My Boss's Forbidden Daughter: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Heartbreakers Book 3) Read online

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “That doesn’t sound convincing,” Cassie mutters as she leans back in the hard-looking chair in front of the desk.

  Nothing is fancy at the office. It’s an old brick building in the warehouse district, not downtown. I think most of the furniture was probably inherited with it. The desks are old, with metal and faux wood combos, but the desk chairs, at least, look new and are actually surprisingly comfortable.

  “I meant it.” It’s not supposed to be a question, but it sounds like one.

  Cassie takes a deep, steadying breath like she’s trying to get through this as fast as possible, but I’m making her job incredibly difficult. She looks like she doesn’t want to be there. Her rigid posture tells me I’m either making her uncomfortable, or she just hates me because I’m not her brother. It’s probably more the latter. At least I hope so.

  “Anyway,” she fairly hisses. “We like to partner with people to give them a helping hand. We don’t just steamroll over them and paste on something corporate.”

  “I didn’t think that was the case.”

  “We try to help in the financial and ownership department. We’ve taken a lot of mom and pop businesses from near bankruptcy and turned them into something financially successful with as few changes as possible. We do the marketing and advertising for them, make a few suggestions here and there, and sales tend to go up. They keep most of the profits.”

  “Yes. It’s a good model.”

  “Betty and Bill didn’t want to make an empire out of their name. They wanted to make Miami a better city and keep those independent businesses functioning before they all go under, and no one even remembers what a neighborhood grocery store is.”

  I read all that in the employee manual, and it was explained very clearly by both Betty and Bill in the two interviews I had for this job before I was hired. Everything was re-explained during my Monday morning orientation. Cassie was there for that, along with the rest of the office staff. She’s either nervous or thinks I haven’t taken it to heart.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Cassie snaps. She gathers her braid in one hand and tosses it over her shoulder.

  “Like—like what?” I stammer in astoundment. Okay, maybe I was looking at her, but only because I was trying to figure out what’s going on in her head at the moment.

  “Like you don’t believe me. If you don’t believe in what we’re doing here, why did you even apply for this job in the first place?”

  “I’m sorry if you think I’m looking at you that way. I definitely believe in what you do. And I believe what you’re saying.” Damn. Why did that come out sounding like a question?

  “Look,” Cassie huffs. “Mom and Bill hired you. I wanted them to leave Lucas’s place open. We could have managed. They’re just going down there for a year, and they’ll be back. He’ll come back here because we’re his family. This is a family business.”

  I can’t believe she’s going there. If she thinks she can scare me off because I’m not her brother and I’ll never be the almighty, unfailing, perfect, astounding Lucas Dawson, she has another thing coming. I might be pretty quiet and shy at the best of times, especially with new people, but I’m not inept at my job.

  “There’s a reason I was hired,” I state patiently. “You wanted one thing, and Betty and Bill clearly wanted another. I’m here now, and I plan on doing the best job I possibly can for them.”

  “Right.” Cassie’s tone is sarcastic, but she pastes on an angelic smile. “I can’t wait to see what you do.” Her expression says she really means she can’t wait to see what I do and how I fail at it because she obviously expects me to fail. I think failing would give her a great amount of satisfaction.

  I don’t exactly understand why that is, but if there’s one thing I can’t resist, it’s a challenge, and she just threw one down. Not only will I talk to this mom and pop shop across town, but I’ll find ten others that want to sign on with the company. There are ten days left in the month. I’ll make it a goal for myself. Ten. Ten stores. One for every single day. That’s what I’m going to bring to the table. That’s how I’m going to prove I belong here.

  I might not be the legendary Dickhead Lucas Dawson—and yes, I know it’s a very immature nickname to give him, but I just can’t help myself—but I do intend to earn the rather astoundingly generous salary that comes with this job.

  I plaster on what I hope is a charming smile. Cassie stares back at me like I have spinach stuck in my teeth. I know that’s not a possibility since it’s just after ten in the morning, and I didn’t eat any spinach for breakfast. I have nothing in my teeth. I know that, but I can’t help but feel self-conscious, so I drop the grin.

  “I’ll talk to them. This morning.” I turn back to my computer. I’m relieved when Cassie stands and walks to the door. At least I’m relieved until she drops the second bomb of the week.

  “Look at my legs like that again, or any other part of me, and I’ll make sure the next time I spill coffee all over you, it’ll be a lot hotter, and it’ll not be an accident. I’ll aim for some very choice spots and believe me when I say I know all of them after I took a self-defense class last year.”

  My hands pause on the keyboard, but I’m not going to let her win. That would prove I was indeed looking at her legs. Which I was. I feel like an asshole now, even if I don’t think it’s entirely fair. She’s not really mad about her legs. She’s mad that I even exist.

  “Mind telling me what those are so I can prepare myself in advance?”

  “Not a chance. That would defeat the purpose.”

  She exits on that note, leaving my door open. I can hear her heels clicking down the hallway in a measured, unhurried pace. That in itself is a huge F you. She’s telling me I haven’t upset her at all. She doesn’t think I’ll be around long enough to upset her.

  I hope she’s wrong. Even if I have no idea what the heck just happened. In my experience, people only hate each other when they’re into each other. Or because they truly hate each other. I guess that’s an option too.

  Cassie might as well have thrown hot coffee all over me just as she promised. My entire body feels scalded. But not in a bad way. More in a good way. There’s even a small amount of tent action going on beneath my desk. I regret that, but no amount of thinking about granny panties or whatever is going to fix it. Unbidden, an image of Cassie mopping the break room floor a few days ago comes back to mind. The tent gets a little higher, a little more tent-y.

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath and force myself back to work.

  CHAPTER 3

  Cassie

  Just before noon, an email pings into my inbox. I’m cc’d on it, and my parents are included as the only other two recipients. I don’t know why the email pisses me off. Lucas used to send emails like that all the time, whenever he set up meetings, to keep everyone in the loop. Communication is key, but John is no Lucas. I feel like that email, stating he’d set up a meeting with the owners of the mom and pop shop, Roland and Glenda Smyth, for two this afternoon, was a jab at me.

  John isn’t just doing his job. I basically told him that I hoped he’d fail, and he set up the meeting in record time and cc’d me so I’d know all about it.

  He’s not just handsome. He’s an asshole too.

  I don’t know why I feel that way. It’s not like he’s done anything to me. The legs thing was totally innocent. I didn’t feel uncomfortable. He was just noticing my legs. There was nothing creepy or strange in his face when I looked at him after. If anything, he was embarrassed that I caught him staring.

  I have to stay away from John.

  All week I’ve been thinking about giving my bestie’s waxing lady a try. It wouldn’t be significantly annoying if Aria hadn’t tried for years to get me to restart waxing my who-ha. She was all into the bare is best thing. I kind of subscribe to that too. But Aria called razors an abomination. I thought they were handy. I haven’t had an actual date in a while, s
o why would I get waxed?

  Yet, here I am. I’ve been thinking about Aria and her rigid insistence on waxing all freaking week. I’ve been stubbornly denying to myself why that is. Thinking about waxing is basically implying that I want to get some. I don’t want some. I’m perfectly fine without some. There’s no reason at all to get my box waxed. John won’t be around long enough to look at my legs again, let alone appreciate a two-hundred-dollar wax.

  Damn it. Why did I just think that? Now, I’m the one who feels like a douchebag.

  A few minutes after John’s email comes through, another one from my mom comes through on the same thread. She’s her usual, cheery self. I quickly scan through the email.

  That’s great, John. We’re very happy you were able to set up a meeting so quickly. I know this is your first one, and I think it would be great if you’d take Cassie with you. She’ll be able to show you the ropes, and she can even drive. Thanks again for all your hard work!

  Betty.

  Moldy wieners! How the hell can my mom suggest that we go to this meeting together? I grind my teeth in annoyance and shut off my email completely. Of course, they’re sending me because sending me proves they really care, but this is also her trying to push me into making friends with John. She knows how I feel about them filling Lucas’s spot. It’s irrational, but I feel like it’s a betrayal. He’s coming back. I know he’s coming back. Bill and my mom hired this newbie and expected him to fill the hole Lucas left. Fat fuzzy chance.

  My mom and Bill would also kill me if they knew I wanted John gone and was refusing to be nice to him. They would destroy me if they had to go through the long, drawn-out interview process again. The coffee thing was an honest accident. Maybe I’m just so grouchy and edgy because I haven’t been sleeping well. I keep having intrusive thoughts. About things that I don’t want to think about. About John and things that I don’t want to think about doing. And also, about waxing my nether regions.

  John shows up at my office half an hour before the meeting. He’s unruffled and gorgeous, and that immediately makes me think of waxing. Again. For the hundredth, thousandth time. I try to focus on something else, so I look at his shirt, but staring at the light blue fabric makes me think again about the coffee incident and the nipple that was outlined in the spill. That makes me flustered. I don’t like being flustered. I don’t get flustered. Especially not over a male nipple.

  “So. Are you really driving?” The question is innocent enough, but I’m pissed off at myself, and it only makes me more aggravated.

  “Why? Don’t you think women can drive?”

  “Of course not.” He turns a bright shade of red. It’s funny, noting that he’s uncomfortable. “I mean, I meant, of course not to that statement. Of course, women can drive. They’re great drivers.”

  How can he be uncomfortable? He was probably a star athlete in high school. He was probably the freaking prom king who dated a blonde, sexy cheerleader. He was probably the life of the party in college. He probably has had his choice of women. He doesn’t seem like a guy who would be shy. Rather, he seems like a guy who should be full of himself.

  “Good. You’re likely one of those road rage kinds of drivers. I don’t need someone who’s desperate to land this to prove to my parents what he can do and get us killed in a traffic accident before we even get there. Or on the way back. That would be equally as terrible.”

  John leans casually up against my open office door. He just made the small, boring space a heck of a lot more interesting. That door’s sex appeal just shot through the roof. When he moves away, rolling his eyes, I resist the urge to walk over to the door and sniff it just to see if some of his scent rubbed off. What the heck is wrong with me?

  “That’s rich coming from someone who spilled half a pot of coffee on me this week.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter as I shove away from my desk. I grab a sweater I have no intention of wearing since it’s scorching hot and as humid as possible out today. I just need something to occupy my hands, and my purse is a shoulder bag, so that’s a no-go. I grab a notebook and a pen too, even though I don’t normally bring those with me.

  “Hurry up if you’re coming.” I slip by John as casually as possible. He gives me an easy grin that I spot out of the corner of my eye.

  Ouch. I feel the charming smile straight to the pit of my stomach—like someone just stabbed a fork into me. That’s right, the week isn’t even officially over, but I’m officially done for.

  That realization breaks the last bit of good-will I’ve been clinging to. By the time I slip into the driver’s seat of my sports car, I’m in a completely foul mood.

  Even though the meeting is across the city, traffic is surprisingly light. I drive like a crazy person, and I can tell John is thankful to let himself out of the car when we pull up. I keep my head high, even though I’m a wreck on the inside. All I can think about, as I walk into the small grocery store with the bright colored sign overhead, is how much I need a meeting with my two besties.

  Unfortunately, Rin is across the country, and Aria is—well—not in the country. A phone conversation isn’t going to cut it, but it’s all I’m going to get. As soon as this meeting is over, I’m going to lock myself in a small space that is not my office and blow up their phones. I have to. I really need their advice.

  I’m the cool, calm, and rational one of the group. I’m not the one who thinks about humping inanimate objects that my crazy hot coworker was just leaning up against. I also don’t act out. I don’t snap at people. I don’t spill coffee all over the place. I don’t think about ditching a three-year exclusive relationship with my razor.

  Something is seriously wrong with me. I’m worried. And scared. Of course, I have to pretend like I’m not.

  We’re shown into the back area of the store where the offices are. We aren’t let into the tiny office space, though. We’re taken to an open area where a round table is set up with comfy looking wood chairs. There’s a small kitchen behind us with the usual—a microwave, sink, and a cupboard for dishes.

  Mr. and Mrs. Smyth are shown in right after I seat myself as far away from John as possible. I leap up when they enter, but John stands more gracefully. Unfortunately, because my tongue is glued to the bottom or top or sides of my mouth—I haven’t actually determined where—he takes the lead.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Smyth. We’re so glad you could meet with us on such short notice.”

  “Please, dear, call me Glenda. And this is Roland.”

  Glenda and Roland are both in their late sixties, but they’re both quite fit. He has a kind face and an easy smile. She has the sparkling eyes of a woman who hasn’t lost her enthusiasm for life. When she looks at her husband, which she does after they’re seated across from us, her eyes light up. They’re an utterly adorable couple, who have a much more youthful vibe than their greyed hair and the wrinkles at the corners of their mouths and eyes indicate.

  “Thank you,” John says. He sounds sincere. I curse him in my head. I’m sure he’s faking it.

  He launches into a conversation with the Smyths about all we can offer them as a company. He freaking tells them, without preaching to them, about how they would be entering into a partnership, and how we’d like to see them and their store thrive, not take it over and swallow it up. Essentially, he just told them everything I told him earlier.

  Instead of being pissed off at having my words stolen or thinking about a cutting comeback delivered with sugar to edge him out of his own game, I’m still sitting over here, thinking about kissing my razor goodbye.

  I think I need serious help.

  In short, I sit there about as useful as Bill’s favorite comparison—a teat on a log—while John charms the pants off the Smyths. He’s amazing with people. I can see how he wowed my mom and Bill in the interview. We both accept pastries that one of the store’s employees bring halfway into the meeting. They’re delicious, and I know they’re from the bakery section.

  We’re offered coffee
too. I decline, and John replies that he’d love some, as long as it’s contained to a mug. The Smyths laugh even though they have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m sure my face, which isn’t given to blushes as I have an olive undertone, turns bright red.

  After John is finished, we both answer the Smyths’ questions. Surprisingly, John still does most of the talking. Glenda and Roland promise to think about everything we’ve brought to them today. I can see they really love what they do, which makes it heartbreaking that they’re struggling.

  Finally, we stand. Roland offers his hands. I grasp it warmly while John pumps Glenda’s hand, and then we switch.

  I gather up my things, throw my bag over my shoulder again, and get ready to follow Glenda back out to the front. Roland stays behind, ducking into his office with an apologetic smile about not seeing us out.

  At the doors, Glenda gives us one more smile. “You two make the perfect couple,” she pronounces as she, completely unnecessarily, holds the door open for us.

  I’m so flustered that all I can do is nod at her, force a smile, and make a quick getaway. I powerwalk to the curb so hard that my hips feel like they’re going to dislocate and rip right off my body. I think about how that would look, my legs detaching and walking on ahead, leaving the rest of me behind.

  John finally catches up with me. He shoots me a devious grin. “I thought that went really well. I think they’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Shut up,” I bite back.

  He keeps grinning. “You know, I set her straight. I let her know that we’re definitely not a couple.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” I drop my bag down to my lower arm so I can dig in it. I produce my company credit card out of my wallet and basically hurl it at John. The grin melts right off his face. “Use it to get a cab back to the office. I have another appointment I have to get to. Put it on my desk when you get there.”