Bastard Boss

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bella

I enter the bathroom with my thoughts racing. He's a bastard, but Tyler's still my boss. I step in front of the mirror and take one look at my swollen lips and catch the edge of the counter. Unless that changes tomorrow, I think.

I shove aside that brutal thought with the same fierceness I all but begged Tyler not to walk away from me. Irritated at my line of thought, I shut down any negativity in my mind. I simply can't allow myself to go down the wrong rabbit hole, at least not when I'm here at the office. I know me, and if I do that, I will fall apart, even if only momentarily. With a need to be cool and composed, even if it's a façade of cool and composed, I quickly wipe away the lipstick on my chin, reapply a fresh pink shade, and fix the mess that is my finger fucked blonde hair. I try not to think how close I came to being wholly fucked by Tyler Hawk because I might as well have been. I had my leg on the man's shoulder and his mouth all over me. Okay, I'm going to freak myself out. It's time to leave.

I head for the door only to realize my nipple is not in my bra. Of course, it's not. I right the wrong, at least this one. There's no saving me from most of what I've allowed to happen, or as Tyler put it himself, the consequences, whatever they may be, of what I allowed to happen. Drawing a deep, calming breath, I pray Tyler is still in his office, and exit the bathroom. The coast appears clear, but I hurry to the elevator and punch the button over and over, glancing at the corporate office door several times as I do. As if either of those things will assure Tyler doesn't exit from the lobby before the elevator opens.

Finally, the car dings, the doors open, and I enter the elevator. I punch the rooftop button and hold my breath as I'm slowly sealed inside as if I'm in a horror movie and the monster might catch me. I'm fairly certain though I'm my own monster in this case because as Tyler said, I didn't say a proper no. I didn't say no at all. Once I'm secure and alone, I lean on the wall and let out a breath of relief, only to inhale the distinctly masculine scent of Tyler's cologne. He was just in the elevator, which means he either left the building or he's upstairs, where I'm headed. Lord, help me, but I'm not going to hide from this. I will see him again. I will face him again. I will hate him again. I will work with him again.

In the midst of this parade of sentences starting with "I will," Tyler's words play in my head. "This is about control," he'd declared, and did so before I ended up mostly naked.

I'll analyze the real meaning of his claim to control later when I'm alone and can fully realize the tiny bubble of anger reforming inside me.

For now, there is another ding, and the doors to the elevator slide open. I straighten, exit, and leave behind the scent of Tyler, or so I think I do. Instead, the scent clings to me. It was never the elevator that smelled of Tyler. It was me. I quickly reach inside my purse, grab my perfume and douse myself with Chanel No. 5, hoping I don't choke anyone to death with the freshly sprayed perfume meant to hide the fact that I've had my boss all over me.

Having done all I can do to disconnect myself from Tyler, I hurry to the entrance of the rooftop entertainment area and pause a moment as I will my heart to calm. Only then do I rejoin the party. Once I'm in the midst of the festivities, as expected, there are still plenty of guests to be entertained and I had no business going home. I suppose Tyler simply believed I needed an escape, which he offered me in more than one way this night. My poor judgment actually earned me both an escape via an orgasm, and a prison in the aftermath I can never wash away, even when I no longer smell of the utterly sexy scent of Tyler Hawk. Nor do I think I will forget how good he was with his tongue.

Lord, help me, once again, with this line of thinking.

A waiter passes by, and I grab a glass of champagne and manage one sip when I end up chatting with the manager of a highly successful music producer. Patty is an attractive dirty blonde, in her mid-thirties, and quite likable. I have nothing to do professionally with Patty or her client, but we've chatted and enjoyed a few laughs together on occasion as we do now.

I've barely regained my composure after she's told me a story about a radio show she visited, and the DJ who pulled his pants down to show her his cock tattoo when I ask, "Was it at least an impressive tattoo?"

She snorts champagne. "No one but you would ask that. It was quite impressive, but he was married. I suggested he show it to his wife."

"Good decision," I conclude, when the sense of being watched has my gaze jerking right, only to find Dash and Allie watching me. My heart sinks. They were not supposed to be here tonight, and now I'm caged in more ways than one. I touch Patty's arm, instantly hyperaware of my touchy-feely self being a big fail with Tyler. "My brother is here," I say. "I need to go talk Hollywood with him."

Patty's eyes go wide and whip around the room until they land on Dash. "Oh my God," she murmurs, refixing her attention on me. "I'm a huge fan. Can I meet him?"

Pride never fails me when people, especially famous people, react this way to Dash. "Of course," I assure her, motioning for her to follow me.

We head in that direction, and I'm actually fairly relieved with the potential distraction Patty offers from any conversation I might have with my brother. If I spend too much time with Dash, I'm going to blurt out details on the contractual dispute I'm having with the studio over his unsigned Hollywood contract. He will, in turn, react negatively and pull out of the whole deal and in Hollywood, that kind of action could end the project with everyone, even a project this magnificent. And that's not good for Dash. I don't care about me. I care about being his sister and failing him. Representing him has been a good and bad thing. I was able to hide his addiction to underground fighting and help aid his recovery, but I also feel tremendous pressure to never fail him.

I worry I'm about to do just that.

I worry he knows me well enough to read me like a room of his readers. I mean the entire reason my brother ended up famous was that he took real-life experiences at the FBI, hunting a known assassin, and turned them into fictional genius. He's smart and observant. He can read his sister. Patty and I join Dash and Allie, and I waste no time introducing them. It's not long until Patty is in full-on, drill-the-author-with-ten-thousand-questions mode.

Allie leaves Dash to his fangirl and creates a separate group with me. Allie is a brunette, beautiful, and similar in looks to the Allison who is now gone, killed by Tyler's father. She almost ended up another victim when her life mimicked Allison's to such an extent that she started looking for her. It sounds like a fictional storyline, but Dash's assassin keeps tabs on him, and that means his love life. The assassin who inspired his books saved Allie's life.

And killed Jack Hawk.

"You didn't come over for waffles this weekend," Allie points out. "I'm spoiled. I'm used to our weekend chats and the amazing waffles you make us."

It's a thing I started with Dash last year. I bought him a waffle maker and I show up every weekend to ensure it doesn't get dusty. It's been surprisingly fun to include Allie. She makes Dash happy. She makes him better. She gave him the strength to walk away from addiction and deal with his pain, which has a lot to do with loss and death on his side of the family.

Dash and I share a mother we lost five years ago, but not a father, sadly, because my father is amazing. His was not. He died recently. It was brutal for Dash. Again, there was Allie, lifting him up, holding him up, really.

"Tell me you missed me because you wanted to talk about your wedding. Tell me you set a date," I demand.

It's the wrong question to ask, and I find that out quickly when she says, "We want to have this Hollywood deal knocked out. We thought it was done months ago."

I recover quickly, focusing on Allie's job at Hawk Legal, the management of our annual charity benefit. "Speaking of Hollywood," I say, "I managed to get the studio to donate for this year's auction."

She perks up. "Really? Tell me all about it."

I detail the entire conversation with the studio head and all that was promised and she's beaming with excitement. "God, I love you, woman."

It's then that Patty walks away and Dash joins us, fixing me in a blue-eyed stare that says all without saying anything. He knows I'm avoiding him. "What's up, little sis?"

That's all he has to say. I'm ready to spill all when suddenly I'm saved, or not, depending on how you look at it.

Tyler joins what has come to be our little circle, standing between Dash and Allie and across from me. Now I have the two men I most want to avoid and yet can't seem to live without, up close and personal.