Page 13 of Claimed By the Boss

She looks lost for a second.

Her mouth opens again. “Are you sure?”

“You came here for a job,” I remind her.

“Yes,” she says faintly.

“I’m offering one,” I say, voice dropping to that same calm, dangerous register I used last night.

Her eyes widen.

She takes a shaky breath.

“Salary is in the high six figures,” I continue calmly. “It comes with full benefits and stock options after the first year. You start on Monday.”

I can see the calculation in her eyes. The disbelief. The suspicion.

“And this isn’t because you think I’m some damsel in distress or something?” she whispers.

I don’t answer, but I can’t help smirking at this. She is no damsel. In fact, she might be the death of me.

“Okay,” she says finally.

“Okay?” I ask, confused, my thoughts drifting elsewhere.

She clears her throat. “I mean, yes. I accept.”

I nod once. “Good,” I say simply.

She stands slowly, smoothing her skirt. I lean back, watching her the whole time. She catches me looking and flushes again, turning away quickly, but not before I get one last look at the way that skirt hugs her hips.

My jaw tightens. As she walks out, I let my eyes trail down her legs.Fuck.Monday can’t come soon enough.

5

LYRA

Istep out of the cab and stand on the sidewalk for a minute, trying to catch my breath. My legs feel like rubber, my heart is still pounding, and I can’t stop replaying every second of that meeting in my head.

I’m hired. I got the job. I should be dancing in the street right now, but instead I feel like I just stumbled off a dangerous roller coaster.

I finally force my legs to move and take the stairs up to my apartment. My keys are slippery in my sweaty palm, but I manage to get the door unlocked without dropping them.

I’m prepared to sneak in quietly, maybe crash on the couch and let the adrenaline drain out, but the second I open the door, I know I’m screwed. Becca is sitting on the couch, cradling a giant mug of coffee in both hands. Her eyes are locked on the door before I’m even halfway inside.

“Well?” she demands.

I blink at her in surprise. “How are you even awake?”

She narrows her eyes. “Spill it, Taylor.”

I groan and shut the door behind me, tossing my bag onto the small dining table.

“You’re like a bloodhound.”

She doesn’t deny it. She just takes a sip of coffee and raises one eyebrow. I blow out a breath and kick off my sensible heels, wiggling my sore toes.

“Okay. Fine. You want the headline?”