The Billionaire Boss Next Door(51)

I would have stayed upstairs in the hallway, but the only public phone is downstairs at the front desk. Plus, the bastard told me one a.m. delivery service goes no farther than the bottom floor.

“Wow, Turn,” he greets with a smile ten times bigger than my face is even built to accommodate. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

When I called him, I thought keeping the part about being in a towel out of the story would somehow benefit me. Evidently, I forgot that he’d have to find out anyway and that the element of surprise always makes it worse.

“Is there a new fashion trend I should be aware of?”

“Do you have a key or not?” I ask, completely ignoring his question.

“Oh, I’ve got the key,” he says cheerfully. “One I had to procure by waking my girlfriend, dragging her out of bed, taking her to her apartment to get the keys to her parents’ place, and then going there to get it.”

I wince.

“Thankfully for you, they’re on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.”

“Listen, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but do we really have to do this now? I’ll take you to lunch one day, and you can give me the third degree.”

“Oh no. No, no, no,” Quince replies, shaking his head. “I’m not giving you any time to weasel out of this. No details, no key.”

“Jesus, Quince. When did you become this ruthless?”

“Around eleventh grade. Now, go. Details.” He snaps his fingers, and it’s only the reality that I will have to spend the rest of the night outside of my apartment with no clothes that keeps me from reaching out and slapping his slightly chubby face.

“I opened my door, stepped out in the hall, and the door shut behind me. I didn’t realize it was locked,” I paraphrase, holding out a hand for the key.

He shakes his head, unconvinced. “Nope. Not buying it. No way you’re going to go outside of your apartment in just a towel without a good reason.”

I growl. “I heard a noise, okay? I was checking it out.”

“And you found something, didn’t you?”

“Quince.”

“What did you find, Turn? Tell your good pal, Quincy,” he mocks sweetly, and I sigh.

“Greer.”

“Oh, my, my. This is getting interesting now.”

“She was drunk and thought my door was hers. I helped her into her apartment, and when I went back, the door was locked.”

“Mm-hmm. And what else happened?”

“Nothing,” I stress. This whole teasing tour is all in good fun, but jokes about something happening when Greer clearly couldn’t consent are not.

Quincy steps forward and holds out the key, and I take it swiftly before he has a chance to play any other games.

“Goodnight?” he prompts as I head for the stairs. “Thank you?”

“Fucking goodnight,” I say over my shoulder.

“Did you know it’s customary to be nice to the person who’s done you a favor?” he calls. “Just a little information to tuck away for later.”

“Fucking thank you and goodnight,” I toss back just as the doors to the elevator open.

He smiles and pinches his fingers together. “Close. You’ll get it eventually. Keep practicing.”

The elevator doors close, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

The only thing I’m going to be practicing is common sense—first thing tomorrow, I’m hiding a spare key.

I need to make sure the only person I have to call for help in the future is myself.





Trent



Waking up at five a.m. to avoid going to work at the same time as Greer is brutal. My eyes are always about as easy to peel open as an apple without something sharp, and I almost always smash my toe on the corner of my bed on the way to my bathroom.

Hell, waking up that early is the worst part of every day, which is probably why this particular Monday morning, I don’t.

My sleep schedule is all screwed up, alternating between insomnia and sleeping so deeply I don’t hear the world.

So, when my alarm goes off, I’m apparently in the comatose phase of my REM cycle.

I sleep and sleep until almost seven, and now, not only am I not extremely early, I’m running behind schedule.

My tie is in some form of a knot, but I’m almost positive it’s more Clove Hitch than Half Windsor, and my shirt is only ironed on the front.

With a half-baked plan to keep my jacket on the entire day to hide that fact, I scoop my keys and phone off the kitchen island and head for the door.

I have the knob half turned when I hear activity in the hall and freeze.

Greer and I haven’t seen each other since I put her in her bed Saturday night.

I know it’s a better idea to get that interaction over with rather than having to live out any awkwardness in front of everyone on the job site, but at least there, we have roles to hide behind.

I’m the boss and she’s the designer, and there are plenty of things to talk about that don’t include the way she looked at me and my only-a-towel-covered cock, or the fact that I saw way too much of her creamy thighs, or that I’d just finished masturbating before her drunken, adorable ass started assaulting my front door.

Adorable? Really, Trent?