Sleeping with the Boss (Anderson Brothers, #1)(2)

“Ready?” he asked, dimple still present and accounted for.

His jacket hung way below her skirt line, so no matter how bad the damage, she was covered. At least the worst was over. What else could possibly go wrong?

He turned the key and the elevator smoothly rose the remaining flights before making its final refined ding.

“I’m Will Anderson,” he said, extending his hand.

William Anderson of Anderson Auctions. Her boss. Awesome. Claire groaned inwardly, and shook his hand, mentally tallying the Claire-isms to a record-breaking six, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.





Chapter Two


Will watched the woman wearing his suit jacket scurry across the lobby and disappear into an office. He straightened his tie and grinned. The scenery had certainly improved in the weeks he’d been gone.

“Where’s your jacket?” The question came before he’d even gotten all the way into his brother’s office. Michael had a bad case of big-brother-itis, along with a side of OCD, and always insisted on business attire and stuffy professionalism in the workplace because clients sometimes showed up unexpectedly.

“Hey, Mikey. Good to see you, too. My trip was great, thanks for asking.” Will sat in one of the two leather wing chairs opposite the huge mahogany desk that had belonged to their father before he retired three years ago, then pulled at the tight collar of his dress shirt. Out of habit, he scanned the room for potential threats. Everything looked the same as it had the last time he’d been here, with the exception of the rolling suitcase in the corner, hanging bag draped over the top.

Michael sat back and steepled his fingers. “Sorry. Glad you’re back. How were the islands?”

“Lonely.”

The word hung there like a long football pass in slo-mo and neither man said anything for a while. It had been almost a year since Will’s return from his second tour in Afghanistan, and he should be over Beth by now. Should be. Michael finally broke the awkward moment. “Want some coffee?”

“I’d prefer a beer.” Will knew his attempt at humor missed its mark when his brother responded with a scowl. “I’m just messing with you.”

Michael studied him for a moment before speaking. “We need to talk about something that came up while you were on vacation.”

Some vacation. Sitting alone on the porch of their family villa, staring at the empty beach where he’d brought Beth the summer before he was deployed. He should never have gone back there. All he did was lament the dreams he’d lost when he lost Beth, which made his gut churn. He had a great job and a family who loved him. Get your shit together, Anderson. “What came up?”

“We have our suspicions that there is a spy in the office.”

Suspicions. His brothers had hovered like mother hens for the first months after his return from Afghanistan, calling him into the office for every little thing to keep him from holing up in his house like he wanted to. They’d let up over the last four or five months. Hopefully, they weren’t back at it. He leaned forward. “Meaning what?”

Michael’s chronic formal demeanor cracked for a moment, and his brow furrowed before he responded a little too loudly. “Meaning exactly what I said.”

Will leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, studying his uncharacteristically flustered big brother. Maybe this wasn’t just an excuse to get him into the office. “You said ‘suspicions,’ indicating rumor or innuendo, rather than hard evidence.”

“I don’t have any hard evidence.”

“When you call to tell me to dress up like I’m going to a funeral and appear at the snap of your fingers, I assume it’s important.”

Since his return to the States almost a year ago, Will had set up and managed security for all the Anderson family holdings, including this building and their lucrative antiquities brokerage business that occupied the top two floors—a perfect use of his military recon training. The deal he had struck with his brothers on his return was that he would set up the security, train the personnel, and run it remotely from his home on Long Island, only returning to New York City on an as-needed basis. He hated it here. He felt smothered in the city and overwhelmed with dread—just as he had in Afghanistan—like something terrible could be lurking in every alley or around the next corner.

A spy could certainly warrant an in-house visit, but he needed more to go on than a hunch. This could have been done with a phone call. “Suspicions are a waste of my time. That’s what I trained your security team for.”

“Will! Great to see you, man,” a voice called from the doorway.

“Chance! How’s it going?” Will asked, rising and extending his hand. With the exception of a squarer jaw, his little brother looked exactly the same as he had in high school and college. All hard lines and long hair—freedom and rebellion stuffed into a business suit.

Chance shook his hand. “Glad you’re back.”

Will was glad, too. He’d thought the island would bring him some peace, but like shrapnel under the skin, regret made his every move ache.

“Things have gotten kind of weird around here,” his little brother added, pulling him back to the moment.

“So I’ve been told.” Will moved closer to the window and caught a look on his big brother’s face he’d seen hundreds of times before. Incapacitating worry and guilt. Michael had always taken every failure on himself as if he were personally responsible. His father had brought him up to run this company from an early age, and the burden had robbed him of the carefree fun his brothers had experienced as teens. In lots of ways, Will felt sorry for him.