Page 27 of Dirty Boss

The vacuum clattered when I dropped it on the supply closet floor. My little caddy full of cleaning supplies and microfiber cloths landed beside it, and I stretched my back from side to side with a sigh. My hip clicked; my feet pulsed.

I was getting sorer by the day, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My body was breaking. My spirit was already shattered.

I would sell my future for a few creature comforts, and it would be worth it. The humiliation of crawling back to my family after failing to make it on my own wasn’t as bad as the humiliation of being invisible and broken and alone.

The fact that I was disappointed that Vaughn hadn’t come in for lunch just proved how low I’d fallen. Those were the scraps I was clinging to in my attempt to survive on my own. A few moments of kindness from Deena, a woman I hardly knew, and the contrived attention of a good-looking customer at work.

Pathetic.

Prostrating myself on the floor in front of my parents would be no worse thanthis.

My jacket was still damp with melted snow, and I shoved my arms through it as I exited the supply closet. I turned for the elevator—and saw a light on at the end of the hall. It wasn’t the overhead lighting, but it still shone from the interior windows like a beacon.

Mr. Big Shot didn’t care about power bills. Of course he didn’t. Why would he?

The ball of humiliation and defeat in my gut suddenly felt like lead. It weighed me down—and made me angry. I’d never come back here again, so I had nothing to lose. I marched down the hall, mentally composing the note that I’d leave on Big Shot’s desk.

Asshole, I’d write.Tell your staff to clean up after themselves. Picking noodles out of carpet fibers isn’t part of my job description. Enjoy the stale smells of rotting food, you inconsiderate fuck.

Never mind that picking noodles out of carpet fibers probably was part of the job description. It was just rude, and I was done.

Stomping down the hallway, I huffed. I needed an outlet for my rage. I needed to scream into the void, to tellsomeonethat they were wrong, damn it. That this wasn’t fair. That lifesucked.

The light spilled out from his office’s glass wall, and I sped up. His door was closed, which wasn’t unusual, but it did slow me down slightly. The handle was cool as I slipped my fingers over it, the door a solid weight as I shoved my shoulder against it.

I was halfway across the room—my mental note having tripled in length and increased in vitriol—when I noticed the body behind the desk.

The only light in the room was the screen in front of his face.

I froze. He looked up from his computer. It took me a second to understand. My pulse sped up and slowed down. My emotions reeled, my vision going fuzzy at the edges.

“Alba?” Vaughn asked, brows drawing together.

Reality came into sharp focus. “What the hell areyoudoing here?” I demanded.

Vaughn looked at me like I had three heads. “This is my office. What the hell areyoudoing here?”

“This isn’t your office. This is Big Shot Asshole’s office.”

“‘Big Shot Asshole?’”

I clamped my mouth shut as logic pierced through the haze of rage that had obscured my thoughts. Oh.Oh.

Vaughn stared, the blue glow from his screen giving his skin an eerie pallor. Without a word, he stood up and began circling his desk.

I sipped in breaths through my constricted throat and whirled for the door.

His fingers closed on my wrist, and he tugged me back and kept me from escaping. I spun and crashed against him, my fingers curling into the luxurious fabric of his partially unbuttoned shirt. This one was navy; he must have bought multiples. His free arm clamped around my waist, and we stood there, staring at each other, saying nothing.

His body was a warm wall, and I fought the urge to melt into it. I stood there trembling like a trapped bird, saying nothing.

He was the first to break the silence. “I know who you are.”

My body locked up. I stared at the weave of his shirt on his shoulder as emotions slammed into me, incomprehensible in their intensity. Everything I’d felt thirty seconds ago was still there, but now I was also afraid. And mortified.

“Alba,” he said, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, his other arm drawing me closer to his chest. He was so warm,so broad. He smelled so good,sogood—and I realized why he’d smelled familiar. I’d been inhaling the scent of him every night, right here in his office.

I know who you are.