To my arrogant boss, p.7
To My Arrogant Boss, page 7
Jane smiled. “That’s cool.”
“Our daddy is furious.” I laughed.
“Oh no, why?”
“He’s not our type,” I said with a wry smile.
“What’s that mean?” Her lips thinned and she frowned.
“All I know is that he’s a democrat, and my dad is furious.”
“Do you call him your dad or your daddy?”
“Growing up, we called him Daddy. I think it’s antiquated and weird for a man my age to be saying daddy.”
“Yeah.” She paused. “So are you a republican as well, then?”
“Oh, Jane. Do you really want to know?” I winked at her. “Don’t we have enough to argue about without bringing politics into it?”
“I’m a democrat,” she said with a shrug. “I have no problem telling you that.”
“Look, this is all I have to say on the matter: I’m fiscally conservative and socially liberal.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that in each election I vote for the candidate I think is best.”
“Okaaaay.” She ran her hands through her hair and then asked. “So your dad is not happy with the match?”
“No. But she’ll still be able to marry him. I’m the one that has to make the suitable marriage.” I rolled my eyes.
She looked confused. “Didn’t you say that you never want to get married?”
“My parents still hope that I’ll marry some nice Southern girl from below the Mason-Dixon line.”
“So they’re really old-school, huh?”
“You could say that.” My parents were so old-school that they still talked about the good ol’ days back in the Antebellum South. I had a feeling that Jane wouldn’t want to hear that. In fact, it made me slightly embarrassed to admit how stuck in the old days my parents were. I loved them and I knew they loved me, but they had ideas and thoughts that should never leave their mouths. We’d had shouting matches on more than one occasion, and it was because of them that I’d left the South. I’d wanted to be around a more diverse, ethnically and financially, group of people. Admittedly, attending Harvard for undergrad and Columbia for my MBA hadn’t exactly widened my social circles a whole bunch, but I had gotten to experience a life outside of debutante balls and afternoon teas.
“I’m lucky in that my parents are open to me dating whoever I want as long as that person treats me well and makes me happy.” She made a face. “Well, now they are. Before they didn’t want me dating anyone. Now they’re asking for grandkids.”
I shuddered. “Kids, yikes.” Though as I stared at her face, I could picture her kids. They would be cute. They’d have an attitude, but I was positive they would be cute.
“Yeah. I’m like Mom, Dad, hold ya brakes.” She giggled. “Let me get laid with a hundred different guys first and then I’ll settle down.”
“You want to bang a hundred men?” I was surprised by her revelation. Jane hadn’t struck me as that sort of woman, but then she surprised me frequently.
“No, I don’t want to bang a hundred men.” She shook her head and sighed. “I was just joking around.”
“I know, Jane. You don’t have to be so exasperated with me all the time. I can joke around as well. I’m not just some very hot, very rich douchebag.”
“Well, one of those words is correct.”
“Hot?”
“Try again.”
“Very rich.”
“Nope.”
“Best looking man you’ve ever met?”
“That wasn’t in your original sentence.”
“But you admit that it’s true.” We stopped at the traffic lights on Market Street. “It’s been nice getting to know you,” I told her. “I feel like I really know you now.”
“I didn’t tell you that much.” She sounded a little defensive, and I laughed.
“True, I’d love to know more.”
“Do you really want to know more about me or do you want to see more of me?” She raised an eyebrow. “And I don’t mean see me in the office.”
“Are you offering to take your bra off and flash me?” I asked hopefully. “Because if so, the answer is yes, please. A hundred times over, yes.” As I joked with her, I also realized that I was curious to know more about her. What did she do for fun? Had she ever had a serious boyfriend? Was she dating anyone now? Did she ever think of me when she played with herself?
“What do you think, Tate?” She rolled her eyes and then started walking. “The light is green.”
“Sorry, I was distracted by the beauty of your eyes.”
She reached over and hit me in the shoulder. “What was that for?” I asked her.
“Oops, sorry, I was distracted by your bullshit,” she said and that made me laugh even harder. “Okay, Ross is just on the next block. Do you want me to meet you at the gym?”
“No, that’s okay. I can wait for you to get your stuff.” I wanted to tell her that I wanted to watch her change; suddenly images of her in a changing room stripping down to her bra and panties filled my mind. Fuck! I wanted to see her naked so badly.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She watched me with eyes narrowed and for a few brief seconds, I almost thought she could read my mind.
“I have an idea,” I said as we continued walking down the street. We passed an old man holding a sign, and I pulled out a twenty and placed it in his hand. “God bless,” I said with a small smile. Jane looked at me with an astonished expression. “What?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m surprised you gave money to him.”
“Why? He was homeless. It’s a huge problem here in San Francisco.”
“Yeah, but most people say they won’t give homeless people money.” She shrugged. “They say that they’ll just spend the money on alcohol or drugs.”
“Maybe some do. But many will buy food. No one should be hungry.”
“I agree.” She looked at me with new respect in her eyes, and I felt myself puffing up like a peacock. I was happy that she was proud of me in some way. “And yeah, homelessness is a huge issue. It’s sad that a city as rich as this has so many homeless people.” She sighed.
“I know.” I bit down on my lower lip as I wondered if she was going to judge me. As someone with an enormous amount of wealth, I often wondered what it was that I could do to try to make a real difference.
“You okay?” She stopped suddenly as she gazed at my face with concern. “You look pale. Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine.” I brushed off my feeling of despair. “I was just wondering if you were going to wear a sports bra or no bra at all. I like to watch boobies bouncing.”
Her expression changed from one of concern to one of disgust. A part of me was annoyed that she’d believed my lie so easily, but I surely wasn’t going to confide in her that the homeless problem in the city often kept me up at night. I knew that I was fortunate. I’d never had to worry about money and now I had more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. Somehow it just didn’t seem right.
“I’m not even going to answer that.” She sighed. “Look, just wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
“I wanted to come in with you.”
“I’ll be faster by myself, and I don’t want to hear any more of your asinine comments.”
And with that, she turned away and walked into the store. A feeling of unease washed over me as I watched her go. I didn’t like it. All my life I’d been the hot one, the rich one, the flirtatious one, and women responded to me by batting their eyes and smiling eagerly. It didn’t matter what I said. It didn’t matter what I did; they still wanted me. They didn’t look at me as if they were disappointed in me. No one outside of my family had ever looked at me in that way. No one except Jane. She looked at me as if she saw through the veneer and she didn’t like it. She was different from other women I’d met. I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to fuck her, sure, but I also wanted to explore her mind. And I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t need it. Something had to be done about this situation because little by little, Jane Garcia was really getting under my skin.
Chapter 8
Jane
* * *
“That man is getting on my last nerve.” I grabbed at a T-shirt from the rack angrily and cursed under my breath as it fell to the ground. “Calm down, Jane,” I lectured myself as I bent down to pick it up.
My heart was racing and my face was flushed, and more than that, I was disappointed. I’d actually thought that Tate and I were really getting to know each other, but no, of course, I’d been dreaming. He was just a pig whose mind was filled with thoughts of sex twenty-four seven. When he’d given that money to the homeless man, I’d seen a different side to him. A caring side. A side that thought about other people. I’d been wrong. What an asshole. I was fuming. I walked over to another rack and started looking through the yoga pants. Why the hell had he asked me about myself? And whoa, I’d been surprised that he’d shared so much about himself and his family. Of course, I’d known he was rich from googling him, but I hadn’t known that he’d grown up in the South and that his family was so privileged. He had to be from old money. Old—white—Southern money. There was nothing progressive about that.
But can you blame him for that? a voice whispered in my head.
“No,” I answered myself out loud. I took a deep breath and exhaled. This was starting to get complicated. Mentally it was getting harder and harder for me to compartmentalize Tate into little boxes. This was about more than just sexual attraction and him being a pig. I was more invested than that, though I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I mean, where could this possibly go? He was my boss. He didn’t believe in love and marriage from what I could see. He was a manwhore, and he came from a completely different world than me. If his dad didn’t like his sister’s fiancé because he was a democrat, what would his family think about me? I’d never fit into that world. Not that Tate had even asked me to. Most probably, all he wanted from me was sex, and eventually, he’d find some blue-blooded Southern princess and end up with her.
As I grabbed a pair of sweatpants, I shook my head. Nah, I couldn’t see him in that situation, either. He might be an asshole, but he was stubborn. I was pretty sure that no one could make him do something he didn’t want to do.
By the time I got to the checkout line, I was feeling a little calmer. My plan for the gym was still in my mind, and I was going to go for it. Why should he be the only one to make me uncomfortable? I was going to have a little fun with him as well.
“Did you get lost?” He asked me as I exited the store with my bag.
“Pardon me?” I looked at my watch. “I was gone eight minutes. In that madhouse. Do you see how packed it is? You’re lucky I was only eight minutes.”
“If you’d let me come into the changing room with you, I know what we would have spent eight minutes doing.”
“Ouch, that doesn’t say much about you, does it?” I pouted my lips at him. “They have medication for that, you know.”
“Medication for what?” His eyes narrowed, and then he burst out laughing. “Ah, you’ve got jokes. I’m not saying I’m an eight-minute man. I’m just saying that there are some circumstances when you want to pound it out quickly.”
“Well, I’d rather not be with a man that wanted to, and I quote, ‘pound it out.’”
“Don’t tell me—you like to be with a man that spends an hour on foreplay and then another hour making love to you in a bed of rose petals with John Mayer songs playing in the background?”
“No comment.”
“No, I want to know,” he said as we started walking back down Market Street. “What sort of lovemaker do you prefer?”
“That’s none of your business.” No way in hell I was going to tell him I was a virgin.
“Or do you prefer it hard and quick?” he asked, his blue eyes laughing at me. “Do you like it from behind?”
“You’re asking me if I like anal?” I raised an eyebrow. “That is so inappropriate.”
“No, but if you want to answer that, I’m cool with it. I was wondering if you were into doggy style.” He winked. “I’ve heard from some women that doggy style hits a spot that missionary doesn’t.”
“Why don’t you talk about it with those women, then?” I ignored the jealous butterflies in my stomach. “I’m sure they are more interested in having that conversation with you than I am.”
“Hmm, I have a question for you.” He licked his lips.
I groaned. “What now, Tate?”
“Well, it’s not a question, really. I just want you to tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told someone else, or that only a few people know about you.”
“Huh?” I blinked in confusion. That was so far out of left field that my mind went temporarily blank. “Are you also going to share something with me that few people know?”
“Sure, I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t willing to share.”
“I don’t want to know your cock size, either,” I said, and.
“Well, that’s not really a secret.” He winked at me. “I’m pretty infamous.”
“Oh, no!” I patted his arm and gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s that small?”
“Small!” He burst out laughing. “If you only knew, my dear.” He grinned, and I blushed because the truth of the matter was that I did know a little bit. That little lap dance I’d given him had been enough to show me that he was packing in ways that most men weren’t. I might not have had sex before, but I’ve seen cocks in person and in videos.
“So, you would tell me something real? Not related to sex?”
“But aren’t all the best things related to sex?” He grinned and then before I could reply he said, “But yes, I agree to tell you something not related to my prowess in the bedroom.”
“I don’t trust you.” I pursed my lips. “If I agree to this, you have to go first.”
“Okay, I trust you, so I will go first.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “In fact, I’ll tell you two things to show just how trustworthy I am.”
“Go on, then.”
“Firstly, when I was young, I took part in Civil War reenactments with my grandfather.”
“Oh wow, okay.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Cool?”
“Surprisingly enough, it was quite cool.” He chuckled. “Don’t judge me. But I enjoyed it. We reenacted the Battle of Johns Island near Charleston.”
“I have to admit that that means nothing to me,” I apologized. “I don’t know much about history, let alone the Revolutionary War.”
“The Civil War and the Revolutionary War were different things.” He laughed out loud. “We fought the Revolutionary War against the British to gain our independence, that was 1775 till, I think, 1783. We fought the Civil War from 1861 to 1865, and that was a fight between the Union and the Confederate states, or as people like to refer to them today, the Northern and Western States vs. the South.”
“Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “That had something to do with slavery, right?”
“Essentially.” He nodded. “The Southern states weren’t happy with the abolitionist movement to free slaves and felt that States should be able to decide for themselves if they wanted to keep slavery.”
“Hmmm.” I didn’t say what I wanted to say because I didn’t want to offend him.
“You look pissed off.” His eyes pierced mine. “I don’t think slavery was a good thing, Jane. Not at all. I’m glad it was abolished when it was. In fact, I think it never should have happened.” He sighed. “I know you might look at me and see a man from the South, a very handsome man with golden-blond hair that shines like the sun and cornflower-blue eyes that you can get lost in, but I don’t want you to prejudge me because of that. I’ve known my own struggles. We all have.” He paused as if he wanted to say something, and then sighed again. “I don’t want you to think that just because I enjoyed taking part in the reenactments that I thought slavery should have existed for longer than it did.”
“I never thought that.” As I said it, I realized that was true. For all of his flaws, I truly didn’t think Tate was a man who held antiquated ideas about people. “To be honest, it sounds like an interesting experience. When I was younger, I went to Renaissance fairs with my best friend, Violeta, and those were fun too. I celebrate learning about and from our past. Nothing is ever black and white.”
“You’re right about that.” His eyes crinkled as he stared at me. “I would have liked to have seen you dressed up as a bar wench.”
“Tate, I was twelve when I went. So unless you’re a pedophile, I highly doubt you would have liked to have seen chubby little Jane in a bar wench outfit.”
“Touché.” He threw his head back and laughed. “I wouldn’t mind seeing tight-body current Jane in one, though.”
“I don’t have a tight body, and even if I did, you would only be seeing it in your dreams.” I wrinkled my nose at him.
“How did you know what I dreamed about?” He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes in response. “Okay, I owe you one more fact, and then you have to tell me something.”
“Yeah, I guess that was the agreement.”
“So, this is something I don’t normally share with people, but … I like to write.”
“Write?” I stared at him. “Like books?” For a few seconds, I wondered if he was talking about the notes we’d been writing.
“No.” He shook his head. “A book is too advanced for what I do. I like to write short stories.”
“Oh, really?” I was surprised. “What sort of short stories?”
“Just whatever I can write in ten minutes.” He laughed. “It’s something that helps me to de-stress.”
“Any particular genres?”
“No.” He shook his head and then he smiled awkwardly. “I’m not a good writer or anything. I just do it for fun.”
“That sounds cool. I’d love to hear one sometime.” The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think. Why had I told him I wanted to hear one? He would read far too much into it.
