Boss Next Door Read online

  “Meaning he’s ignoring what the client wants.”

  She gives me a small shrug, wanting to get her point across, but not wanting to throw him under the bus entirely. Chloe is holding onto a tablet, and if I know her like I think I do, I know she’s got something to show me.

  “Let’s see it,” I grin.

  She opens the cover, taps on the screen to pull up the correct file, and reaches across the desk, handing it to me. I glance down at the screen and swipe through the pages, studying Chloe’s designs. I see a few things I’d do differently, but it’s a massive upgrade over what Curtis has going on. I’m kicking myself for not checking up on him earlier, but I’d given him the benefit of the doubt after our last go around.

  Clearly, I didn’t learn my lesson well enough. I know Curtis believes in his vision and that he’s passionate about his designs – regardless of whether they fit the project or not. But I need to make him understand, once and for all, that the only thing that matters is the happiness and satisfaction of our client. And I can’t think of a better way to get it across to him than showing him the consequences of being so fucking obstinate and forgetting why it is we’re in business in the first place.

  “This is good stuff, Chloe,” I say. “This is really good stuff.”

  She says nothing but is beaming with pride. I know how passionate she was about design back in the day and imagine that she’s loving being here. This is more her natural element than finance ever was. She has a glow about her, a smile that lights up my entire office, and a vibrancy about her that’s palpable. And as I look at her, I don’t know that she’s ever been more beautiful to me than she is in that moment.

  “Anyway, I thought you might be able to present it to Curtis,” she says. “Maybe it’ll help him get on track.”

  I sit back and think about it for a moment. She’s on the right track. This is exactly what Lyman wants out of this development. But I know if I present it to Curtis that he’ll bastardize it somehow with his own ideas and then we’ll be back to square one. No, I need to take control of this situation and see that it’s done differently. I need to give him a solid slap upside the head – metaphorically speaking, of course.

  “I want you to finish these renderings,” I instruct her. “We’ll finalize them together, and after that, we’ll present them to Lyman.”

  A look of concern passes across her face. “What about Curtis?” she asks. “He’s going to be pissed when –”

  “Don’t worry about him,” I reassure her. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Ummm… okay,” she replies, uncertainty etched into her every feature. “I just – I don’t want to make things any more awkward than they already are.”

  I give her a smile. “Let me worry about that,” I say. “Just worry about getting those renderings done as soon as possible.”

  “Okay, I’ll get on it.”

  She gets to her feet and smiles at me. I relish the easy, comfortable feeling between us. Bit by bit, that wall of ice is melting away. I can feel it. And I want to believe that she can feel it too. More than that, I want to believe she welcomes it as much as I do.

  “So I’ll get those renderings to you as soon as I can,” she stammers.

  “Good. Okay.”

  She gives me an awkwardly stiff smile, then turns and walks out of my office. I watch her go, the desire in me burning brighter than ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chloe

  I’ve spent the last week or so busting my butt to get these renderings done. It’s been mostly done at home while off the clock, hiding what I’m doing from Curtis. I think he knows something’s up, though – he’s been even more of a dick than usual lately. But I know that Braxton hasn’t talked to him about it because Curtis would be making my life completely unbearable if he had.

  I’m pretty sure he’s threatened by me. The rest of the team in our pod likes me. I get along with all of them, and the rest of us seem to work together well. Somehow, the rest of us manage to put our egos aside and work as a cohesive unit. Except for Curtis, who walks around like he’s better than the rest of us and that we’re somehow less than him.

  Nobody on the team likes Curtis and some of them are actually upset at Braxton for not doing something about him. I’ve almost told him what Braxton relayed to me about the deal he made with his father about keeping some of the staff on when he retired, but I know that would lead to a lot of questions. Having that sort of personal information would let them know that I am closer to Braxton than I’ve let on, and that’s something I don’t want to do.

  It’s hard for me to stand by and listen to some of the employees talk poorly of Braxton, some of them deriding his lack of leadership, and bemoaning the fact that his father isn’t the man in charge anymore. But if I step in and defend him, I know that will automatically knock me down a few pegs in everybody’s eyes. It’ll make people take me less seriously and question whether I got this job because I’m qualified or because I’m connected.

  I want to defend him, but for my own reputation and my own sake, I can’t do it. Besides, Braxton is a big boy. He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need me challenging people to fights to defend his honor.

  I sit at the desk in my room and stare out at the pool in the backyard as I load the files onto my tablet. I’m finally done with the renderings and am beyond excited to have Braxton take a look at them. I’m pretty certain I’ve hit every single note Mr. Lyman wanted. In my opinion, I’ve designed something pretty fantastic, and I’m excited to show it to Braxton.

  The water in the pool looks inviting, and I make a promise to myself that I’m going to have a glass of wine and go for a dip to celebrate finishing the project. My mom is out of town for the week, so I have the place to myself. Which means I can do as I please without having to worry about her killing my buzz.

  I unplug the tablet from my computer and look at it for a long moment. I’m so excited about it; I almost don’t want to wait until Monday to deliver it to Braxton. I should probably be patient and be professional enough to wait until regular business hours to do – well – business. It’s the weekend, and Braxton probably doesn’t want to deal with work stuff when he’s not in the office. Yeah, it’s probably best that I wait.

  On the other hand, he might be one of those people who don’t mind working on the weekends. The sooner I’m able to get him these files, the more time he’ll have to review them. And if some revisions need to be made, I can do those and have them finished by Monday. Which means that maybe I should give them to him now – just to be efficient.

  But then, I don’t even know if he’s home. It’s the weekend; he could be out doing – whatever he does on the weekends now. I know nothing about his life outside of work. It’s by design, of course. The less personal our relationship is, the easier it is to control the memories and emotions.

  I’m curious about his life outside of work. I’ve seen that teenage boy I saw in the photo in Braxton’s office – the one I think could be his son – come in a few times. They sit in his office, laughing and talking with each other. They sometimes go to lunch, or sometimes just disappear for the day. The other employees all seem familiar with the boy, which tells me he probably comes around fairly regularly. I just haven’t worked up the nerve to ask anybody about the relationship between the two of them.

  But when I’ve seen him in the office, I struggle to see Braxton in the boy’s face. They just don’t look very much alike to me. I suppose he could take after his mother rather than Braxton, but you’d think there would be something of his father in him. I just don’t see it.

  I don’t know what that means – or if it means anything – but it’s just something I’ve noticed. Or maybe, the devil’s advocate in my mind whispers, I only noticed it because I wanted to notice it. Maybe, it tells me, I’m only seeing what I want to see.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I mutter to myself. “It’s none of your business.”

  As I stand here look
ing at the pool and imagine the relief I’ll feel after submerging myself in the cool water, I decide to run the files to Braxton. What he chooses to do with them after that, whether he works on it this weekend or waits until Monday, is his call. But at least he’ll know that I’m dedicated and that I’ve done my job. Once I hand over the files, I can enjoy a nice evening of wine, take out Chinese food, and a dip in the pool.

  I pop into the bathroom and clean myself up, then pull my hair back into a ponytail. After slipping into a tennis skirt, an athletic top, and tennis shoes, I take the tablet off my desk and head downstairs. I grab a bottle of water from the kitchen and my shades from the table in the entryway, then head out the front door. I’m immediately slammed with a wave of heat so intense it nearly takes my breath away. But hey, at least it’s a dry heat, right?

  I can’t wait to get this done and get back home so I can drop my butt in the pool. I walk quickly over to Braxton’s house and ring the bell. I wait for a moment, and he doesn’t come to the door. His car is in the driveway, so I’m assuming he’s home. Of course, he could have another car, or somebody could have picked him up. I ring it again and wait, just to be sure. And when he doesn’t answer the door, I let out a frustrated breath and turn around.

  I’m about to head back home when I hear Braxton’s booming laughter echoing through the neighborhood. After that, I hear what almost sounds like something being hammered or something – it’s just a steady thump-thump-thumping sound I can’t identify. But it tells me that Braxton is indeed home – he’s just in the backyard. How he can stand being in this heat I don’t understand but to each their own.

  Figuring that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, I walk over to the gate that leads to his side yard. I open it up and walk to the back. His backyard is set up a lot like my mom’s – he’s got the covered patio area, the nice big pool, and it’s landscaped really well. It amazes me that they can keep any plants alive in this damn heat, but his backyard is actually fairly lush.

  At the far end of his property, though, he had a basketball court put in. And it’s there I find Braxton and the kid that’s possibly his son. I stand where I am for a moment and watch as Braxton squares off with the kid, who’s dribbling the ball. They’re both wearing wide smiles on their faces and are talking to each other. I’m too far away and can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s probably just trash talk – that’s what sports guys do to one another, apparently.

  The kid feints one way and spins – he moves so fast, he’s basically just a blur of motion, and he slips around Braxton like he’s standing still. He sweeps up to the hoop and tosses the ball through, laughing the whole time. Braxton plants his hands on his hips and looks down at the ground, shaking his head and laughing along with the kid.

  The kid tucks the ball under his arm and looks over, suddenly spotting me standing next to the corner of Braxton’s house. Noticing the kid is looking over at me, Braxton follows his gaze, and when his eyes land on me, it feels like something solid taking hold of me. It draws me toward him, and as I walk toward the basketball court, it almost feels involuntary – like I’m on some kind of autopilot or something.

  I manage to stop myself at the edge of the court and try to gather myself quickly. But I can’t seem to tear my eyes off Braxton. He’s standing there shirtless and slicked with sweat, every hard angle and plane of his torso glistening in the summer sun. I’m glad I’ve got a pair of sunglasses on, so he can’t see my eyes sliding up and down that firm, chiseled body. I feel myself growing wet as a profound sense of desire fills me up.

  Braxton gives me a lopsided grin, the expression on his face telling me he knows exactly what’s going through my mind and body at that moment. Maybe he does. I don’t know. The kid is looking at me with a strange expression on his face as he tries to figure out who I am. I clear my throat and return Braxton’s smile, doing my best to get my raging hormones under control.

  “I don’t know much about basketball,” I grin, “but it sure looks like he’s kicking your ass.”

  The kid laughs out loud as Braxton grins and nods his head. “Yeah, that he is,” he says. “Once upon a time, I used to beat him out here pretty regularly.”

  “Beat him? What, with a stick?” I tease. “Because from what I just saw, I doubt you ever beat him on this court.”

  “I like her,” the kid comments.

  “Everybody’s got jokes,” Braxton says, then turns back to me. “So what’s up? I assume this isn’t a social call?”

  “Why would you say that?” I tease.

  He arches his eyebrow and gives me an incredulous look. I hold my hands up in surrender and laugh. He’s obviously doing his best to keep things on a professional level. Not that I can fault him for it – it’s what I told him I wanted, so I can’t exactly play the aggrieved party now.

  I hold up the tablet for him to see. “I finished all the renderings for the Lyman project,” I explain. “I wanted to get them to you as soon as possible.”

  Braxton grins. “You do realize you’re allowed to take time off on the weekends, right?”

  I laugh softly and look away from him, feeling my cheeks flush, doing my best to stop myself from staring at Braxton’s half naked body, afraid I might start drooling or something.

  “I just like to be conscientious,” I respond and then turn to the kid. “And since Braxton has zero manners – I’m Chloe. I work with your… d – dad?” My throat sticks on the word, but I manage to choke it out.

  A moment of silence passes between them as they trade a glance, and then both Braxton and the kid laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. I stare at them, not getting the joke. Finally, Braxton stops laughing and tries to give me a serious expression – or as near to it as he can.

  “Chloe, this is Javier Ortiz – you can call him Javi,” he says. “He’s my little brother.”

  I cock my head and look at him, confused. “Your brother?”

  Javi steps forward and extends his hand with a smile. “The Big Brothers program,” he explains. “Braxton here is my mentor. Has been for a few years now.”

  I’m taken aback, to say the least. I never would have expected Braxton to take on something like mentoring a teenage boy. The Braxton Voight I knew wasn’t the mentoring type. He was far too self-centered back then. Most everything was about him and what he wanted. He wasn’t the type who bent over backwards to help others.

  I glance over at Braxton, and he looks away, seeming to be a bit embarrassed – which is yet another new wrinkle to the man. Back in the day, he was always confident and self-assured. If he was ever embarrassed about anything, I never saw it. And at work, he still projects that image of self-possession and pure confidence, so I assumed he hadn’t changed.

  But seeing him standing here with his little brother, the affection between the two of them more than obvious, he doesn’t seem as sure of himself. Shockingly enough, he seems a bit – vulnerable. Frankly, it’s as endearing as it is surprising.

  “I’m going to grab some water,” Braxton announces. “I’ll be right back.”

  I have to tear my eyes away from him as he walks away, and when I turn back to Javi, I find him smiling wide. I clear my throat and feel the heat flaring in my cheeks.

  “So you’re the one he talks about,” Javi says.

  “He talks about me?”

  Javi nods, his smile growing even wider. “He sure does.”

  I feel a churning in my stomach, knowing that Braxton thinks about me. It pleases me – probably more than it should. Or at least, more than I should let it. But as they say, that’s like trying to shut the barn door after the horse has already gotten out. The best thing I can do at this point is change the subject, so that’s what I do. I try to stifle my smile, not wanting to give away my thoughts.

  “So he’s your mentor, huh?” I ask.

  Javi nods, and a strange look crosses his face. “Yeah, he’s really helped me out,” he tells me. “I don’t know where I’d be
without him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Javi sighs and sits down on the bench that sits on the sideline of the basketball court, and I join him, curious to hear what he has to say. He looks at me, an uncertain smile on his face.

  “I used to get into a lot of trouble. I had bad grades, was in trouble at school all the time,” he says softly, an expression of pain on his face. “I was headed for a lot of trouble. If not for Braxton, I’d probably be running with gangs.”

  I stare at Javi and try to absorb his words as I attempt to reconcile the nice-looking, well-spoken boy in front of me with the image of some running and gunning, drug dealing gang banger. It just doesn’t fit for me. The two sides just don’t line up.

  “Anyway, my mom had me sign up for the program. My dad split when I was a little kid, and she thought I needed a strong male presence in my life,” he continues. “I was matched with Braxton, and one of the first things he did was to buy a house for my mom and me. He got us out of that shitty neighborhood we lived in.”

  “Wow,” I gasp, stunned by the display of generosity. “That’s unreal.”

  Javi nods. “He’s gotten me a tutor to help with my grades, he buys me clothes for school,” he goes on. “He even hired me a personal coach to work on my game when he found out how much I loved basketball. Now I’m getting good grades, and I’m even getting attention from some colleges. I’m only a sophomore right now, but if I keep it up, they say I might be able to get a scholarship to a good school.”

  “Do you have one picked out?”

  His smile is soft and sweet. It makes him look like a little boy, further undercutting the image of the hardcore gangster he said he was destined to be if not for Braxton’s intervention.

  “I really want to go to UCLA,” he says. “It’s close to home and has a great basketball tradition.”

  “That’s fantastic, Javi,” I tell him. “That’s really great. I’m happy for you – and I’m super impressed with you.”