One Bossy Date: Chapter 12

Once I’ve had time to settle in without breaking something over the shit she put me through on that plane, I text Piper.

Come to my room and bring your friend.

Piper: How about I just send her?

Brock: What? More trouble you won’t tell me about?

That wins me a red-faced angry emoji.

Brock: Will you ever trust me, Miss Renee?

I watch the dots swirling several times as she types out a reply and stops. Then silence.

Enough of this crap.

Brock: Ten minutes.

I’m almost looking forward to more snark, but it doesn’t come. Too bad.

Less than ten minutes later, there’s a light knock at my door.

Piper walks in first with Jennifer Landers right behind her.

“We’re here, your highness. What’s your command?” Piper sits on the edge of my bed, crossing her legs. The last of the blue has faded from her hair, or maybe she’s brushed new gold highlights into it. Her green dress matches her eyes, alive with what looks like hummingbirds all over it.

Damn.

Did she have to give my cock a new appreciation for feathers?

I’ve had fever dreams about having this woman in my bed, preferably naked and alone with her legs open and her hot little pussy waiting.

I could send her to the goddamned birds.

I could make her soar.

Turning, I subtly tug on my belt, hiding the hard-on behind my pants.

Her friend grabs the chair across the room and sits quietly.

“It’s nice feeling needed. I’m glad you brought both of us along this time, boss,” Landers says. “Lay it on us.”

I lift a brow.

“Can you both keep a secret?”

They stare at me, look at each other, and then slowly nod.

I hope like hell I can trust their mouths.

“You two are my secret weapon,” I say. “Everyone else on this trip has stayed at this hotel before. If I used them to gather information, they could be spotted by any bad actors working from the inside.”

“Okay?” Piper brushes her hand through her gold hair.

“You two haven’t ever stepped foot in this place.” At least not that I know of. I look at Piper. “Have you? No Chicago misadventures I’m not aware of?”

She shakes her head. “No. The only Winthrope property I’ve ever been to is Lanai.”

“Excellent.” I glance over at Miss Landers for good measure. “This your first time too?”

She nods.

“Alright. I need you two posing as ordinary guests. I’ve paid for your rooms with a card that’s not in my name or the company’s. I don’t want anyone knowing you’re affiliated with me or Winthrope. We’re going to find out what our guests are truly experiencing here, without any unseen saboteurs noticing.”

The women share a suspicious look before they turn to me again.

“I mean, having secret meetings in your hotel room will definitely keep anyone from noticing we’re together,” Piper says.

I roll my eyes. “We’re on a private floor, Miss Renee.”

“And there’s no security camera between the elevator and your room?”

Fuck.

Why does she have to think of everything?

I sigh. “You may need a new disguise tomorrow. Can you dye your hair black?”

She grimaces, darting me a dirty look when she realizes I’m joking.

“Whatever. We’ve got this, one way or another.”

“I’d like it if you could find out whatever you can about the negative reviews. I’ll keep an open mind to real problems. If there are holes in our services, you’re far more likely to find them than me or anyone else in my senior circle.”

“Right,” she whispers.

“We’re on it, Mr. Winthrope!” Jennifer chimes in.

“Anything else?” Piper asks.

I shake my head. “I’ve got another engagement across town this evening. I’ll leave you two to plan out your spy games.”

I see the girls out and head downstairs where the driver I’ve hired from Fluff Rides waits. Ridiculous name aside, it’s supposedly the best in this city. The company was started by Nick Brandt’s wife, once a driver herself.

“Where to?” he asks.

“Oasis Springs.” Those words taste like mud.

It’s barely ten minutes across town. Still too long.

My blood boils a few degrees hotter on the ride over.

The car stops in front of a tall, older hotel that proclaims itself historic on every welcome sign, but this place is no Palmer House.

How the fuck are the same people who keep review bombing my hotel reviews praising this?

It’s nothing special.

Hell, I never expected anything owned by Apollo Finch to be glamorous—no matter how much he pays media jackals to kiss his ass—but my grandparents put time and love and brains into Winthrope Chicago.

When I saw Oasis Springs had a higher rating than we do now—north of four stars—I had to see it for myself.

I wish I fucking hadn’t.

It’s tired, a frozen snapshot of hotel glamor from the early 1990s.

Even the outside looks dusty, old, and dark.

This place hasn’t been remodeled or updated or probably deep cleaned in years.

Whatever. I stomp through the lobby into the dimly lit bar and order a shot of straight vodka.

“Comin’ right up,” the bartender says.

Even the marble counter doesn’t have a shine.

Yeah, no.

This shabby hotel beating my ass to a pulp doesn’t add up.

It’s not just the glaring fact that they magically have better reviews.

The industry award conference will be coming up soon, and Finch is flogging this horse into the running.

Winthrope won the last fourteen years in a row. If I don’t claw back our reputation soon, we’re not making it to fifteen.

I can’t let that happen, much less lose to a clown like Apollo Finch. The last time he was nipping at our heels, his life spun out. Everyone heard about his messy divorce, the abuse allegations, the stint in rehab he had for months after Gramps stole the trophy he was expecting that year.

Another reminder my grandparents left me in good hands.

What the hell will they think if we fall on our face the instant their coattails wear off?

A shot glass slides in front of me from the other end of the bar.

Finally.

I toss it down and order a brandy, the same drink I had with Piper in Lanai.

If only this trip was just another carefree adventure with her. Not this glorified spy game that’s got me chasing my own tail.

In another life, I’d get to the bottom of her problems. I’d run them the fuck away, no matter how difficult.

Then I’d give her so much more than a bittersweet kiss and a sky lit with cold stars.

This time, I’d damn well finish the job in my room, even at the risk of making our lives a hellscape.

Idiot. She’s not why you’re here, a voice reminds me.

I drink my brandy and order one more to banish my wishful thinking.

That voice in my head is right.

I wish like hell I could listen long enough to keep my mouth off hers.

“Something on your mind, pal?” The bartender must notice the thunderhead hanging over me. “Hey, hold up. You look familiar. Don’t you own the Winthrope hotels? I watch the business shows.”

Shit.

So much for spy games.

I should have kept a lower profile, but the guy seems decent enough.

No point in lying.

“Yeah, that’s me. Just came here for a little peace without my own people falling all over me. I can always sense the stress rolling off them when they realize who I am. Here’s an extra tip if you help me find it—and keep quiet.” I pull a crisp hundred from my wallet and slide it over.

He grins like I just passed him a winning lotto ticket.

“You want another brandy? On the house.”

“Sure.”

“That stool draws success like a magnet, you know,” he says as he slides the glass back in front of me.

I look up at him, waiting.

“It’s Mr. Finch’s favorite seat every time he’s in town too.”

Aw, shit.

I don’t want to share anything with Finch, not even a fucking barstool.

My phone pings and I fish it out of my pocket. One new text from Piper.

Where are you? We need to talk. Like now.

I down the drink, letting its warmth blanket my brain before I type, Back soon. What’s up?

Piper: The restaurant downstairs doesn’t sell duck eggs. No restaurant on the property does.

Maybe it’s the brandy, but I’m lost.

Brock: Okay?

Piper: A reviewer claimed they got food poisoning from the eggs, but that’s never been on the menu. Not once.

I frown at the screen.

That’s something, all right, even if it’s proof we’re being fucked over.

Good work. I’m heading back now. We’ll talk when I get there.

I stand on my private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan.

A few lazy yachts slip through the summer night, their lights twinkling in the descending darkness like my own ghostly thoughts.

The best view of the lake in this city is a nice backdrop for meditation—even if it’s not getting me anywhere tonight.

A gentle rapping echoes through my room.

I turn toward the glass door. My blood flares a hundred degrees hotter when I see she’s changed into this sleek onyx-black dress, elegant and still cut too low where it counts.

And anywhere is too low on this woman, considering a single inch of her skin turns me into a drooling beast.

Then I notice Miss Landers standing behind Piper, and my lust deflates. I gave them both cards to get in, but if I had my way, only one of them would be surprising me now.

I cross over to the door and slide it open.

“Duck eggs,” I say as soon as they’re outside. “Tell me everything.”

“It’s not just the eggs,” Piper says.

That grabs my attention.

“There’s more?”

“Yep. You remember that review I mentioned where someone whined about threadbare towels? They had pictures, all ivory towels without the W for Winthrope. Well, the housekeeping manager told me they don’t circulate towels without the letter. It’s how they keep yours separate from guests’ towels, and old ones are donated and replaced monthly.”

I suck in a cutting breath from the cool night.

“I knew it was bullshit,” I tell her.

“There was also that one-star review about the flat Coke,” Jennifer says.

I glance at her.

Flat Coke?

Flat fucking Coke?

Someone wasted the brainpower and several minutes of their short life on this rock to knee me in the balls over flat soda?

“Even I don’t think there’s anything deeper there,” I say. “It happens sometimes. The suppliers aren’t perfect.”

“Actually…” Piper bites her lip. “The hotel only sells bottled drinks everywhere but the downstairs restaurant. The restaurant has fountain drinks, but they’re never sent up for room service. If they got a flat Coke, they opened a can and let it sit too long. I’m pretty confident you can’t blame the restaurant for that. There’s also the one-star review about the bitchtastic manager—”

“Bitchtastic manager?” I repeat. Now there’s a new one.

“Sally Ettinger,” Piper finishes.

The name doesn’t register.

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t understand. There’s no one here by that name. No one I recall.”

“Exactly. Yet there is a one-star hell review about a manager named Sally. They even claimed she’s the head of operations,” Piper says, tapping her pointer fingers together.

If I weren’t so shocked, I might relish the fact that she’s confirming I’m sane.

My sabotage theory isn’t a baseless conspiracy, and it’s killing her to admit it.

“Javier Sanderson is the lead manager. He has been since the day Gramps transferred him from our flagship in New York,” I bite off, each word burning more than the last.

Piper nods. “I know. I spoke to him.”

“What? You weren’t supposed to—”

“Relax. We acted like normal customers,” Landers cuts in. “He doesn’t know we’re with you.”

Anger knifes through me.

I knew it.

I fucking knew it all along.

My gut never steers me wrong.

Someone’s paying people to lie about my properties, and after my little visit to Oasis Springs today, I have a damnably good guess who that someone is. Especially when the grim reviews aren’t hitting our properties outside the US.

But why?

What would motivate that cock-weasel to go out of his way to slash my throat and piss on my grandparents’ legacy?

What did we ever do to him besides smoke his greedy ass, fair and square?

The damn award, I think wretchedly. Is that what’s behind this?

“Are you okay?” Piper whispers, concern flashing in her eyes.

“Absolutely,” I lie. “Fantastic work, ladies. I’ll take it from here.”

Piper’s face pulls tight. Jennifer stares at the floor.

“What?” I bite off.

Dammit, I’ve got to get a handle on my temper, even if they have no right to prod at me.

“You could let us help,” Piper says quietly. “We’ve helped you get this far, right?”

“Your assistance is appreciated. Both of you. However, we may be dealing with an active fraud case and corporate liable now. I’ll need my legal team for that.”

“Let’s hope you treat them nicer,” she mutters.

“Excuse me, Miss Renee?”

Piper meets my eyes with a defiant look. “You intimidate people. I think that’s why you needed us to get to the bottom of this.”

Jennifer nods. “A lot of people are a little afraid of you.”

Oh, great. It’s two on one and I never asked for their opinions about managing my staff.

Still, what if they’re right?

What if this blind spot has cost me months of precious time where we could’ve stopped this fuckery in its tracks?

“Miss Renee,” I stop.

She bites her lip. Something about that gesture I’ve seen her do countless times puts me weirdly at ease.

“Finish your thoughts,” I say, swiping a hand through the air. “Your honesty is an asset and you might as well finish breaking my balls.”

That makes her blush like a fire engine.

“While you’re in a tizzy about your reputation, maybe you should consider the perception that you’re kind of a tyrant. Your people might be more honest and motivated to help if you’d stop being a porcupine,” she says softly.

Damn. She’s right and the little black dress she’s wearing fits her like a glove, grinding down what’s left of my pride.

“I should go,” Jennifer says nervously. “My DoorDash is probably in the lobby by now…”

My eyes flick to Piper, sure that she’ll use the excuse to escape with her friend.

She swallows so hard it’s visible. “See you later, Jenn.”

She wants to finish this?

Interesting.

I watch Jennifer skitter out the door with a hand pressed to her mouth like she’s trying hard not to laugh—or vomit.

When the door clicks shut behind her, I say, “Miss Renee, you’re a beautiful woman with a terrible mouth.”

“And you suck at compliments.” She steps closer, her eyes a green brushfire.

“My personal relations aside, I appreciate everything else you did today. I mean that sincerely.”

“Do you?” she whispers softly, her eyes cold and assessing.

There’s a silence before I sigh.

“Am I really such a fucking dragon in a suit?”

“Fire-breathing,” she bites off. “Which makes it more amazing that the man I met in Hawaii wasn’t. He knew how to have fun and treat a lady—or at least he did a really good job pretending he did. I like to think you have an actual human side, but you don’t show it much. Why?”

“Why?” I clip. “If I handled my entire staff the way I treated you in Lanai, you know where that would get me.” I don’t need to say trouble.

“Sucks. Because I really liked that Brock.”

I tilt my chin up, staring her down.

What the fuck does that mean?

She doesn’t like this one? And why does that feel like such a hornet sting?

I’m a competent manager for a company this size. Women would throw themselves at me in legions if I’d let them.

Yet somehow I’m still standing here, captivated by this green-eyed medusa, dazed and pissed off.

“You have nothing to say to that?” she asks quietly.

“Go out with me.” It flies out of my mouth like a bullet.

I’m fucking bristling.

She stands there like a startled deer, her mouth parted and too inviting.

“Um, what? Why would I—”

“Tomorrow night. After we’re done for the day, I’ll give you a proper night in Chicago.”

She sucks her bottom lip, making that red target brighter.

“Like…what do you mean? Another date?” Her voice is so soft I barely hear her.

Fuck, I don’t even know how to answer that.

If I admitted what kind of jackass thing I’m craving, I’d talk myself right out of it.

“A business meeting, Miss Renee,” I offer. “To show you I can appreciate my people without sending them off to die in the salt mines. And to reward you because your sleuthing skills are invaluable.”

“A business meeting?” Her face falls.

Fucking idiot, saying the wrong thing again.

Why couldn’t I have Gramps’ charmer gene? Apparently, that skips a generation too, and I wound up with foot-in-mouth syndrome.

“Call it dinner or hanging out or having me as your tour guide. Whatever. I don’t care. There will be exquisite wine and a fancy new dress waiting for you before we go,” I promise.

She smiles so wide her teeth shine like a string of pearls.

“That’s not necessary. But I guess I won’t turn down the chance to see Chicago.”

“I’m glad you agree. Also, I won’t have you thinking I don’t know how to dress you up like the sexiest woman alive.”

Her face heats as she looks away.

“…Mr. Winthrope, I don’t need fancy dresses. Really,” she insists.

She still won’t look at me.

I take a step forward until we’re toe to toe and I’m peering down at her. “Will you keep calling me Brock?”

Her eyes swing up to mine. “Depends. Will you ever drop the Miss Renee thing?”

My lips curl up.

“If you’re just Piper, that sounds like a date, and I don’t think you want it to be.”

“Um. I can’t answer a question I haven’t been asked, can I?”

“You’re impossible,” I snarl.

“And you’re Satan. Hell is just another Winthrope property with legitimately sucky food and no air conditioning. One of these days, I know I’m going to feel the horns poking out,” she spits.

I chuckle. “That would require touching me again. Though if your little hands wind up on my head while I teach that goddamned mouth some long overdue respect, I’d be the last to complain. Especially if I make you ride my face.”

She falls back with a startled gasp.

She’s so flushed now, her chest rising in shallow breaths that highlight her cleavage.

I’m so hard I think my brain is operating on dregs, all the blood lost below my beltline.

Minx. I wonder if this night on the town might be suicide after all.

How the hell will I survive a few hours with her alone without making good on every reckless, awful urge that grips me every time I’m in her presence?

“You could try to keep this professional,” she whispers, her breath falling against my throat.

“What makes you think I don’t just enjoy riling you up?” I reach for a loose lock of that spun-gold blond hair.

The way it threads through my fingers like silk feels obscene. So does the way her eyes flutter shut as she inhales deeply.

“I think you’re just trying to hedge your bets by dancing around what ‘dinner’ means,” she tells me.

“I don’t need to hedge a damn thing. If I asked you out, I’d make sure you couldn’t say no.”

“Why? Because I work for you?” She opens her eyes and glares at me.

It’s like a bucket of ice water. “No. Way to ruin the moment, by the way.”

“Then why?”

I bend so we’re eye to eye now. “Because, Piper Renee. If we were dating, you’d be hoarse from moaning my name and then skipping off into the sunset planning our wedding.”

She makes a strangled sound, then throws her head back and laughs wildly. “You’re so conceited! Oh my God.”

“I thought I was your Lucifer?”

“You’re proving my point.”

I don’t have a snappy comeback as my eyes slide down the curves I’m aching to trace with my tongue.

I just know when a beautiful woman implies you’re the king of all evil, you want to act the part and show her how atrocious you can truly be.

“Brock?” Her voice is featherlight.

“Yes, my green-eyed angel?” I rasp, brushing my lips over hers.

“I hate you,” she whispers. Her body betrays her true feelings no matter how sincere she sounds.

“Why?”

“You called me yours.”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘your Lucifer.’ And ‘my green-eyed angel.’”

Fuck.

“Slip of the tongue,” I say, tearing myself away from another white-hot kiss.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I’ll never hear the end of it now, will I?”

“No, but—” Her voice trails off.

“But?”

“You’re totally wrong. I’m no angel.” Then she lurches up on her toes, leans in, and smothers her lips against mine.

Instant heaven.

She thinks she’s caught me off guard, and she has.

Of course, I’m not about to let her win.

I flick my tongue against her lips, pulling her open, looting what’s mine in slow, fevered gasps that rattle out of her.

Give me strength.

If I was a weaker man, I’d throw her against the wall and fuck her right here. Or hell, maybe I’d drag her out on that balcony and strip her naked for all of Chicago to see.

She’s got me this mad.

This crazy.

This desperate.

“Piper, fuck,” I rasp, snarling against her tongue.

“Oh! Oh, Brock,” she whimpers through parted lips.

I see the opportunity to attack her again, running my tongue along the length of hers.

She moves one hand up to cup my face.

I gather her closer, holding her belly against my raging hard-on, making her feel what she does to me as our tongues play like wild dogs.

When I’m fully breathless and barely tearing myself away from her, she stares up at me, her lungs working overtime.

“Now who’s evil?” I whisper darkly.

“Still you. A thousand percent.” She stumbles back with a smile, though, wiping at her bottom lip where my teeth tug into her flesh. “So, it’s all a game? Is that it?”

“You started it,” I say with a shrug.

With one more heavy look, she whirls around and starts for the door.

I’m done.

I reach out, grab her waist, and yank her closer to me again. “For the record, Miss Sunshine, I wouldn’t have kissed you like a maniac if I was just playing. I promise you, I don’t have time for childish games.”

She leans back in my arms with a longing glance.

Yeah. She isn’t making this hellish urge to shred that black dress any easier.

“I should go anyway,” she says softly. “If I stay—”

“You should,” I admit, releasing her like it’s the hardest thing in the world.

She glances over her shoulder. “Brock?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a fun boss to hate.”

“And you, Sunshine, are fucking merciless. That’s why you’ll get no mercy from me.”

She giggles. “Big praise, coming from the Prince of Hotel Darkness.”

Fuming, I scan her body and the way that black dress hugs it.

“You’re still wearing what I pick tomorrow. If you show up to dinner in that thing, I will turn it into confetti in ten minutes flat,” I vow, holding up a fist to my chest.

Her breath hitches and she smiles like the little tornado she is.

So cute, innocent, whip-smart, and yet somehow perfectly capable of blowing my entire world to the stars. Her soft laughter draws my arms back around her like a magnet.

She kisses my chin, my cheek.

I turn her to face me again, because I want—no, I need—her mouth one more time.

So I press my lips to hers, stealing her breath, twining her tongue.

When her phone goes off, I add my teeth.

“Ignore it,” I order, following her movement to steal another kiss.

“I can’t. That’s my sister.” She pulls away from me, fishing her phone out of the black bag hanging over her shoulder. “Ugh. You made me miss the call.”

“The cost of those forbidden kisses. We’re right back at the family problems you won’t explain.” The thing you can’t trust me with, I mean.

Without a word, she flees through the door to the elevator with her phone pressed to her face.

Fucking hell.

Even the world’s most torrid kisses can’t break through to her.

I’d do well to remember that tomorrow night and keep it casual, no matter what happens.

There’s clearly something she doesn’t want me knowing about her life, and trust is a scarce fucking commodity.

It’s also a good reminder why I’ve managed to avoid getting mixed up with anyone—until now—if we’re mixed up in anything besides a flash in the pan mistake.

Walking into the bathroom, I throw my clothes on the ground and take a cold shower before I turn in early, ignoring the biting need to jerk off to her for the tenth time this week.

If only my discipline extended to my dreams.

I know it’s a fucking fantasy the second it starts, and I still don’t care.

We’re naked in my bed, her nipples as rosy as her mouth and aching for my touch.

She squirms as I pin her down, ravishing her neck and shoulders. I splay a hand over her bare breasts. She sucks in a deep breath and exhales like mad.

“If you don’t stop now, you will have to make love to me,” she whispers.

I pull her closer. “Is that supposed to be a threat? There’s only one thing in the world I’d rather do.”

“What’s that?”

Growling, I tilt her face and bring her mouth to mine.

I kiss her long and slow before I push inside her, claiming her with a groan, this voice in my pulse drumming the fact that she’s not the only one being claimed.

I don’t want to think about what that means.

Just before I move my hips, pulling a rough orgasm out of her, the violins from hell erupt in my ear.

I lurch up in a cold sweat, without bothering to swipe my alarm. I throw my phone against the wall instead.

“She doesn’t trust you, you donkey,” I mutter. “Whatever you do, don’t let your dick do the thinking.”