Page 85 of Boss of Me

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. “I don’t want to want anything,” I confess, feeling vulnerable and not liking it. “I mean, he’s my boss. And he’s gorgeous and obscenely rich and can have any woman he wants . . . .” I trail off, running out of words. Because, really, what else is there to say?

“He might be completely unattainable. Most billionaires are,” Quinn quietly concedes. “But this particular billionaire just went out of his way to do something nice for you because he wanted to make you happy. That’s no small gesture, Marlowe.”

Something like hope stirs in my chest, as faint as a butterfly’s wing. “Maybe,” I whisper.

Quinn falls silent, watching me almost sympathetically.

“Anyway.” I roll onto my side to face her, resting on my elbow. “Enough about me. What’s going on with you?”

“Not much. Well, unless you count what happened on Saturday.”

I eye her curiously. “What happened on Saturday?”

A wicked spark lights her eyes. “I slept with the neighbor.”

“Um, what?”

“I had sex with the neighbor.”

“Seriously?” I gape at her. “Which one?”

She hesitates, biting her lip. “The indie musician.”

My mouth drops open. “The grungy stoner who looks like he never showers? The caveman who barely grunts a hello whenever we pass him in the hallway?Thatguy?”

Quinn grins. “Yup.”

“Oh, my God!” I shriek in disbelief.

She bursts out laughing.

“How?” I demand, sitting up on my knees. “How the hell did that even happen? I mean, is that dude even capable of holding a conversation?”

Quinn leers. “He was capable enough to talk me out of my panties.”

I slap my hands over my face and groan.

She cackles at my reaction. “Believe me, I had no intention of sleeping with him when I knocked on his door that day. I got some of his mail by mistake—again—so I went to his apartment to give him his stuff. The last time it happened, he snatched themail out of my hand and slammed the door in my face. But this time he invited me in for a beer. He had his guitar out and was working on new music. Being a polite guest, I asked him to play something for me. The song wasn’t that great, but the way his greasy hair flopped over his eyes just did something to me. One minute I was clapping and asking for an encore, the next minute we were making out on his smelly couch.”

I wrinkle my nose. “His couch is smelly?”

“And sticky.”

“Eww,” I groan, covering my face again. “That’s so fucking gross.”

“I know,” Quinn agrees, giggling.

I peek out at her from between my fingers. “Was the sex good at least?”

“It was great. I came so hard I saw stars.” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “Or maybe I was just high from all the weed smoke in the air. His freaking apartment is one big hothouse.”

We look at each other for a second and then burst into laughter, clutching our sides.

As our mirth dies down, we wipe tears from our eyes and share a lopsided grin.

“Enough about my sexploits.” Quinn rubs her hands together. “You have to give me the grand tour of this palace. And the older lady—Mrs. Calder? She said we can relax in the sauna after dinner. This place has a freakingsauna?”

I grin. “There’s a whole spa, gym and pool on the first floor. Every bathroom has a bidet, the kitchen is to die for, and just wait till you taste Gustav’s cooking.”