Page 4 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)

The city was a shimmer of light and movement as I steered my car through the streets, the quiet purr of the engine a comforting hum beneath my hands. The trees lining the sidewalks were just starting to blush with gold, a reminder that the days were growing shorter, the air cooler. Chris sat beside me, wiggling in his seat, the lingering embarrassment of his wardrobe mishap still fresh in his mind. I had to admit, the whole situation had been funny as hell. But I’d seen enough of the kid today to know he didn’t need me rubbing it in.

“You said you wrestled in college?” I asked, cutting through the companionable silence.

Chris blinked at me, then nodded. “Yeah. Gettysburg.”

“Good program?”

“Decent. DIII, but competitive.” He smirked. “I won the Northeast Regional title my senior year.”

I hummed, one hand casually draped over the steering wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. “Explains the pants-tearing quads,” I said, grinning.

Color rose to his face again, but he laughed. “Yeah, they’ve been known to bust a few seams.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “What weight class?”

“One eighty-six,” he said, more relaxed now.

I nodded. “You still train?”

“A little. Gym, mostly. Not much time for rolling on the mat anymore.”

His restless energy now made sense. He was used to movement, impact, the grind of pushing his body to its limits. I knew the type. Hell, I was the type—even with boardrooms and balance sheets taking most of my time now.

“What about you? You said you played football? Linebacker, right?”

It seemed like an attempt to shift the spotlight, but Chris didn’t strike me as the type to suck up to the boss. He seemed genuinely interested. “Yeah, middle linebacker. Team captain, too. But it was all for fun. I never had any interest in pursuing it as a career. My body just craves the exercise, the action, the discipline—always had. And I liked hitting people.”

Chris chuckled. “Bet you had a killer hit stick.”

I glanced at him sideways.“Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “You seem like the kind of guy who’d read the game three steps ahead. Calling the shots. Keeping everyone in line. Making the big plays when it counts.”

I huffed a laugh. “You get all that just from sitting in a car with me?”

“Some people just give off that vibe,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah? And what vibe do I give off?”

He tilted his head, considering. Then he grinned again. “Like the kind of guy who never let a receiver cross the middle without making them regret it.”

I smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t meant as anything else.”

He was quick. Observant. I liked that. “I still hit the gym most mornings before work. If, for some reason, I can’t make it, then I go in the evening. Running on the weekends, too.”

“I should really get back into the drill as well. I just need some consistency.”

“There’s a gym on the ground floor of our building. All Nova employees get a free membership.”

“Oh? That’s good to know.”

The conversation meandered through weightlifting routines and favorite workouts, and I started to see the real Chris—the confident young man with great potential, not the awkward, panicked guy who first barged into my office. He had the easy enthusiasm of someone who still enjoyed the physicality of training, who hadn’t yet let the corporate world siphon the joy out of sweat and exertion. By the time I pulled up to Nova Systems, we were talking like old chums.

I put the car in park and glanced over at him. “You should be all set for tomorrow. Ed can be a little handsy, but he’s a master of his craft. The suit will fit you like a glove.”

Chris unbuckled his seatbelt, then looked back at me. “Thanks for doing that,” he said, smiling. “I mean, really. You didn’t have to.”

I shrugged. “Can’t have my employees walking around with their asses hanging out, can I?”

He flushed, but grinned. “Guess not. Well… Goodnight, Mr Steele.”

I tilted my head. “ Zac .”

A flicker of hesitation. Then a nod. “Zac.”

I watched him climb out, standing for a moment under the glow of the streetlights, the light forming a halo around his golden head. His reflection ghosted across my windshield before he turned, offering a final wave as he made his way to his Honda Civic.

I exhaled through my nose, rubbing the back of my neck before shifting the car into drive. Time to see Chantelle.

* * *

She lived in a luxury high-rise overlooking the Providence River, her apartment a minimalist’s dream—clean lines, bright colors, a perfect blend of modern design and personal elegance. She didn’t clutter it with unnecessary things. Everything was curated, intentional. Just like she was.

I turned the key and let myself in, the smell of something rich and fragrant wrapping around me like a warm welcome. Both of us still kept our own apartments, a habit born from years of independence and busy careers. Most nights, we alternated between her place and mine, never feeling the need to rush into merging our lives completely. But now, with the wedding on the horizon, we were on the hunt for a house—something classy and stylish, with enough space for two people who valued their autonomy. We still had enough time, though, and neither of us seemed in a hurry to give up the comfort of having a place that was solely our own.

Inside, candlelight danced against the marble countertops. Chantelle stood at the stove, barefoot, wearing a silk slip dress that skimmed over her body like water. Her dark curls were twisted into a loose bun, strands escaping around her sharp cheekbones. She didn’t look up.

“You brought the wine?” she asked without turning, stirring whatever she had simmering in the pan.

I held up the bottle of Bordeaux. “As requested.”

She smirked, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Good man. Pour us some.”

I set the bottle on the counter, stepping behind her, my hands finding her waist as I pressed a slow kiss against the curve of her neck. She smelled like jasmine and something slightly spicy—maybe saffron from whatever she was cooking.

She hummed but didn’t stop stirring the pan. “Hungry?” she asked, leaning into me briefly before returning to her work.

I was a man of big appetites, and she knew it. “Ravenous,” I murmured, letting my fingers drift along her hip before stepping back to grab the glasses. I liked watching her like this—relaxed, at ease, a different version of the razor-sharp woman who eviscerated opposing counsel in courtrooms across the city.

Dinner was slow and indulgent. She told me about her day—another case, another judge who annoyed her, another victory she accepted with the grace of someone who never expected anything less. I listened, appreciating the way she dissected every detail, how shrewd she was. When it was my turn, I told her about Chris. About the accident. About Sullivan’s .

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s some major case of bad luck,” she said. “And on his first day, too! Poor guy.”

“He took it well.”

“And you took him to see Ed?”

“Of course. Can’t have my employees looking like disasters.”

She smirked, sipping her wine. “You’re such a control freak.”

I lifted my glass. “I prefer the term generous .”

“Some might say soft ,” she countered. “It’s fortunate you look like a brawny brute or some might take advantage of that.”

“Then I guess I have to prove how not soft I am.”

We made our way to the bedroom just before midnight. Chantelle stripped with the kind of calculated sensuality that felt almost rehearsed, climbing into bed with a knowing smile. She was warm against me, familiar, her skin silky beneath my hands. We moved together easily, a rhythm practiced and perfected over the two years we’d been together. I knew what she liked, how to touch her, how to make her moan my name in that breathless way that told me she was close.

But afterward, when she curled against me with a satisfied sigh, her hand drifting lazily through my chest hair, I was still restless. My body buzzed with leftover energy, unsatisfied need. One round was never enough. Yet she yawned, already slipping into slumber.

“Ready to tap out?” I asked, my voice low.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Big case tomorrow.” She reached for her silk sleep mask, slipping it on without another word. Within minutes, her breathing slowed, deepened.

I stayed awake, staring at the dark. My body still thrummed, tight with a frustration I couldn’t name. My cock was still semi-hard, heavy on my thigh, aching for attention. But no extra treats were coming that night—unless I took matters into my own hands.

Eventually, I exhaled and closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep.