Never invite yourself to a Netflix pity party
My head snapped up and my phone clattered to the ground. Brogan stood in the middle of his condo, wrapped in a towel. Hung very low. Droplets of water beaded down his chest, rolling over the taught muscles.
The towel lay flush against his body, outlining a bulge. On a scale of aww…how cute to there’s no way that’s fitting, it was the Goldilocks of bulges. Just right.
I swallowed hard and realized a few seconds too late that I was staring at his lower half and the trail of hair leading to parts hidden by the towel. What was with me and thinking about his damn dick? It had been a while since I’d seen any action with a real-life one, but this was getting ridiculous. A silicone one did the same thing and didn’t come attached to a person who decided my financial fate. Okay, this really wasn’t the appropriate time to debate the pros and cons of dildos versus my boss’s dick, standing in his kitchen while he was half naked. And I was still staring.
My head shot up, and I met his eyes. “You’re home.” Real smooth there, slick.
“And you’re as observant as ever,” he said drily. “That doesn’t answer my question, though. What are you doing in my house?”
He wasn’t supposed to be home. I’d checked the schedule—he had a phone conference with Japan until nine tonight. Shit, was I going to lose my job because of this?
All that came to mind was durrrrrr—I’d been hypnotized into a state of Brogan Starr Bulge Mind Melt. (It’s totally a thing, okay?) Yeah, because that response would go over well. Once I gained the use of my voice, I said, “Jackson sent me to take Bruce on a walk.” I left out the part where I’d been doing this for the better part of two weeks.
His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t supposed to be here. Only Jackson is allowed in my apartment.”
“I’m so sorry. Jackson was…” Think. Even though I disliked Jackson, I’d never put his job in the crosshairs intentionally. Though I could safely bet the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. “Sick.”
The weight of everything that had happened in the last hour slammed into me like a semi truck. Seriously, did all this shit have to happen today? I wasn’t one to be a woe-is-me girl, but really, when all roads pointed to Rome, well, it was happening.
He raised a brow, and his mouth worked. I knew this was it, he was about to fire my ass for something Jackson made me do. And then I wouldn’t be able to pay any flippin’ healthcare bills. And if I couldn’t pay bills, then would my mom receive treatment? My pulse throbbed in my temples, and I couldn’t tamp down the temper bubbling to the surface. A girl could only have so much shit flung on her Jimmy Choos before she went into rage mode.
His voice was cool and matter-of-fact as he said, “I don’t care if Jackson promises you the damn Taj Mahal. I don’t want you in my apartment. This is my personal space. Bruce only responds well to people he knows. To trustworthy people.” This was the first time I’d seen him be uncharacteristically uncharismatic.
Hell. No. What a condescending prick. Screw this totally hot man standing painfully naked in front of me. Screw the fact that he insinuated I wasn’t trustworthy enough for his damn dog. Heat pooled at the base of my neck, and I narrowed my eyes. “You know what? I have bigger things to focus on than your damn rules. I mean, who the hell cares if there’s a semi-colon in a tweet? Nobody! Or how about the whole leggings aren’t pants thing dress code, because I have a pair in my closet that begs to differ.” I threw my hands in the air. Who did he think he was trying to make everyone abide by his stupid manual that made zero sense? “And you’re welcome for walking your slobbering mutt in freezing weather while he pisses on my shoes, and tries to hump a poodle that’s way out of his league.”
He took a step back, his annoyance quickly morphing into shock. “Excuse me?”
I took a step toward him, not backing down from what I’d started. If I was going to get fired, dammit, I was going to lay it all out on the table because tonight I really gave zero shits about Brogan and this stupid job two hundred miles away from the person who needed me most.
“You heard me. I’ve been dealing with my mom who has cancer and who’s dy—” I paused to collect myself, my throat tight. “Bills keep piling up, collectors keep calling. The last thing I need is for you to treat me like I’m some asshole.” My breaths came out in heavy pants, but I kept going. “I walk your damn dog for you. One who uses my sweaters as kibble, because the small horse probably isn’t getting enough food. Seriously, you need to feed him more, because he can’t survive on my cashmere sweaters.”