Page 12 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

Leo grinned, broad and easy, and pointed out something in the shrubbery. Eden followed his gesture, squinting, and then said something that made Leo laugh. It was too much, patronizing even. I clenched my jaw, rolling the muscle until it clicked, and forced myself to breathe.

He’d done this before. Not with me watching, but with every new female staffer who crossed the property line. It was never predatory, never actionable, but it was persistent, andalways, always left someone a little off-balance. Until now, I’d let it slide. The girls either ignored him or, in one memorable case, threatened to reassign him to the compost heap if he didn’t knock it off.

But Eden was new, and the last thing she needed was another predator at her heels.

Why do I care? I asked myself. What made her different? Was it the way she looked at me? Was it the fact that she’d already managed to affect me in ways I never expected? Or was it simply the way she smelled; clean hair, rain, and some faint sweetness that lingered after she walked by?

I didn’t have an answer, and I hated that even more.

In the garden, Eden finally managed a polite disengage, turning to consult her clipboard. The sunlight hit her hair, and for a second it lit up like a flare. Leo, ever persistent, shifted to keep her in the shade of his body, so close now that his shadow merged with hers. My breath hitched, just for a second, and my fingers went numb from the pressure on the chair.

Get a grip. She’s an employee. She’s not yours. And she’s definitely not Leo’s.

But the urge to go down there, to step between them and lay out in no uncertain terms how this was going to play out, was almost overwhelming. I imagined it: the sharp crack of my voice, the way Leo’s smugness would evaporate, the way Eden’s eyes might widen, just for a moment, with something like gratitude, or maybe just surprise.

She doesn’t need you to save her, I told myself. She’ll handle it. Still, I kept watching. Leo was talking now, gesturing with both hands, probably explaining the root structure of the new apple trees or some other trivial fact. Eden took another step back, and this time the motion was obvious; a clear, deliberate move to reclaim her space. My mouth twitched, almost a smile.

That’s my girl, I thought, and then froze. Where the hell had that come from?

Leo didn’t get the hint, or pretended not to. He followed, narrowing the gap, and leaned in to murmur something low. The smile on Eden’s face evaporated, and for a split second her eyes darted, not at Leo, but up, toward the house, toward my window.

She couldn’t possibly see me, not with the glare. But I felt the connection anyway, like a jolt of static through my ribcage.

Enough. I pushed off the desk, trying to talk myself out of charging into battle. That would make people suspicious. It would probably insult Eden. So I watched as Eden pulled the clipboard close to her chest and turned toward the house.

I willed her to know that I was watching. That I had her back. That if Leo ever tried something he shouldn’t, he’d be out of a job instantly.

By the time I returned to my desk, my palms were sweaty and my heart was hammering harder than it should. I tried to focus on the contract in front of me, but every line blurred into the shape of Eden’s silhouette, the outline of her body against the backdrop of my gardens, like she belonged.

The next time Leo tried anything, I’d be there.

And if that meant being the asshole boss, so be it.

I could live with that.

I could live with anything…

Except the idea of someone else having her.

The walk from my study to the library was exactly seventy-four paces, provided you didn’t stop to check the sight lines or fix a crooked frame along the way. I’d measured it myself, years ago, during a particularly dry spell in the markets when the only thing that kept me from chewing glass was cataloguing the estate’s dimensions down to the last millimeter.

Today I took the route by reflex, letting my feet take me there on autopilot while my mind replayed the scene in thegarden. I tried to file it away; employee relations, minor HR issue, soon to be resolved. But the irritation lingered, raw and insistent, like a hangnail you can’t stop messing with.

I was three doors from the library when I heard the voices. They came from the service corridor: low, quick, the way people talk when they think no one’s listening. I could have kept walking. I should have kept walking. Instead, I stopped just out of sight and listened.

“Two-to-one odds he snaps before Monday,” said a woman. I didn’t recognize the voice. Probably one of the weekend staff, brought in to polish the silver and mop the endless floors.

A second voice, male, nasal, bored. “Snaps how? You think he’ll fire Leo over a girl?”

The woman laughed, sharp as broken glass. “Not just any girl. The new one. You see how he looks at her? It’s like…”

I heard the whisper of cloth, a tray being set down. “Like he wants to eat her alive,” she said.

There was a long, appreciative silence.

“Heard Leo’s gunning for her, too,” said the man. “Did you see the way he cornered her by the roses?”

“I saw,” the woman replied. “But I’ll bet you five bucks if Leo doesn’t back off, Wolfe puts him in a trashcan. The locking kind.”