Page 4 of Property of my Boss

“Ten percent off to free?” he scoffs with this grimace I know I’ll be thinking about later. “No. Fifteen percent discount. That’s my best offer.”

My brows raise as I stare at him. Maybe I haven’t pushed hard enough yet. “Okay,” I say, unbuttoning my blouse one button at a time, my gaze never leaving his.

His eyes draw down to my hand as I twist each pearled button, letting my shirt flutter open to expose the hot pink bra I’ve been hiding beneath it. I bought it just for the occasion because of its lacy trim and the flashy jeweled bodice. If this thing were a fishing lure, I’d be catching blue marlin. In theory, this man should be no different.

“What are you doing?” he groans, irritation in his throat.

I shrug. “You won’t give me a T-shirt, and I’m covered in filth, so… I guess I’m walking around like this.”

His chest rises and falls quickly, his nostrils flare, and I swear I see a lump growing in his jeans before he tears a T-shirt off its hanger and tosses it toward me, a grumble under his breath as he leaves the room.

I bite back a grin, satisfied with myself. Turns out, I was right. Men are all the same, and it looks like I’ve got one on the line.

Chapter Three

Tucker

I lean back in my office chair and watch my new employee on the security camera like a perverted old man. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Tilly has bent over at least twenty times in the last ten minutes as she sweeps the mess littered across the camp store into a dustpan. I’m sure it’s punishment to her, but from where I’m sitting, it’s a treat.

She shifts her hips to the left and bends down, her round ass bubbling out as she arches forward, her light hair spilling off her shoulder, that T-shirt I threw at her still off as that hot pink bra sparkles in the sunlight filtering through the window.

Fuck.

My cock presses at my zipper as my brain goes rogue, and I imagine standing behind her, gripping her hips, and plowing into her inch by inch until I’ve filled her tight, little hole to the brim.

Jesus, I’m pretty sure I’m trying not to be this simple.

Shaking my head, I turn the monitor around and lean forward on the desk, redirecting my focus to the newest client transfer form. We’ve got a man in his fifties looking for relocation services as soon as possible. I had an interview with him last week, and he’s been paranoid after having witnessed a crime of some sort in the Springs. Something he won’t talk about. In a situation like this, where a client won’t give details, we usually cancel the application and move forward with the next client, but Atlas is stuck on this one and he asked me to take a second look.

I’m halfway through that second look when I glance toward the security screen to see Tilly bent over again, her thick, round ass close enough to the camera that I see the outline of what’s beneath her little skirt.

My God, I need to get out more.

What the fuck is wrong with me? This is the point. She and that stupid fucking brother of hers are playing a fucking game, and I’m falling for it like a fucking moron.

I slam my fist down on the desk and pull the plug from the back of the monitor, my brain still pulsing with thoughts of gripping her hips and fucking her ragged when the door swings open and Atlas steps inside.

“Hey, man.” He lowers his heavy frame into the chair in front of my desk with a thud, grunts, tosses his hair back, then stands again. This time he grabs a mug down from the cupboard, pours himself a cup of coffee, and finally settles. “Which way are you leaning with Bowers? He good for the move?”

“What?” I narrow my gaze toward him, finding it hard to focus on whatever he’s saying given the fact that Tilly’s hips are still on my mind.

“Bowers,” Atlas repeats. “He’s the fifty-year-old guy from the Springs who saw that crime. He’s got someone following him. He’s been texting the emergency line regularly, and he wants out.”

I shrug and close his file before clicking a pen repeatedly as though the motion and the sound will erase the thoughts of Tilly bending over, arching her back, shaking her ass. “It’s a no-go. I got this cop in Whiskey Falls asking questions about Kade. Thinking maybe we should cut this one loose and give the whole project a rest for a while.”

Atlas leans forward, shoulders squared. “It’s a hundred-thousand-dollar deal. We aren’t cutting it, man. We need the money. You’ve seen the rental cabins. The guy is an accountant. He’ll follow directions.”

“That’s part of it. The guy’s an accountant. Where’d he come up with a hundred grand last minute?”

“Accountants make good money.”

“Sure, but a hundred grand?” I shrug. “I don’t know. Something feels off about this whole thing.”

“Why the hell are you so paranoid now? Cops ask questions. We know this. You stick to the script, you’re fine.” He takes a sip of coffee and sets the cup onto the front of my desk. “I’m not giving up all that money ‘cause you’re being a pussy.”

I scoff. “Yeah, sure. Same way I was a pussy when I saw the heist in the Springs starting to go sideways and you insisted we push through?” I toss the pen I’ve been clicking onto the desk and watch it roll. “Sorry, man. I’m not going back to prison.”