Romance: The Boss by Lara West

softer side to him and now I’m waiting to see it again—but for a reason I haven’t quite figured out.
    Despite my apprehension, I go sit opposite him, quaffing down a mouthful of wine on the way.
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
    “What would you like to know?” I ask, crossing my legs.
    The action of it does not go unnoticed.
    “Anything,” he states brashly, his gaze still on my folded knee.
    When I look away and fail to come up with a response, he presses me further.
    “How about we start with how you became so clumsy, then?”
    I know he’s just trying to get a rise out of me now.
    And I hate to admit it, but it’s working.
    “I’m not clumsy,” I sigh, forging an eclectic smile. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s riling me up. “I just get a little…light-footed some times.”
    “Light-footed.” He laughs wittily. “That’s one way to put it.”
    I decide to just keep grinning and bear it.
    Surely he won’t want me to stick around for much longer?
    After all, it’s Friday night.
    Doesn’t he have some model to go see, or screw?
    “Okay, next question,” he says swiftly, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. “How about your mom? What’s she like?”
    Where is this line of questioning coming from? Why does he want to know all this stuff? It reminds me of how he’d acted that night in the apartment, asking me about where in the world I wanted to go.
    I hesitate before answering.
    This isn’t exactly a subject I’m comfortable with and although he doesn’t know why, I find his behavior quite untenable.
    Despite my attraction to him—the perfectly sculpted mouth and chiseled jawline, the azure eyes set ablaze, and the outline of his rippling muscles protruding from underneath his plain gray T-shirt—I can’t ignore the fact that I also find him superciliously intrusive.
    “She was…a lovely lady,” I reply briefly, my voice lowering an octave.
    A look of remorse washes over his face. “Was? You mean?”
    I nod bitterly. “Yes, she died when I was a teenager.”
    “Oh Lauren.” He winces, running his hand over his face again. That’s become a real habit of his lately. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking; I’m such an asshole.”
    I purse my lips and drink the rest of my wine. “Yes. You are.”
    My eyes almost pop-out when I realize the words have actually left my mouth.
    I bite my lip fearfully, only to gaze over and see Clint leering at me like he’s impressed by it.
    “You know, you’re about the only person I’ve ever let talk to me like that.”
    “I didn’t mean any offense. I just—” I pause midsentence, suddenly realizing how exhausted I am with lying to this guy all the time.
    He was being an asshole just now and he should damn well know about it. It’s bad enough that I don’t have the guts to confront him about the one-night stand we had.
    “Actually, you know what? I did mean it. You, Mr. Townsend, are an asshole.”
    There I go again…what in heaven’s name has come over me? Is it the wine? Am I tired? Is it the stress I’ve been under for the last two weeks? Is this PA position getting to me?
    “Wow. You’re a little pistol, aren’t you? Interesting.”
    Why is he still smirking? He should be firing my ass or telling me to leave. Interesting, after that outburst? Hardly.
    “I’m sorry,” I quickly say, getting up. “I shouldn’t have said that. I should go.”
    “No, stay,” he insists, sounding quite frank.
    “Why?”
    “Just do me a kindness, will you? Keep me company for a little longer.”
    “But don’t you think I’ve acted way out of line?”
    “Nope. I deserved it.” He pats the empty space next to him on the lounge, gesturing for me to sit down again. I really don’t know if I want to, but once more, just the allure of his eyes wins me over and I conform.
    I’m so tragic.
    “Thank you,” he then says, standing to refill my glass. He brings back the bottle and