Kissing the Boss

CHAPTER ONE

Kait…lynn!

The unexpected shriek that blasted through the intercom caused me to jump so hard I spilled the armful of papers I’d been carrying from the copy machine to my desk.

Groaning over my clumsiness, I bent to pick them up, only for the cantankerous voice to return. "I need you up here. Now, Kaitlynn."

After scooping the mess of pages into my arms, I slapped them into a disorganized heap on my desk, figuring I’d deal with them later, and called, I’m coming! Then I hustled to the teapot sitting on a nearby table and fished out the tea ball bobbing in hot water.

Lana preferred full-bodied oolong tea every morning, so I usually left the oxidized leaves in for at least six minutes before removing the ball. But today, it sounded as if she wanted her tea sooner, so hopefully she didn’t notice a weaker flavor.

I placed the ceramic lid on the pot, then carefully poured a portion of the tea into a waiting cup on the tray. After dripping some, I wiped away the splatter and settled the pot next to the full cup. I rearranged it twice before it looked aesthetically pleasing enough to suit me and then I tossed two sugar cubes into the steaming brew.

There. I stepped back and checked for any final flaws before lifting the tray in satisfaction. Perfect.

I hummed contentedly as I held the tray with one hand and opened the door to the musty stairwell with the other. The steps were a narrow, rickety old metal monstrosity that, I swear, swayed when you walked up them. There was one turn halfway through that was tricky to navigate when carrying anything cumbersome, then a low-hanging pipe from above to duck under, and after that, a clunky red fire extinguisher bolted to the wall a person could smack their shoulder against if they weren’t paying attention. And yet I’d failed to drop the tea once. Go me!

At the top, I had one more door to finagle open, and voilà, I made it to Shyla’s desk located in Lana’s outer office in one piece.

Morning! I breathlessly greeted Lana’s personal assistant with a smile, dropping off a bottle of water for her that I’d had sitting on the tea tray.

The pinch in Shyla’s brow smoothed as she glanced up from the computer screen she’d been scowling at. Oh! Morning, Kaitlynn. Thank God you’re early today. She shuddered and sent a fearful cringe toward Lana’s door as she picked up her water and unscrewed the cap. It’s been one of those mornings.

I laughed. Yeah, I had a suspicion.

Sweeping past her, I came to the door of the dragon’s den and quietly knocked with my toe before entering.

It’s about time, Lana grumbled. How long does it take to make a simple cup of tea around here?

Lana Judge was a callous, ungrateful, condescending, selfish, and coldly beautiful woman in her early fifties. She was also the co-CEO of Judge Fashions Industry where I worked and thus, my boss. Oh, and add in the small fact she’d married my dad when I was eight, which I guess technically made her my stepmother, and there you had our relationship in a nutshell. We pretty much loathed each other.

Ignoring her jab at my timeliness, I set the tray on the corner of her desk where I always put it.

Hello, I greeted with much more reservation than I’d used with Shyla. After stirring in the dissolved sugar, I set the cup on the desk close to her. Is there anything else you need?

She ignored the tea and frowned at a memo she was browsing. Have you copied the market reports for the meeting yet?

Yes, I was happy—aka, smugly thrilled—to report. And I’ll have them organized and stapled in just a few minutes.

Lana made an irritated sound. Don’t bother. Throw those away, because the idiots in accounting just emailed me last-second numbers, meaning the file I sent you is wrong. She thrust the memo she’d been scanning my way. Plug in these new figures and make sure the revised version is ready with copies for everyone by the time the meeting starts.

Uh… What? No. I didn’t have time to start all over again. Was she crazy? The meeting began in fifteen minutes. But when Lana arched a meaningful glance my way, I found myself bobbing my head enthusiastically. Sure. No problem.

One thing I could never do was let her think I was incapable of completing any challenge she set before me. She would only ever find me agreeable, prompt, and efficient. So, yeah, suck on that, stepmommy dearest.

Lana and I both would’ve been happy to never cross paths again after my dad died. But dear old Dad, God rest his deceiving soul, broke my heart when he left his company to her, and not me. I mean, I’d been conditioned for the position, raised to believe I’d inherit JFI one day. I’d lost count how many times over the years Dad had brought me to work with him and said, Someday, sweetheart, all this will be yours.

Except it hadn’t. Losing JFI, and worse, losing it to Lana, had been a hard, bitter pill for me to swallow. But I’d sucked up my pride, gone to her as soon as I’d graduated from college, and I had humbly asked for an entry-level position, hoping to eventually toil my way to the top.

JFI was my father’s legacy, it was like home and family to me. I’d never pictured myself working anywhere else. So, yes, of course I’d gone begging for a job. It didn’t matter who Dad had left the company to; I decided I’d just earn my way back to where I’d always been destined to be. And I realized I liked the idea of working for it instead of just being given a spot.

Except the wicked witch had turned me down flat. No entry-level position, no family courtesy, no nothing!

Not one to give up easily, I had persisted and negotiated until she’d only agreed to bring me on board when I said in a desperate last-ditch effort that I’d work for free as an unpaid intern until I proved myself worthy.

Of course, six months later, and here I was, still an unpaid intern. Lana claimed I hadn’t proven myself at all. But I wasn’t finished trying. Not even close. Soon, not even a bitter, manipulative, hard woman like my father’s widow could deny I was good enough to deserve full-time employment. And once I got that, watch out, world.

Well? She waved the backs of her fingers at me, shooing me along. Get to it.

Zapped from my daydream, I cleared my throat. Yes, ma’am. And away I went, determined to wow her with my superb stapling capabilities. I mean, who wouldn’t want to advance an intern who stapled like a total badass, am I right?

When Shyla sent me a sympathetic glance, letting me know she’d heard everything, I simply lifted my chin and hurried back down to my workroom, where I had a date with the copy machine.

Since I was the only person in the building who actually worked in the basement aside from the janitor who didn’t come in until after noon, I didn’t expect to find another soul around when I returned, meaning the man trying to set a mousetrap I had on the floor under a wire shelf full of paper reams caused me to shriek.

"Oh my God! What’re you doing?"

He jumped and accidentally tripped the hammer, making it snap down over his finger. Mother fu—

Jerking his digit free, he stuck it into his mouth and spun to level me with a scowl.

I winced at my stepbrother. Sorry! Are you okay? Let me see.

Mi’m fime, Brick muffled out moodily from around his finger before pulling it free to add, Why did you yell at me?

I’m so sorry, I gushed, grasping his wrist so I could examine the injury. The red mark just below his fingernail made me suck in another wince of sympathy. It’s just, I… I read somewhere that mice could smell a human on traps, and it scares them away. So I wear gloves when I set it.

Really? he asked, intrigued by the notion.

Mmm-hmm. I tugged open the small refrigerator I’d brought in from home and set up by my desk so I could fish out a piece of ice for him.

While I actually had heard that advice about mousetrap setting, the truth of the matter was I just didn’t have the heart to actually set it anymore.

I had once, of course, after my initial glimpse of Jacqueline. Yes, I named her. Don’t judge.

Upon first impression, her little gray mouse-i-ness had scared the holy bejesus out of me. So the next day, I showed up to work, armed with a dozen traps, ready to call all-out war, until she actually appeared again, stealthily sneaking toward one of the traps, her whiskers twitching and tail swishing as she scented the cheese I’d left as bait.

She—though, I guess she could technically be a he—had been so trusting and unsuspecting, I’d suddenly lost the killing nerve. I’d rushed at her, chasing her off, and spared her life. Then I’d sprung the trap myself so she couldn’t.

Since that day, the other traps had disappeared, but this single one remained with a steady supply of cheese for Jacqueline to pilfer from whenever she grew hungry. I guess you could say her little metaphorical electric chair had in essence become her feeding bowl.

As I placed the ice against Brick’s wound, he hissed from the cold and jerked his hand free. I’m fine, Kaity. Seriously. No broken bones.

Nodding, I cleared my throat and tossed the ice before sitting at my desk to bring up the file Lana had sent me yesterday. So, what do I owe the honor of this visit? I asked distractedly as I added the new numbers accounting had sent over, only to frown when I realized they actually hadn’t sent the memo to Lana this morning. It was dated two days ago.

Figured.

Just checking in on my favorite little sister. Brick perched himself on the edge of my desk to watch my fingers fly over the keyboard. What all-important task does the ogre called my mother have you in such a hurry to work on now?

Hmm? Oh. I saved the revisions and pushed print. Quarterly market reports for the meeting. When Brick only blinked, oblivious, I helpfully added, The one in twelve minutes.

Damn, is that today?

Yep.

When I stood to retrieve the printed pages, Brick slumped off my desk and into my chair so he could drape himself over the backrest and feign a faint as he arched his neck, hung out his tongue, and let his arms flop limply to his sides.

I suddenly don’t feel so well.

After Lana had taken over JFI, she’d put Brick in charge of the Purses department and his older brother, Hayden, in charge of Shoes. Both stepbrothers earned a nice fat salary that made me more envious than I cared to admit. So it always itched at my craw when Brick made a fuss about attending the monthly meetings, because at least he was getting paid and was allowed to go to them.

Shrugging as I scanned the printed pages to check for accuracy, I said, Maybe a fight won’t break out this time.

"Bite your tongue. Those fights are the only things that make the meetings worth attending. One better break out."

With an amused smile, I fed the reports into the copy machine and instructed it to make seventy-six copies. I’d never actually attended a JFI meeting myself—since I wasn’t of the paid-employee persuasion—but I had definitely heard about the notorious arguments that took place during them, usually between Lana and Nash. Well, I’m sure you’ll get your way. I turned to Brick with my full attention. Now, seriously, what did you need from me?

He set an ankle over one knee and eyed me with amusement. "What makes you think I need anything? Maybe I just missed you. It’s been weeks since we last talked."

Tapping my chin, I squinted his way. Hmm. No, that’s not it. It must be something I won’t want to do. You’re being especially sweet and even went out of your way to set my mousetrap for me.

An irritated crease formed between his eyebrows and he opened his mouth as if to argue, only for his shoulders to collapse. Okay, fine. You got me. I need someone to take to the company Halloween party this weekend.

I blinked, confused. And you want me to set you up with someone I know?

One thing was certain about Broderick Call-Me-Brick-Or-Anytime Carmichael; he’d never had problems securing his own date. And besides, I basically had no female friends to set him up with, except maybe Mabel, my neighbor across the hall. But I’m guessing he wouldn’t go for the seventy-five-year-old, retired lunch lady type, even though she routinely tried to convince me she’d been a dancer in Vegas during her younger years. So why the heck would he ask me for help?

No, he said, scowling. God, no. That’s the thing. I actually want to avoid that nonsense. I just ended things with Sabella in Belts, and she’s turned clingy and possessive. So I’m taking a break from women for a bit.

Then…? I frowned, still uncertain what he wanted.

He sighed, defeatist-like. "I want you to go with me."

Me? What? I shook my head, beyond confused. Why?

I can’t show up stag. I have a reputation to uphold, and I’m guessing you don’t have a date for the party anyway, right?

Actually, I started, because I hadn’t even planned on attending the party, but he kept talking over me.

So, why don’t we just go together? We’ll find you a costume to cover your face so no one will think I’m lame for bringing my sister, and Sabella will keep her distance, assuming you’re a real date. Win-win for both of us.

Uh, how is that a win for me? Being forced to appear at a social event I hadn’t even wanted to attend so one of my stepbrother’s castoffs could glare jealously at me the entire evening wasn’t quite my idea of a win.

Because, Brick drawled, lingering on the word as if he were about to pull an ace from his sleeve. Then he winked. I heard Christopher Elton’s going. As Prince Charming.

Christopher…? My face heated with ten tones of embarrassment, even though I desperately tried to maintain my dignity. But, oh Lord. How… What… I mean, why would you even mention that name?

Seriously.

Wiggling his eyebrows, Brick only laughed. What? I have it on very good authority he’s the one you’re currently infatuated with.

"What? No! Clutching my scorching cheeks, I cried, Who told you that?"

"Oh, no one. But maybe this had something to do with it." He yanked open the top drawer of my desk, revealing my doodle pad with my first name along with Christopher’s last name scratched all over the top sheet.

What? It got lonely down here all by myself every day, and I didn’t always have tea to make or papers to copy. So, apparently, I turned into a middle school girl who pretended I was married to her crush and wrote our names—and sometimes our future children’s names—on scratch paper. It wasn’t that big of a deal, even though I currently felt like sinking through the floor and dying of mortification.

"You went through my drawers!?" I accused, setting my hands on my hips.

Yeah, divert attention away from my humiliating little habit and blame everything on my wicked stepbrother. I could do that.

Hey. Brick shrugged unrepentantly. You weren’t here. I got bored. I was looking for a piece of gum.

Yeah, right. "I was gone one minute!"

No wonder why he’d been messing with my mousetrap; he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d been snooping through my things. Unbelievable.

Actually, for Brick, it was absolutely believable and sounded just like something he’d do.

But still… Rude!

So, what do you say? he asked, rubbing his hands together, all charm and grins again. Go with me to the party, and I promise to get you an in with Elton.

"I don’t want—"

And don’t say you don’t want to meet him, he charged, lifting my pad to wave it mockingly. I know you do.

I sighed, my shoulders collapsing. I was going to say I don’t even want to go to the party. There’s a new episode of a show I wanted to watch that night, and besides, I don’t have a costume or—

No problem, Brick broke in, slugging me on the back as he pushed to his feet. I’ll take care of your costume. And you can just record the program, he added when I opened my mouth to protest.

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head. There was no arguing with him when he had his mind set on something. You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?

He fist-pumped the air. Yes. I knew you’d do it.

I didn’t say—

But of course he wasn’t listening any longer. After a grateful pat on my arm, he swept toward the door, calling over his shoulder, I’ll pick you up at a quarter ’til eight, and I’ll have your costume with me. See you then. Thanks, sis. Bye.

And the door shut behind him only for me to mumble to myself, But the party starts at seven.

Oh, well. Fashionably late was probably his life motto. I slumped into my chair, where my gaze caught on the scribble pad I had lying inside my still-open top desk drawer. The name Kaity Elton beamed up at me from about five different colors of ink and ten different fonts.

Blushing, I slapped the drawer closed and cleared my throat, only for my mind to wander, imagining what it’d be like if I did go to that party with Brick and he did introduce me to Christopher Elton. The idea was tempting enough to make me forget I hated social functions because I always felt socially awkward and didn’t even want to attend the stupid party.

But Christopher…

He worked in the Pants department. I’d become aware of his existence when he’d had to give a presentation on YouTube to describe a new design for some slacks he’d drafted for JFI. He’d been vibrant, and entertaining, and gorgeous.

So gorgeous.

I mean, yeah, JFI tended to hire a lot of pretty people—this was the fashion industry, after all—but Christopher Elton had seemed especially spotless, and shiny, and new. I liked. A lot. And so, my fondness had been planted. Since then, I’d been patiently watering my obsession with moony-eyed glances whenever I spotted him walking by in the halls and writing his name in every way possible.

It was pathetic. I knew this, but—

A beep told me my pages were done copying.

Oh! I surged to my feet, unable to believe I’d forgotten about the papers and, ack! The meeting started in… Holy oops, nine minutes! Could I staple seventy-six copies of Lana’s four-page market report in time?

Hey, I was Kaitlynn Marcella Judge, daughter of the late Arthur K. Judge, original proprietor of Judge Fashions Industry. Hell yes, I could.

CHAPTER TWO

I wasn’t going to get my work done in time for the meeting.

No, wait, yes. Yes, I was. Positivity, Kaitlynn, have some positivity.

Bolstering myself with a mental chant of yes you can, I glanced at the time. Six minutes to sort and staple. I was cutting it close, but I had every confidence I’d make the deadline.

That was until the door flew open and Lana flounced inside. Proportioned like a model, she wore stiletto heels, a knee-length pencil-thin skirt, and a form-fitting wool-knit sleeveless blouse. The haughty demeanor suited her perfectly, which was too bad, because she overused it big-time, making it seem bitchily sinister instead of coolly confident.

What the hell is this? She shoved her teacup at me, spilling just enough to splash the front of my shirt.

With a gasp, I lurched to my feet and tugged my blouse away from my chest, but thank goodness nothing soaked through the cloth.

It’s tea, I said, staring at her incredulously. What do you think it is? It was the same exact brew I’d been making her every morning for the past six months, except for the fact it had steeped thirty seconds shorter than it usually did.

Holy geez, did thirty seconds really make that much of a difference?

Except the strength of brew ended up not being her issue at all.

"I meant the debris floating inside it, you imbecile. Are you trying to kill me?"

Blinking, I peered down into the cup. Then I blinked again. Not sure what she was referring to, I slid her a sidelong glance.

Had the woman taken her medicine this morning?

With a sniff, she pointed a French-tipped fingernail to a spot close to the side of the cup. Right… There.

Leaning closer, I squinted until I could make out what looked like a microscopic speck of lint that had most likely floated through the air off someone’s—probably her own wool—clothing, and landed in there after I’d delivered it. When I looked up at her with an expression that clearly let her know she’d lost her ever-loving mind, she narrowed her eyes and slammed the cup onto my desk, splashing more tea over the side and all over half the pile of papers I had lying there.

My mouth fell open, and a squeak of denial left me. No! Those were the market reports for the meeting.

Lana looked momentarily disjointed. I could tell she knew she’d messed up. But then the moment passed, and she snarled at me as if she’d discovered a way to blame me for her error.

Make me a decent cup of tea. She pointed to the mess she’d made. "And be sure there are no stains on any of the reports passed out at the meeting. I won’t have Nash thinking I’m incompetent."

Spinning on her heels, she marched right back out of the room and past a pale-faced Shyla, who stood frozen just inside the doorway watching us.

Fuming, I fisted my hands at my sides and stormed after my father’s widow, ready to relieve her of some of her bleached-blonde hair. But Shyla jumped in front of me, her eyes huge with alarm and hands lifted to halt me.

No! Please, no. With the mood she’s in, she’ll fire you. We both know she will. And I can’t lose you.

Wrinkling my nose, I blew out a breath and nodded, not wanting to distress Shyla further… And definitely not ready to lose my internship. Then I forced a smile to let her know I wouldn’t let her down. Besides, I was supposed to project a cool, unaffected image to my stepmother if I ever wanted to prove to her I could be the best employee she’d ever hired.

It took her a second, but finally, Shyla relaxed and glanced at the mess on my desk. Oh, Kaitlynn. I’m so sorry. Let me—

I held up a hand as she rushed to assist me. No, it’s okay. I’ve got this. Technically, my duty here was to be her assistant, even though I had to show her how to do most of her tasks and Lana assigned me with more projects than she did Shyla. Still, I had to prove I could handle whatever was thrown my way. I could do this on my own. She only ruined, like, half the sheets. Which meant roughly a hundred and fifty more copies to make, and I couldn’t even start stapling until they were finished.

I had three minutes until the meeting was scheduled to start.

I’ll bring the reports to you in the conference room as soon as they’re ready, I assured. Okay?

Shyla nodded and then shifted nervously. What about the tea?

I rolled my eyes. The tea can wait. Or maybe it wouldn’t come at all, which was what I was leaning toward. If Lana was going to refuse my tea, then no tea for her. All she’d had to do was toss that cupful and pour herself another if the piece of lint had bothered her so much. She probably swallowed more dust particles than that every time she opened her big, freaking mouth.

I shoved the teacup aside to see what papers could be salvaged. I’d been right on the first guess, half of them were ruined, which made me exactly eleven minutes late to the meeting.

Clutching them to my chest, where my frightened heart was trying to pound its way through my ribcage, I held my breath and eased open the door to the conference room, fully expecting it to make a loud creak and for everyone to stop their super important discussion to stare disgustedly at me for interrupting. But, wow, silence. From the door, anyway.

At the front of the room, Nash stood at the whiteboard, his back to the rest of the employees as he jotted down notes and talked about goals he’d set for the next quarter, only to be interrupted by Lana with some critical reason why she didn’t agree with him.

So really, no one even noticed me entering, except Brick. He brightened when he glanced over and saw me. Then he waved me forward to sit by him, a devilish grin quirking his lips as he pointed out the empty seat beside him.

It took me a moment to realize why he looked so mischievous. On the opposite side of the available spot was none other than Christopher Elton.

I blushed and took a step in reverse, shaking my head vigorously. But Brick started to make a bigger production of waving me over. His antics actually gained the attention of a few people who’d been listening to Nash and Lana argue. If he kept it up, the whole room would notice my presence. And worse yet, Shyla was one of the few who hadn’t realized I was there, while she was the only person I actually needed to see me so she could fetch these damn market reports I needed to drop off.

Since Shyla was busy taking notes, I gnashed my teeth and marched toward my stepbrother, who may or may not make it through the day alive—I hadn’t decided yet.

To house nearly eighty employees, the area was set up more like a classroom than corporate conference room. There wasn’t one big table everyone gathered around but instead about twenty small tables that faced the front, where a podium, white board, and enormous pull-down screen for PowerPoint presentations was set up. An aisle separated the room in half, where I guessed Lana’s employees stayed to one side and Nash’s took the other. The table Brick sat at was located at the edge of the center aisle about halfway up the room.

I was so busy glaring at him, I tripped over a pair of shoes some guy had sticking out in the