Page 56 of Bossman

Chase came out of his office with some paper towels, handed them to me, and bent to pick up my laptop and notepad. Handing the dripping equipment to Josh, he said, “Why don’t you dry off the laptop, and I’ll take care of Reese.”

I blotted at my blouse, but it wasn’t much use—I’d spilled a forty-ounce coffee, and the skin underneath was almost as soaked as the fabric of my sheer shirt.

“You need more than a handful of paper towels. Come with me.” Chase guided me into his office. I was hyper-aware of his hand splayed out at the small of my back, a few of his fingers fanning to that place that isn’t quite ass, but no longer back either. I was pretty sure it was innocent, but my thoughts were anything but.

I was pissed at myself, at how unprofessional I was, and I projected my frustration at Chase. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“My fault?”

“You have me distracted today.”

Instead of feeling bad that he was the cause of my mess, Chase looked pleased. “I can’t wait to see the mess you make when I actually try to distract you.” He reached into a closet and pulled out a white dress shirt. “Here. Put this on.”

“I can’t wear your shirt.”

“Why not?” He flashed a dirty grin. “It’ll be practice for when you’re making me pancakes the morning after.”

I hated that I visualized myself standing in front of that big, stainless steel, double-oven stove I knew he had in his house, wearing one of his dress shirts. I’d gone from acting bothered, to hot and bothered in less than ten seconds.

Chase caught the look on my face and chuckled. “There’re towels in my private bathroom.” His eyes dropped to my chest, where my nipples stood up proudly through my soaked shirt, and grumbled, “Get out of that wet shirt, before I help you out of it right in the middle of my office with the blinds open.”

I didn’t doubt he would do it for a minute, so I quickly trudged to the bathroom, hoping I’d also find my wit there, along with a clean shirt.

A minute later, I looked in the mirror, happy with my reflection. I must say, I totally rocked a man’s shirt. Even though it was ten sizes too big, with a few buttons left open at the top and a knot at the waist, Chase’s dress shirt actually looked kind of cute with my black pencil skirt. I was rolling up the sleeves when there was a light knock at the door.

“You decent?”

Except for my thoughts about you. “Yes.”

When Chase opened the door, he had a folded T-shirt in his hand and was looking down at it. “I have this old Brown T-shirt that was stuffed in my gym bag if you want to try—” He paused, stopping in his tracks as he looked up at me. “Wow. Looks better on you.”

Earlier in the day, the man had told me he was going to make me beg, and that hadn’t made me blush. Yet something as simple as looks better on you had my cheeks heating. It wasn’t so much the words as the intimacy with which he said them.

He stepped into the bathroom and took over the rolling of the sleeves. “Let me.”

We exchanged a few silent smiles as he worked on the shirt.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked.

“Better.”

“Glad to hear it. We’re sharing a meal tomorrow tonight.”

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

He finished rolling and waited until I looked up. “Telling. You owe me, considering what a gentleman I was the other night.”

He had been gallant. “Thank you for that, by the way. You were very respectful, and I didn’t make it easy for you.”

“No. You definitely made it hard.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully. “Come on, Bossman. We’re already late to the meeting.”

Elaine Dennis, the VP of Advance Focus Market Research, had just started her presentation when we walked into the conference room a few minutes late. Her pitch detailed her company’s experience moderating focus groups in the women’s industry, and she spoke a lot about the importance of running groups in different geographic areas.

“The women’s products industry is very different in New York and the Midwest. Most women want the same things—smooth skin, to feel beautiful and pampered, to look attractive to the opposite sex—but what works for selling beauty can be quite disparate in various geographic areas.”

Getting comfortable in my seat, I attempted to put the last fifteen minutes behind me and took notes as she worked through her presentation. I’d done plenty of marketing focus groups during my years with Fresh Look, but there was always something new to learn. The ad world changed by the minute, and advertising to women was even more of a challenge. Let’s face it, we women wear our right to change our minds like a badge of honor—what we want today could be passé by tomorrow.