Page 1 of Lying to the Boss

Chapter One

Lane

I sip my scotch; my sights set on the sweet thing on the other side of the bar. He’s exactly my type; petite, twink-ish. Blond hair, innocent eyes, and full, pouty lips.

He’s the exact type of man I take home on nights like this—when I’m annoyed and need something to keep my head straight before I get myself into trouble. When it comes to work, I’m calm and collected, always. But I don’t like fuck-ups, and that’s exactly what happened tonight. It’s difficult not to get frustrated when the fuck-up was due to someone not doing their job correctly, after they’d been trained for weeks and have been in the position for a year.

Nancy, my assistant—former assistant now—has already been dealt with. And I don’t mean that in the mafioso kind of way. She no longer has a job with my company, and in kinder words, was told she should consider a new career because she sucks at this one.

I’ve already let my office assistant know that I need a replacement immediately, but they should be better vetted than Nancy was. I won’t deal with this again. Next time, I’ll clean house and fire them all myself. I’ve already told Harriet, the office manager, that I’ll be doing the interviews for my new assistant to make sure it’s done right this time—but she better send me outstanding candidates.

I’m the CEO of a successful luxury pool and outdoor living company. I don’t like being cruel to my employees, and typically I’m not. I treat them all with respect, pay them above-average salaries, and give more vacation time and bonuses than any other company I know. But I need to be firm at times. There’s a reason I made it to where I am, and it wasn’t by letting people fuck up.

This company is my baby. I have nurtured it from the very beginning and have proudly watched it grow. I do the majority of my business locally and spend a lot of time at meetings with prospective customers, attending fairs, and touring facilities to give consultations. Having a personal assistant is imperative to my success because of how much there is for a man in my position to do.

The man across the bar gets a phone call and stares at his screen as if he’s unsure if he should answer it. He eventually does and holds the phone to his ear while his finger fiddles with the straw of his drink. His expression goes from apathetic to interested, then relieved. Then he’s enthusiastic, nodding and agreeing to something. He ends the call, placing his cell on the bar and takes the last sip of his drink. His demeanor has lightened, and he’s sitting a little taller in his chair now.

I bring my glass to my lips just as he makes eye contact with me. He holds my gaze. I smirk, tilt my drink just a little, then toss the rest of it back.

“Would you like another, Mr. Monroe?” Will, the bartender, asks.

“Please,” I answer, still holding the man’s stare.

I say man, but he isn’t very masculine. He’s young. Mid-twenties maybe. Just the right age to play with. Men my age aren’t into that, since they all want to settle down—or already are. That’s not quite what I’m looking for.

Will brings me another drink, smiling brightly—almost flirtatiously—as he puts it down in front of me.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Mr. Monroe.”

Winking, he turns away to move onto the next customer. As I reach for my glass, my gaze goes back across the bar, to where my eye candy is sitting. Only, he’s gone. Disappointment floods me. I was hoping to let off some steam in the way of physical activity tonight.

The Revere is a high-end gay bar, so I could have anyone in here I wanted, but my eye was on him. It’s unfortunate that he left, because no one else has caught my eye tonight.

“Hi,” someone says as they scoot in beside me. The voice is calm, even, and not very deep. I’m thoroughly surprised to see it’s the man from across the bar. “Saw you staring, so I thought I’d come over and say hello.”

“Staring is rude,” I say, reaching for my glass.

“Didn’t stop you,” he says with a cocky smile.

Narrowing my eyes, I take him in.

Definitely in his twenties. Light brown eyes, almost honey colored. His complexion tells me he spends a lot of time inside, but it somehow suits him.

“You’re not from the city,” I say.

“What gave it away?” he asks as he gets comfortable on the stool.

“Everything.”

He huffs, then reaches for his drink. The one that’s empty.

“Can I get you another?” I ask as I watch him suck his watered-down drink from the straw.

“Yes, you can.”

I gesture for Will, who comes over right away. I’m here enough for him to know who I am and that I always tip well. He gives me all of his attention, though it’s not all about the tips with him. He’s interested in me, but he is not my type.