Boss Next Door Read online

  He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be possible without Braxton.”

  “Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” I tell him. “You’re the one putting in all the work.”

  “That’s what I keep telling him.”

  I turn and give a start when I find Braxton standing behind us. I hadn’t even heard him walk up. Javi gets to his feet, quickly putting on that cocksure attitude that comes naturally to the young and covering over the vulnerability that gripped him a moment ago. He sniffs loudly and regains that swagger.

  “I should get going,” Javi said.

  “Got a date, kid?”

  He shrugs, giving us a sly smirk. “Yeah, I might.”

  Braxton grins. “Good man,” he replies. “You have enough money and everything?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Braxton laughs and presses some cash into Javi’s hand anyway. “Just in case,” he winks.

  “Thanks, B,” Javi smiles. “I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime, kid. Anytime.”

  Javi turns to me. “It was nice to finally meet you,” Javi says, and then laughs. “But it kinda feels like I already know you.”

  I cut a quick glance over at Braxton, who isn’t meeting my eyes and has a rueful look on his face as he realizes he probably told Javi too much. Braxton holds a finger up, telling me to give him a minute as he turns and walks Javi back to the house. I remain sitting on the bench, watching the way the muscles ripple beneath Braxton’s skin as he moves and try to process everything Javi told me about his mentor.

  He was never what I’d call a full-blown narcissist, but I still have trouble believing that Braxton has gone from being the self-absorbed guy I knew to the man he apparently is now. The fact that he bought Javi and his mom a house to get them out of a bad neighborhood is something I’m still wrapping my head around. Even more so because I can tell that Braxton takes his mentoring role very seriously – he’s not just throwing money at this kid to make himself feel better. He’s actively involved in Javi’s life and is helping show him a better path in life. It’s obvious the two have a deep bond.

  As the heat of the day beats down on us, Braxton walks toward me again, a smile on his face. He’s got a towel wrapped around his neck, the ends of it hanging down over his broad shoulders and halfway down his chest. The bare skin of his torso still glistens enticingly, and I have to physically force myself to meet his eyes. I feel my cheeks burning with heat and don’t even want to imagine what color they are.

  “Let’s get out of this heat,” he says.

  “That’s a great idea.”

  I follow him through the backyard and let out a long breath of relief when we step into the cool, air-conditioned house. He leads me into the kitchen and pulls another bottle of water out of the refrigerator, then turns to me.

  “Water? Soda? Wine?” he asks.

  “Water is great, thank you.”

  Despite my best efforts to keep him at an arm’s distance, I’ve felt the boundaries I put up weakening. And every day I’m around him, that boundary gets weaker still. There’s just a natural chemistry that’s existed between us since we were teenagers back in New York. It’s a chemistry that seems to still be alive and well after all these years, and it’s one that apparently can’t be contained no matter what I do. I’ve done my best to stuff it down into a box, thrown heavy locks on it, and thrown it into the deepest reaches of my mind, but somehow, it’s not enough.

  That natural chemistry has found a way to break out, creep back into our lives, and it apparently won’t be denied.

  I tear my eyes away from him and focus on something more mundane to distract me from the thoughts swirling through my mind and the feelings rampaging through my body – especially that tingle between my thighs.

  “Still cooking?” I ask, cringing at the squeak I hear in my voice.

  He nods. “I do. Javi’s mom has actually taught me to cook some incredible Mexican food,” he tells me. “I’ll have to make something special for you sometime.”

  He throws the line out there casually enough, but I can tell he’s testing the waters. He’s poking at the boundaries to see if there are any weak points in them he can wriggle through and sneak back into my world.

  “That sounds great,” I say, as non-committal as possible.

  I look around and notice that the layout of his kitchen is almost exactly like my mother’s – but it looks as if he’s upgraded cabinets – they’re a darker oak rather than the lighter wood in my mom’s place, and he’s put in all new stainless steel appliances. It’s large, has a lot of counter and storage space, and is as neat and efficient as the man himself. Seeing the Mauviel copper pots and pans hanging on a rack mounted to the ceiling above the stove reminds me of the night he made me dinner – and of course, everything that came after. The memory of that night brings a small smile to my face.

  I lean against the counter on the center island as he sets a bottle of water down in front of me. I twist off the cap and set it down in front of me, taking a long swallow and feeling instant relief as the cool liquid washes down my throat. I set the bottle back down gently and look up at him.

  “So that’s Javi,” I say awkwardly. “I’ve seen him around the office a few times. Seems like you’re doing a great job with him.”

  Braxton shrugs. “He’s a good kid. He just needed an opportunity.”

  “He says you bought his mother a house,” I add.

  “It was a small house.”

  An awkward small smile quirks his lips, and he looks away as if embarrassed that I know his little secret or something. Whether it’s a small house or a mansion, the simple fact that he bought a house just to help somebody get into a better situation in life at all is amazing. The Braxton of ten years ago probably never would have done something like that. The different layers the years have added to this man have my head spinning.

  “Listen, give me ten minutes,” he says. “I need to grab a quick shower. If we’re going to do some work, I don’t want to inflict myself on you while I stink.”

  The thought of him naked in the shower makes me shudder – a feeling I quickly try to suppress. My thoughts are taking a dangerous turn, and I know I should get out of there before I let myself do something stupid. I want to think I have more self-control and willpower than that, but the truth is, I feel the heat and wetness growing between my thighs and don’t know that I actually do. I chew my bottom lip, doing my best to stave off the waves of desire washing over and through me.

  Maybe it’s because Braxton was the first man I chose to give myself to that he has this sort of hold on me. Or maybe it’s because when I was with him, I felt like I could be myself – my true self. I felt like I could indulge in whatever I wanted, and he would never judge me for anything – that maybe, he enjoyed it as much as I did.

  I drink down the last of my water, hoping the cold liquid quenches the flames burning inside of me. Braxton’s eyes bore into mine with a smoldering intensity that nearly stops my heart. He gives me a flirty little smile and stands up, draining the last of his water. After collecting both empty bottles, he throws them in the recycling bin and turns back to me.

  “Ten minutes,” he tells me. “I’ll be right down.”

  “And hopefully smelling better.”

  He laughs. “Guarantee it. Until then, make yourself at home,” he says. “Mi casa es su casa.”

  Braxton disappears, and a moment later, I hear his footsteps treading up the stairs and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I do everything I can to avoid thinking about him naked in the shower upstairs but can’t stop the shudder that ripples through my body.

  I should probably leave the tablet and just go home. That would be the smart thing to do. I’m not looking to borrow trouble here, and I know that for me, Braxton is nothing but trouble.

  And yet, even knowing that, I can’t force myself to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Braxton

  I lean into the coo
l water, relishing the feel of it on my overheating body. I should really think twice about playing basketball in the middle of a summer day. I don’t know how the kid does it without coming down with a nasty case of heatstroke – hell, he barely sweats. All I know is that even after a decade in the desert, I am still not fully built for the heat.

  Or at least, I’m not cut out for getting my ass handed to me on a basketball court by a kid nearly twenty years my junior.

  As I soak in the cool water, my thoughts turn to the woman downstairs waiting for me. When she told me she wanted to keep things professional, I understood it. It made sense, and she was right – it probably would have been for the best. At least, from a work standpoint and all. And I tried to keep my distance. As difficult as it was, I tried to keep things strictly professional and avoid letting things seep into the personal. For the most part, anyway.

  But there seems to be a natural magnetism between us that doesn’t want to let that happen. Chloe and I seem drawn to each other. It’s like we’re permanently caught in each other’s orbits, and regardless of how much time has passed or how much distance there was between us, we’ve always seemed to find our way back to each other.

  In a lot of ways, it’s miraculous if you really stop to think about it. I mean, in this wide, crazy world of ours that two people with an undeniable chemistry wind up in the same place at the same time over and over again. Or maybe it’s that undeniable chemistry that has everything to do with it.

  Or maybe I’m just overthinking and overromanticizing it all and should get my ass out of the shower and downstairs to where she’s waiting.

  I flip the handle, cutting the water off, grab the towel, and quickly dry myself. I wander into my room and grab a pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt. After doing what I can with my hair, I head downstairs and find Chloe still sitting in the kitchen, sipping on another bottle of water. She looks up at me and smiles.

  “Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself,” she motions to the half-empty bottle in front of her.

  I shake my head. “Not at all. Glad you did.”

  I walk to the refrigerator and pull another bottle out for myself and twist the cap off. Taking a long swallow, I walk back to the center island where she’s sitting and lean down against it, the memory of us on a counter in my kitchen deliciously floating through my mind. I raise my eyes to her, wondering if she remembers. Wondering if she thinks about it at all. I know I do.

  The electricity in the air between us is palpable, and as I look into the clear, sparkling blue of Chloe’s eyes, it’s all I can do to keep myself from pulling her to me and planting a kiss on her. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be received all that well.

  “So,” I start, “should we take a look at your renderings?”

  “Yeah of course,” she says quickly. “The – renderings. Yeah. Absolutely.”

  I give her a smile and pick up her tablet, motioning for her to follow me. I take her into the second office I keep downstairs. My drafting room is upstairs; this is the one I keep for more administrative work. I feel like I’m more creative in my drafting room, while this is more functional and business oriented. And I’ll occasionally meet with clients here when I want to get out of the hustle and bustle of the office.

  Two large double-paned windows are centered in the wall behind the large hand-carved desk. They let in the natural sunlight, but not nearly as much as in my drafting room. The furniture – my desk, a pair of tall bookcases that sit against the wall on my left, and the credenza against the wall behind me – is all a rich cherry wood.

  A pair of plush wingback chairs sit in front of my desk, and I direct Chloe to it. She drops down into one of them and waits for me to take my seat. I turn the computer on and wait for it to boot up. There’s one monitor facing me and a second that faces Chloe – I like for my clients to be able to see what I’m working on without them having to crowd around my desk.

  When the computer is done booting up, I plug her tablet in and open up the Lyman files. I scroll through all of her renderings, nodding along as I take it all in.

  “This is excellent stuff,” I comment. “I think Mr. Lyman is going to be as impressed as I am with this.”

  “Thank you,” she murmurs and looks away, her cheeks reddening.

  I laugh. “You always were shit about taking compliments.”

  “Hello Pot, this is Kettle,” she laughs along with me.

  I lean back, and my chair creaks softly. On my computer screen is the final rendering in her packet. It’s a sketch of the building’s exterior and it’s easy for me to pick out the different influences in her work – they’re all so different and yet at the same time, she manages to blend them all seamlessly into a style that’s all her own.

  It’s different and unique, and yet, it manages to hit on everything the client wants. And that’s why Chloe is a better designer than Curtis will ever be – she has her own style, but she still manages to take the client’s wishes into account. She doesn’t try to impose her style onto a client, but she definitely puts her own spin on things.

  We take some time with the renderings as I let her walk me through the details of her work. I don’t really need the guided tour, but she’s proud of what she’s done, so I give her some time to preen. She’s earned it. When she’s done with her show and tell, I stand and lead her back out to the kitchen where I open a bottle and pour her a glass of Chardonnay.

  “I don’t have any champagne on hand, so this will have to do,” I grin.

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “The launching of a brilliant new career, of course,” I announce.

  I tap my glass against hers, the high-pitched ping filling some of the sudden silence around us. We both take a sip of wine, and she sets the glass down on the table in front of her. Chloe’s expression grows serious when she looks up at me.

  “Do you think so?” she asks softly. “About this being the start of my career?”

  “I know so,” I confirm. “For you to step in and take charge – and produce something fantastic in the tight window you did is nothing short of amazing. I’ve always known you are talented, but you have really blown me away.”

  She tries to hide her blush behind her wine glass, but I can see she’s pleased with the praise. Which is good. She deserves it. Picking up the bottle, I give her a smile and motion for her to follow me. Although the sunlight is beginning to slip away, the day is still plenty warm.

  We go out to the covered patio area, and Chloe takes a seat at the long table that runs half the length of the area. I walk over to a control panel mounted on the wall and punch in a few buttons. Plastic walls descend from the overhead covering and lock into place. Then with an electric hum, cold air begins pouring in, almost immediately taking the edge off.

  I grab a round, chilled bucket from the refrigerator and set it on the table between us as I take a seat across from her. We polish off our first glass in a companionable silence as the patio area cools down around us.

  “It feels nice out here,” she breaks the silence.

  “Yeah, I had this thing installed about three months after I moved here,” I tell her. “I consider it a necessity for survival.”

  “I don’t know how people can manage to survive in this heat.”

  I shrug. “You get used to it after a while,” I counter. “Mind you, I’m still trying to get used to it, but that’s what people tell me.”

  Her laughter sounds like crystal windchimes, and her eyes sparkle like chips of the purest sapphire. On some levels, it’s insane to me that she still has the most profound impact on me with nothing more than a smile. With nothing more than a glance.

  I want so badly to ask her again about what led her to being here, sitting across the table from me. I’ve gone so far as to want to Google her name just to see what pops up. I’ve stopped every time, though. I want to respect her privacy, so I’ve been trying to accept the idea that she’ll tell me when she’s ready to tell me. I know when I’ve br
ought it up with her in the past that she’s gotten tense, and I don’t want to ruin the vibe between us, so I bite it all back and repeat the mantra I’ve been forced to adopt – she’ll tell me when she tells me.

  “So anyway,” I start. “I fly to New York City in the next couple of weeks to present the project to Lyman. I want you there with me.”

  She sits up, and the smile falls from her face as she tenses up. “Shouldn’t you be taking Curtis with you?”

  I shrug. “I would if he’d been the one whose designs were being pitched.”

  “You know that’s not going to go over well with him.”

  I lean over the table and look deeply into her eyes. “Ask me if I care.”

  She opens her mouth to say something but shuts it again without saying anything. My eyes drift down to her full lips, and I immediately remember what they felt like pressed to my own. The memory of her kiss stirs the embers of desire within me, stoking them, making that fire burn bright once more.

  “I mean, this is really something. Something amazing,” I say, trying to take my mind off it.

  “Thank you,” she says, never taking her eyes off mine. “I just wanted to…” she trails off.

  “Wanted to what?” I ask, my breath quickening.

  I can tell she’s struggling with the words, but I give her space to say what she needs. Finally, she exhales a deep breath and just says it. “I wanted to impress you.”

  I chuckle incredulously. “Impress me? Chloe, you’ve impressed me ever since the day we met. I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you.”

  I see a wave of emotion rush over her body, and it’s then that I know. I know that she still does have feelings for me.

  “You really mean that?” she asks, softly, as if in a haze.

  Silently, I get to my feet and come around the table. Chloe’s eyes are on me the whole time, watching my every step, my every movement. As I approach her, Chloe lifts her hand to me, and it seems like the entire world has started moving in slow motion. My stomach is churning, my head is spinning, and I feel my cock stiffening.