Boss I Love To Hate Read online

  “Right. That,” I start, clearing my throat. “I just wanted to – talk to you about what you said at the board meeting.”

  “What about it?”

  I clear my throat again and feel a flutter of nerves in my belly. It’s an unusual feeling. I’m not a man who is ever nervous. About anything. I’m a man of conviction, and I don’t tend to second guess my decisions because I know they’re based in sound logic and reason. In business, I don’t operate on raw emotion. And when it comes to women, I’ve never had any reason to be nervous, simply because nine times out of ten, I get what – or who –I want.

  Which is what makes the churning in my gut so unexpected and interesting.

  “Are you okay?”

  Berlin’s voice pulls me out of my own head, and I look up, giving her a smile. “Yeah fine,” I reply. “Just lost in thought for a minute.”

  She gives me a skeptical look – like she thinks I’m sitting here picturing her naked or something. Which normally is something I’d do, but with Berlin, it’s just – different. I can’t explain it just yet since I don’t understand it myself. But there’s something about her that’s still different – and entirely captivating – even all these years later. I would absolutely love to sleep with Berlin, but I have a respect for her that encourages me to avoid crossing that line or pushing for things I know she’s not comfortable with.

  “Anyway,” I go on. “I just wanted to tell you that I respect what you said at the borough board meeting.”

  “Thanks?” she replies cautiously.

  “I know I’ve asked you this before, but do you really think a delay of twelve to eighteen months will make a difference?” I wonder. “I mean, at the end of the day, they’d still have to move. Right?”

  “I think it would make a huge difference in the lives of the people,” she leans forward as she speaks. “It will give them an appropriate amount of time to prepare, rather than simply saying ‘you have sixty days to get out.’ It honestly should be absolutely criminal to throw people on the street like that.”

  I nod, hearing the passion and confidence in her voice returning. She speaks so commandingly and forcefully; it’s almost hard to believe she’s the same woman who spoke so timidly to me throughout our dinner together. I guess it has to be something she is passionate about and believes in wholeheartedly for her to get rid of the stammer and quaver in her voice and speak with the confidence I know is in her.

  “But,” she adds. “I haven’t given up hope that the borough board will revoke the permit.”

  “I got the feeling that wasn’t likely to happen.”

  “Then we go to court, and I see about getting an injunction,” she shrugs. “I’m sure I can tie it up for months, if not years.”

  I grin and look down at my mojito, still trying to work up the nerve to tell her it’s my company – me – she’ll be fighting in court. I want to, and know I should, but I can’t force myself to say it. Hearing the passion in her voice and seeing the stubborn set to her jaw tells me she won’t take the news particularly well. It could potentially collapse the bridge I’m trying to build between us.

  That bridge is admittedly coming along slowly and tentatively, but I feel it’s headed in the right direction. And I really don’t want to fuck it up before it gets going. Maybe if I grant the delay and sit on the project for eighteen months, it will help smooth any ruffled feathers and she won’t be so furious with me. But before I do that, I’m going to need to crunch the numbers and see what kind of hole that puts me in.

  “What about the financial burden you’re placing on Compass Development?” I ask, honestly curious to hear her feelings about that.

  “Personally, I don’t care about Compass. I hope they take a big financial hit,” she snaps. “Maybe it will teach them to value people over profit for a change.”

  “That seems a bit harsh,” I say. “They’re a business and –”

  “And it’s their greed that brought us to this point,” she goes on. “They want to turn hundreds of people out onto the street just so they can make a buck.”

  I sit back in my seat and open my mouth to speak, still trying to work up the nut to confess my sins to her, but the words won’t come out. I try, but the words just don’t come. And the words that do come out make me cringe inwardly.

  “Well maybe you should try talking to somebody at Compass directly,” I chuckle. “Maybe you’ll convince them to scrap the whole project.”

  I meant it as a joke, but when I see the expression on her face shift, I know I just opened up a can of worms I hadn’t intended to. It was a stupid joke because I know that inviting her to Compass is going to lead her straight to me – which is only going to piss her off ten times more, given that we’re sitting here together, and I could have just talked it out with her over dinner right here and now.

  I feel like there’s a slow ease and rapport developing between us. I’ve wanted to nurture that small spark, helping it to grow into a larger flame and eventually a bonfire. And I know if I tell her now that I am Compass, that will smother that fire long before it ever gets going.

  Selfish and deceptive? Maybe. Probably. But I have it in my mind that I want Berlin, and I won’t be deterred from exploring that with her.

  Part of me is hoping she won’t actually take my suggestion seriously and just write it off as ridiculous and counterproductive. I’m hoping she’ll think it’s a waste of time since the head of a multi-billion dollar company probably wouldn’t take the time out for her.

  “That’s actually not a bad idea,” she muses. “Maybe if I appeal to them in person rather than throw legal papers at them straight out of the gate, it will look better. Perhaps it will make them a bit more sympathetic.”

  Shit. It was a stupid suggestion to make in the first place. I’ll need to tap dance around it. This is definitely not one of my finer moments, I admit, and one of the reasons I will sit with a situation and think it through thoroughly before I make any decisions. In the meantime, while I review the financial impact of delaying the project, I’m going to have to try to dissuade her from actually taking a visit to Compass.

  “Yeah, maybe. But I think more than likely, you’re going to have a hard time getting to the people you need to talk to,” I mutter weakly. “There are so many layers of interference that it’s tough to get some face time with the decision makers. And then, by the time you do, it might be too late to file your injunction. I don’t want to discourage you; I’m just giving you an honest lay of the land – I kind of have an idea of how these people operate.”

  I hate to see it, but she seems to deflate right before my eyes. Berlin’s face falls, and a frown creases her face as she lowers her gaze to the table, looking almost forlorn – which makes me feel like a bigger asshole than I already do.

  “But hey, if what I saw you do in the borough board meeting is any indication of your skill, I have a feeling you’ll do great in court,” I encourage her through nearly gritted teeth.

  Berlin settles back into her seat with a look of disappointment but a steely resolve on her face. As I sit there knowing we’re headed for a confrontation that seems inevitable, I can’t help but admire how passionate she is about it. Her strength and conviction is really something. Even though I don’t share her views about the current situation, I can at least appreciate that about her. I don’t agree with her position and will fight like hell to keep her from winning her injunction, but I appreciate and admire her for fighting for what she so obviously believes in.

  “So how do you like working at the public defender’s office?” I ask, just to get the conversation headed in another direction.

  “Some days are tough,” she responds. “But it’s rewarding work.”

  “You’ve always had such a strict moral code – doesn’t defending criminals wear on you?” I muse. “I mean, I thought you would have been more likely to work in the DA’s office, punishing the criminals.”

  Her eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches – which
tells me I have probably just touched a raw nerve inside of her. Clearly, this is a case of me not knowing her as well as I thought I did – or that I want to.

  “Yes, I have to deal with my fair share of genuine scumbags. But you would be surprised how many good people – innocent people – get caught up in the machine for no other reason than how they look, or how much money they have,” she sniffs. “I do what I do for those people – the ones who have no voice and are just fodder caught in the wheels of the system.”

  “That is quite a campaign speech,” I tell her. “Planning a run for public office?”

  “I deal with fewer scumbags in the PD’s office than inhabit political offices these days,” she rolls her eyes.

  “You’re probably not wrong about that,” I smile softly. “But maybe if you were, say, state Attorney General, you could change things from the inside.”

  “Are you offering to finance my campaign?” she smirks.

  “Maybe I am,” I shrug.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Politics aren’t for me. I feel like my place is helping out the little guy.”

  A smile curls my lips upward. “That’s one thing I remember about you from school that hasn’t changed – your idealism.”

  “Yeah well, if I weren’t idealistic, I couldn’t do what I do,” she retorts, a hard edge to her tone.

  “I didn’t mean any offense,” I tell her. “I’m not judging you. I actually admire that about you.”

  “You don’t have to patronize me.”

  “I’m not patronizing you,” I respond. “I mean it. I admire your strength. Not many people have the courage of their convictions. It’s more than clear that you do. I really respect that in you, and I think it’s really… attractive.”

  As my words settle, our gazes lock, and I swear to God, I feel like a big jolt of electricity is shooting through my body. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced. And judging by the look on her face, Berlin felt something too. Her large doe eyes are wide, her full lips are parted, and she looks like she’s having as much trouble comprehending what she just experienced as I am. She quickly looks away, her eyes moving around the restaurant – she is very obviously avoiding my gaze again and trying to look casual as she sips her iced tea.

  The air between us is suddenly infused with a tension that wasn’t there before. It’s like somebody flipped a switch and saturated the air with a sense of – anticipation. And as Berlin continues looking around the restaurant and very pointedly avoiding my eyes, I notice that her cheeks are flushed red. It occurs to me that she’s as attracted to me as I am to her. I can see her fighting with herself, but she knows there’s some sort of chemistry between us that can’t be denied – though she’s doing her level best to do just that.

  While I’m encouraged by what seems to me to be a mutual attraction, unfortunately for me, she is a woman of extraordinary willpower. She may have felt that same connection being made between us, but she has the ability to keep me at an arm’s distance and stuff it all down. But I think knowing she’s attracted to me puts a slight crack in that hard outer shell of hers. I can work with that.

  She clears her throat and glances at her watch. “Well, listen, thank you for dinner,” she blurts out. “But I really need to get going.”

  “Sure,” I nod. “Thanks for joining me tonight.”

  Her cheeks are burning bright red, her smile is uncertain, and she’s still avoiding direct eye contact with me as she gets to her feet.

  “G – goodnight,” she stammers.

  “Night, Berlin,” I reply. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

  With another awkward smile, she dashes out of the restaurant, leaving me sitting there with a smile on my face, my pulse quicker than it was a few minutes ago, and a certainty that sooner, rather than later, Berlin will be mine. It’s not going to be easy, and she will throw a lot of obstacles in my path, but eventually I am going to win her over. I feel absolutely certain of that.

  With nowhere to be, I order another mojito and sit back as I ponder some of the questions floating around in my head and try to map out a plan to make her mine.

  Chapter Seven

  Berlin

  “So what was it all about then?”

  I shrug and pop a French fry into my mouth. “I have no idea. It was just – weird,” I note. “I mean, he said he had to talk to me about something important, but nothing important came up.”

  Gabs and I are sitting in a burger shop around the corner from my apartment, discussing my dinner with Sawyer. Or perhaps dissecting is a better word. My neighbor, Mrs. Hawley, offered to sit with my dad for a little while so I could run some errands and whatnot like she does every Saturday. She’s an older widow who has plenty of time on her hands, so she’s always offering to keep an eye on him for me – which is something I appreciate a lot. It allows me to do what I need to do but also allows me to have some semblance of a social life on the rare occasion I decide I need some time out.

  “Maybe he just wanted to go on a date with you,” Gabby laughs.

  I laugh and shake my head. “Doubtful. It seemed like there really was something he wanted to say, but he couldn’t quite seem to spit it out,” I note. “It was strange.”

  “Sounds like you intimidate the poor man.”

  “Hardly. Sawyer West is the most self-assured man I’ve ever met. His confidence borders on cocky – which is annoying,” I scoff. “The man never second-guesses himself – which is also kind of annoying, since he doesn’t allow for the possibility that he could be wrong.”

  A quirky grin touches Gabby’s lips. “Know what you sound like?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “You sound like a girl with a crush who is trying to list out every negative trait somebody has so you can convince yourself that you don’t like him,” she laughs. “You kind of sound like you’re trying to talk yourself out of a crush.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I giggle. “I do not have a crush.”

  She takes a sip of her soda, her mischievousness coming through in the glint in her eye and the grin on her face. Gabs knows me inside and out. She sometimes even sees things in me that I don’t see myself.

  Is it possible I have a crush on Sawyer? I suppose it’s possible. I mean, he’s gorgeous, and he genuinely does seem more mature today than he did back in school. At the same time, though, there were points I could see the cocky, arrogant side of him I knew and despised so much all those years ago peeking out.

  “You keep telling yourself that, hon,” she laughs. “But tell me why you think he wouldn’t just want to spend time with you.”

  I shrug. “I’m not his type. I’m not rich. I don’t have lingerie model good looks,” I say. “We don’t move in the same social circles and have nothing in common.”

  “Okay, for one thing, you underestimate just how gorgeous you are –”

  “Stop,” I say, my cheeks burning with color. “I’m not fishing for compliments.”

  “I know you’re not. And you know me well enough to know that I don’t hand out compliments to people who are.”

  I purse my lips – that much is true. Gabs has never had much of a tolerance for people who go fishing for validation and compliments. When she says something, it’s because she means it. Still, I’ve never been good at taking compliments. Even just hearing Gabs, somebody I love with everything in me, offer me a compliment makes me feel – gross. I somehow feel unworthy of somebody’s praise. I always have, and I don’t know that it’s going to change in this lifetime.

  “Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” she grins at me. “You underestimate your beauty, Berlin. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not your looks that attract him anyway. Maybe, and I’m just putting this out there, but maybe he’s interested in you as a person. For your brains as well as your magnificent rack.”

  The laughter bursts from my throat, and I slap her playfully on the arm. She’s managed to embarrass me to the point that my cheeks are bu
rning red. I kind of want to crawl into a hole. She grins like a fool. Eventually, my laughter dies down, and I feel my face returning to a more natural shade. I clear my throat and take a quick drink of my soda, then once I’m calm and gathered, turn back to her.

  “Sawyer was always more interested in how somebody looked than in what kind of person they were,” I tell her. “To him, women were more of a status symbol or fashion accessory than anything.”

  “That was then; this is now. You said he seems different today than he did back then,” she reminds me. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but you also said he told you that he knew you weren’t interested in him back then, and he chased you anyway.”

  “So he says.”

  “Do you ever give anybody the benefit of the doubt?” she laughs.

  “Only people who’ve earned it.”

  I grin as I pop a couple of fries into my mouth and chew on them. What I’m not admitting to Gabby is that as we sat in the restaurant the other night, for a brief moment, our eyes locked, and I was overwhelmed with the strangest rush of emotion. It was like a door inside of me had been unlocked, and everything that had been stuffed inside came tumbling down around me.

  I don’t quite get it, but there was some sort of a connection that formed between us that was impossible to ignore. It’s hard to explain – even more difficult because I don’t understand it myself.

  “Listen, I’ve seen him do a couple of interviews, and I’ve read a lot about him – and from everything I’ve gathered, he seems like he’s grown into a decent guy,” Gabs tries to reassure me.

  I laugh out loud. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take the tabloids as gospel.”

  She shrugs. “I’m just saying it sort of jibes with what you’re telling me about your date with him.”

  “It wasn’t a date.” I wince at the nervous giggle that falls out of my mouth. “It so wasn’t a date.”

  She gives me that sly smile of hers. “Well, whatever you want to call it then.” She shrugs. “It just sounds like he actually is a decent guy – and one who’s interested in you.”