No buts.”

      He hadn’t fired her.