Chapter 5

5

It's him.

I mean, he was wearing a mask that night- we both were- but when Cami and I walked in and I got an eyeful of that beautifully tatted chest, I knew it was him. How many other tall, devilishly handsome guys are roaming this city with a tattoo of a butterfly with a screaming skull as part of its wing in the middle of their chest? There was a script too, I think it's Italian, ‘sempre per la famiglia.' Pair that with his olive skin and dark hair, it's a safe bet he's Italian.

"So, you'll report directly to me. The department heads are under the guise that you are an executive assistant," he explains, stroking the dark stubble on his chin.

"And I'm just looking for inconsistencies?" I question, crossing and recrossing my legs, trying to relieve the growing ache between my thighs that started the moment I recognized my new boss.

"Mhmm," he hums, shifting back and producing a thumb drive from his pocket. "This has the discrepancies I've noticed as well as full permissions inside the software that should allow you access to anything and everything you need. Miss James-"

"Call me Wren, please," I interrupt, taking the thumb drive from his tattooed fingers.

"Okay, Wren. It's important that you handle this position with discretion."

"Absolutely," I reply, nodding my head a little too eagerly. " You have my word and my NDA, Mr. Sorrentino."

"Bowie," he states, pressing up from his seat and circling the desk.

My brows knit together. "I'm sorry?"

"Bowie," he says, extending his hand again. "Call me Bowie."

I can feel the heat building in my belly, licking up my spine and spreading across my cheeks as I stand to shake his hand. My knees feel a little weak as I search the kaleidoscope of colors that are his hazel eyes for the slightest flicker of recognition. He doesn't remember me.

He clears his throat, gesturing to the door. "I'll show you to your office."

Turns out, my office is just steps away from Cami's desk. It's a small, simple space but definitely an upgrade from the cubicle I shared at Daniels Financial. Dropping my purse on top of the bookcase, I settle into the plush office chair behind the modern walnut desk in the center of the room. Swiveling in the chair, I rub my thighs together with nerves and excitement as I power on the company-issued laptop and plug in the thumb drive. I shouldn't be thinking about Mr. Sorrentino- Bowie- fucking me on the couch in his office here like he did at the Monarch Club.

No, I definitely shouldn't be thinking about my boss, the man who gave me arguably the best orgasm of my life, fucking me again. It was supposed to be an anonymous hookup. He didn't ask for my number, so I have no reason to believe he wants anything to do with me. Hell, he's easily in his thirties- as if he'd be interested in me without the guise of alcohol. It'd be inappropriate to bring it up or try to go for seconds, wouldn't it? I'll just have to try to avoid him.

I send a text off to Drea- because I still can't believe it's him- before losing myself in work. The day slips by quickly as I get orientated with all the programs, not even stopping for lunch. By the end of it, I've figured out a plan and where I'll start my analytics. Fishing my phone from my bag, I sling the strap over my shoulder and head to the lobby to wait for the elevator.

And of course, just as the doors part and I step inside, Bowie chooses that moment to leave for the day also.

My stomach flips at his proximity and I draw in a deep breath to still my racing heart. Big Mistake. The intoxicating scent of manly soap, woodsy musk, and spice floods my nostrils, and my reaction is visceral.

My body definitely isn't on board with avoiding him.

He doesn't say a word the entire ride down to the parking garage, but I feel the heat of his gaze on me as I mindlessly scroll through my social media feeds.

Our shoes echo against the concrete, the chirp of my Honda unlocking piercing the silence as I reach for my door handle.

"Goodnight Wren," his husky voice calls as he approaches a sleek black BMW.

I twist back around, eyes tracking the way he hitches his pants and slides into the driver's seat. "Night, Bowie."

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about his dick still. Out of all my sexual encounters, that night with him has been living in my head rent free. The way those little barbells massaged me with each stroke. I'd never pegged some CEO for having a jacob's ladder, but ten out of ten, would recommend.

"Knock, knock," an unfamiliar voice calls, knuckles rapping on the glass of my open door.

Humming in response, I look up from my computer to see a middle-aged man with light brown hair and a paunch of a belly standing in the doorway. I've been here for two weeks and never seen this man before, but something about him immediately gives me the icks.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Allen, Allen Whitmore. Head of accounting," he says, stepping into my office with a to-go cup of coffee in each hand. "I brought you a latte and an apology."

My face must be broadcasting my confusion because he jumps into quickly explaining as he hesitantly places the paper cup on my desk and backs away.

He takes a sip of his own cup and lets out a little chuckle. "I'm sure I'm holding up your progress on the reports. I'd asked Mr. Sorrentino for an extension on month-ends, but I'm still not finished with it. We were supposed to be getting a new accountant but, I guess he wanted you for himself." His eyes linger on my cleavage before settling on my face. "I can see why."

"Excuse me!" I huff without an ounce of decorum as I shoot to my feet, folding my arms across my chest.

"Easy, sweetheart. It was just a compliment." His free hand goes up in mock surrender, but the innuendo is clear in his next sentence. "I've heard it's on a trial basis anyway. Still time for you to be under me."

My feet move on their own accord as I step closer, rear my hand back, and slap the smug look from his face.

I should've checked my temper, but I've got a nasty flair for acting first and thinking second. My social worker labeled me as 'impetuous' and 'overly emotional', part of the reason I was deemed "not suitable" for foster care in my teens and left in a group home. If I knew anything about my family, I'd blame it on a fiery, free-spirited mother or a dad who taught me to stand up for myself, but I don't.

His face twists up into a scowl as he snatches my wrist. He opens his mouth to speak, but it's not his voice I hear- it's Bowie's.

"Is there a problem here?"

My stomach knots. Shit, this guy's a department head. I'm totally going to get fired.

Allen's frown tips into a sly smile as his grasp shifts from my wrist to holding my fingers. He lazily shakes my hand before slipping his own into his pocket. "None at all, Mr. Sorrentino."

"Wren- is that true?" Bowie asks, his posture stiff as he eyes me dubiously.

Ugh, why do I like it so much when he says my name?

I weigh my options. Tell the big boss about Allen's predatory comments without any proof to back it up, or let it go. Allen's wearing the evidence of my action on his left cheek and he didn't rat me out…

I slowly let out a frustrated breath, shaking my head as I answer, "No problem. Allen was just introducing himself."

Bowie's eyes narrow as he studies me, like he's trying to decipher my tells. He won't discover them so easily.

"Okay then," he nods, pulling his phone from his pocket and typing away on it furiously. "Allen, you will have the month-end reports to Wren by the end of the week or you'll be training your replacement," Bowie says, not bothering to glance up from his screen.

The shit-eating grin on Allen's face falls quicker than my panties did the other night at Bowie's commanding tone. "Yes sir," he grinds out, shooting me a loathsome glare before hurrying off down the hall.

Bowie tucks his phone back into his pocket and paces off towards the breakroom. I swallow harshly, the knots of panic in my stomach loosening when I realize I'm not getting fired. Returning to my desk and shaking the mouse, my computer screen comes back to life and that feeling of dread crashes back into me the second I see an email waiting from Bowie.

Meet me in the breakroom immediately.

-BS

If my career wasn't suddenly back on the chopping block, I'd laugh at his initials like the mature twenty-three-year-old I am.

I didn't bring lunch, so my eyes dart around the office, looking for an excuse to go to the breakroom.

The coffee.

I smooth my skirt, grab the bribe latte from the corner of my desk, and cross the reception area. Cami smiles and nods at me as I pass her, raising my cup and giving it a gentle shake, saying, "Going to warm this up."

My heartbeat thrums loudly in my ears, perfectly in sync with clips of my heels on the tile of the empty hall. It's a little after ten, too early for lunch and past the morning break. I rack my brain trying to figure out why he wants me to meet him there, of all places, instead of his office.

Every single thought I had in my head evaporates at the sight of his bulky frame bent over the coffee maker. The light blue material of his shirt is putting in extra work for the way it's tightly stretched across his broad, defined shoulders. And don't get me started on how the light gray slacks hug his muscular thighs and ass.

Rolling my shoulders back, I stride over to the microwave with confidence, put the cup in, and lay the lid on a napkin to the side as I punch in two minutes and press start, all while keeping my back to Bowie.

I tap my fingernails on the counter as my anxiety climbs higher with each second that falls off the timer. I don't know what I'm waiting for, but as the screen reads 1:27, two large hands suddenly cage me against the counter.

Faded black Roman numerals and x's mar the spaces between his knuckles, a black rose bleeding out from beneath his silver Rolex onto the back of one hand and on the other, black lines creep from beneath the crisp cuff that conceals the full design. I've seen the power these hands hold; the way they can go from damaging to delicate in a matter of moments- and now, they're just inches away from mine.

His warm breath skates across the shell of my ear in a growly whisper. "You sure you're okay, Wren?"

It doesn't matter that his words aren't sexy. The way he says them is enough to make my heart seize, a chill coursing through my veins and making my toes curl inside my H a deep rumbling that stays in his throat as the corner of his mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk. "Is that so?" he asks, pushing off the counter to lean back against the island and folding his arms across his chest.

I force myself to turn around and busy myself with getting my coffee, because the ache between my legs only grows stronger the more I look at him. I can't have this reaction to my boss. I mean, he doesn't even remember me and I'm reading way too far into this. He was just concerned for his employee. He probably called me in here to make it look less obvious if I were to snitch on Allen. Right?

I've planned my exit, a way to sashay out of here looking cute and seductive to test the boss's intentions. But, when I turn back around, he's gone. How did such a big man move so quietly?

Well damn, maybe I am making this out to be more than it is.

Bowie's threat to Allen must've registered, because come Friday afternoon, the file is in my inbox and quickly becomes the bane of my existence.

For fucks sake. I must've tried at least a dozen times to open it, but the file is partially corrupted. Tired of wasting my time, I decide to just take it home with me and see if Drea can help. She majored in software engineering before switching to business management at the end of Sophomore year.

Grabbing my phone, I shoot a text off to her, seeing if she's working tonight. I'm hoping I can bribe her with margs and queso to try to restore this file for me. Locking my phone, I lean back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose with a groan. A mild headache has started to set in after staring at all this data today.

"Hey, I'm heading out. You okay?" Cami asks, digging around in her purse from her position in my doorway.

"Mhm, yeah." I glance over at the clock. "I'll be close behind you."

Keys in hand, she shifts her purse on her shoulder. "Well, have a good weekend!"

"You too," I call out as she crosses the lobby.

My phone vibrates on the hard surface of my desk, and I tap the screen to see Drea's acceptance of my bribe. Yes! I power down my laptop, slip it into my bag, and start placing my pick-up order at the Salty Sombrero as I hurry off toward the elevator.

When I get down to the parking garage, it's eerily silent, and something about it just feels off. I unlock my car, slide my keys between my fingers, and quickly stride over to my Honda. Just as I grab for the door handle, a hand lands on my shoulder, making me scream as I spin around, ready to shove a key into someone's jugular.

"Whoa there," Allen placates, hands flying up as he takes a step backward.

My hand lands on my chest, trying to physically stop my heart from breaking through my ribcage. "Why would you sneak up on me like that?!"

He chuckles lowly. "I didn't mean to, I tried to catch you before you got on the elevator but I wasn't fast enough, so I took the stairs."

I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Okaaay, what did you need?"

"To give you this." He produces a thumb drive from his shirt pocket, thrusting it into my face.

I don't reach for it. Instead, I adjust my bag on my shoulder and let my resting bitch face speak for itself.

He extends his arm again, exaggerating the motion of handing it to me. "I think the file I sent you earlier saved wrong, so I wanted to give you a different copy just in case."

Jeeze, Wren, you've been binging too much 'You' on Netflix.

"Oh," I say, taking the thumb drive from him. "Thanks. That was nice of you."

"Yeah, don't need you telling the boss I didn't do my job."

"Ha," I laugh awkwardly, desperate to get out of this exchange. "Well, I've got to get going. My friend's waiting on me," I finish, throwing a thumb over my shoulder.

He nods, taking a step back, but still standing there. Watching.

Weirdo.

The moment I'm inside my car, I smash the lock button, jab the key in the ignition, and throw it into reverse, putting as much distance between me and Allen as possible.

"To-go margaritas are the BEST thing to come from the pandemic," I say, sitting on the barstool and pulling a leg underneath myself at the kitchen island.

"Ugh, I miss day drinking and Tiger King," Drea whines as she drags another tortilla chip through the vat of queso I brought home.

Grabbing a few more chips, I reach for the cheese dip. "Thank god your parents let us take over the basement."

"For sure. Speaking of, ma and papá invited us for dinner tomorrow. Drew leaves Monday for New York."

Using the ankle that's dangling, I twist on my stool to face Drea. "You know I won't say no to your mom's cooking- do you know what she's making?"

"Tamales, they're wonder twins' favorite," she replies with a roll of her eyes, wiping her hands on the front of her sweats.

"Stop, you know your parents are just as proud of you as they are of Drew."

"I didn't get into Columbia Medical School though." She pauses, bobbing the straw in her cup up and down. "Now where's this file you wanted me to look at?" She eyes me, pinching the straw and bringing it to her lips.

"Oh!" I slap my hand down on the counter. "So, creepy Allen snuck up on me in the parking garage and gave me another thumb drive with the correct version of the file."

Drea scrunches her nose, pinning me with a discontent stare. "That's sus. Why wouldn't he just email it?"

I shrug my shoulders. "He said he wanted to make sure I had it and didn't tattle to Bowie about it."

"Hmm," she hums, reaching for another chip. "Send it to me anyways, let me put those two years of computer science classes to use."

"Okay, I will next time I get my laptop out. I need to look at the new file and get the report together for Bowie anyways."

I slide off the stool, grabbing another marg from the drink carrier. "Let's watch a movie, I'm tipsy and want something sappy."

"Oh, yes! The choices on the Hook'dUP app are NOT appealing." She replaces the lid on the queso and rolls the chip bag shut. "Any movie in particular?"

"Nah," I say with a shake of my head. "Lemme grab my phone and see what's trending."

Drea continues putting away the rest of our dinner as I grab my phone from my bag and flop onto the couch. I go to unlock it and see that I have two missed calls from Trey and a message asking to meet up.

Absolutely not.

I delete his message without responding and block his number. I do not need his brand of crazy on top of Allen's.