Ego Trip: A Cocky Boss Romantic Comedy Read online

  “Graham lose his keys?” I joke.

  She laughs. “Probably.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get to work.”

  “And I’ll let you do the same.”

  I try to move, but I can’t. Not yet.

  I reach out to wrap a finger around another unruly lock of her hair and push it back behind her ear. Her gaze lingers on mine as she wets her lips and waits for her goodbye kiss.

  “See you around, Paige,” I say.

  She nods. “You, too.”

  Finally, I give in. I lean over and she tilts upward, both of us drawn to each other for one last kiss. She touches my hand on her cheek, welcoming a second kiss; long and sweet.

  “Bye,” I whisper.

  “Bye, Oli.”

  I step back from the bed and her touch falls away, but the spark of it lingers on my skin long after I leave the suite. It buzzes with each step toward the elevator, and I’m still smiling as the golden doors open for me.

  “Incoming!”

  I hop backward to dodge the housekeeping cart as it bolts off the elevator.

  “Good morning, Carly,” I greet her.

  “Mornin’! What are you doing up on the fancy floor?” she asks, her blonde ponytail wagging back and forth as she curiously scans the quiet hall.

  “Oh, I was just...” I think quickly, “catching up with the Botsford boys before the convention.”

  There are four of them. Chances are one of them is still up here. A perfectly reasonable alibi.

  She groans. “Is that today?”

  Seems like she bought it.

  I nod as I tap the lobby button. “All week.”

  “Lovely,” she mutters.

  “Keep up the excellent work, Carly,” I say as the doors close.

  “Thanks, boss!”

  I lean back against the golden walls, my lips still vibrating as the car slowly descends.

  I picture that smile all over again.

  “Incredible,” I whisper with a smirk.

  Chapter 21

  Paige

  present day

  The train car rocks gently back and forth as it glides down the track. New York City disappears behind us and new views steal my attention away from my notes laid out in front of me on the shared table between our seats.

  If there’s one thing I prefer about taking the train instead of flying, it’s the option to reserve a private car. No one wandering past your shoulder. No random sneezes or distracting conversations with strangers. Just blissful quiet, ample leg room, and gorgeous views of scenery that’s not puffy, white clouds and endless blue skies.

  Oliver appreciates the change, too. It wasn’t only in the way his voice changed when I told him, but every moment we’ve spent together since we met in the lobby this morning. He’s far more relaxed now. Not a single white knuckle in sight across from me as he gazes out the window, something I never saw on a plane since this trip began.

  His eyes flick in my direction, sensing my stare. I twitch up a smile, nodding softly before reaching for my coffee on the table and looking back at my checklist.

  Okay. Boston.

  One of the easiest locations to navigate, so—

  “Paige.”

  “Hm?” I ask, taking a sip from my cup of coffee.

  “Why did you do this?”

  I look up, drawn to the hushed confusion in his voice.

  Oliver stares at me across the little table, his shoulders rocking with the subtle movements of the train.

  “Do what?” I ask, curious.

  “This train.”

  I shift in my seat. “It’s like I said. We had the extra time. I just thought it’d be a pleasant change of pace.”

  Oliver waits for more.

  He waits for the truth.

  “And,” I say slowly, “I thought, you’d be more comfortable. You don’t seem to enjoy flying all that much.”

  “I don’t,” he confirms.

  “Well, there you go, Oliver. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the scenic views,” I say with a chuckle.

  “Oli.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You used to call me Oli.” He looks me in the eye. “Since that night, you’ve called me Oliver. Why?”

  I hesitate, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “I miss it,” he says.

  I pause, taken by the vulnerability in his stare. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, unsure what else to say.

  I drop my eyes to my checklist again.

  Boston, Massachusetts.

  Bar. Gift shop. No spa, so that’s —

  Oliver stretches an open hand toward mine. The table is so small; he doesn’t have to travel very far before I feel his warm touch on the back of my hand.

  My breath hitches as he traces the barely visible veins toward my wrist, firing a shiver to my shoulder blades.

  “Thank you,” he says. “For this.”

  I swallow hard. “Just doing my job,” I whisper.

  His touch continues to drift up my forearm and something twinges deep inside me. A long forgotten urge to—

  I pull my hand back. “Oliver…”

  He doesn’t move. He keeps his hand extended, perhaps hoping I’ll give it back, but I don’t.

  I won’t.

  I can’t.

  “I, uh…” I drop my hands into my lap. I clear my throat. I sit up taller, suddenly feeling very nervous in our private car. “Coffee.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Yeah, we need coffee,” I say as I slide off the bench to stand in the cramped space. “I’ll go grab us some coffee.”

  “We already have coffee.”

  “Food, then?” I suggest with a quick step toward the door. “A sandwich, or…”

  Oliver stands. “Paige.”

  “A doughnut, maybe?”

  I reach for the door, but he easily catches me first. One hand latches onto my hip, while the other rises to my cheek. I shift backward, accidentally pinning myself between him and the door. I hold my breath, too nervous to share it with him as he leans in closer.

  Oliver presses his body against mine. He touches my face, fingers gently tracing a line to my chin. He licks his lips, his deep blue gaze lingering on mine. I flinch involuntarily and he tightens his grip on my hip; a firm warning for me to stand still.

  Trapped yet entranced, my body forces me to breathe.

  A single inhale draws us closer.

  His nose touches my cheekbone.

  His hand slides down my neck.

  I’m tempted — so damn tempted — to turn into his kiss, but I hold steady as his lips graze my chin.

  “Don’t,” I whisper.

  Oliver retreats half an inch. His hand loosens on my hip. His fingers remain on my throat, beginning a gentle trek upward to the corner of my mouth. One fingertip caresses my bottom lip. I tremble, willing my mouth to stay closed throughout the vicious tease.

  “Oliver,” I warn.

  “I won’t,” he says, his voice so warm. “I won’t...”

  His touch glides back down my jaw toward my collarbone.

  My ankles sway. My heart races.

  My entire body craves his touch, screaming even louder than my conscience.

  I stand still with both palms planted on the door behind me while Oliver looks at my heaving chest. With a growing smirk, he playfully pinches the first button on my blouse.

  Then he waits.

  He gives me a single second to stop him. To resist him. To say literally anything.

  But I don’t.

  I won’t.

  I can’t.

  His body heat meets mine and my screaming silence is all the consent he needs.

  Oliver slides the first button free. Then, another. And another.

  Still, I don’t move. I don’t dare interrupt the desire swelling within every single nerve of my body as my blouse slips off my shoulder. Oliver pushes the bra strap down with it. We both linger with baited breaths, torn between what should happen…
and what shouldn’t.

  He takes my bare breast in his palm. A tortured, aching groan teases the back of his throat. My nipple twists into a hard bud beneath his firm touch. I choke down a moan, hoping he doesn’t hear it, but he smirks with delight at the tempting sound.

  His other hand pinches the zipper on my skirt.

  I gasp softly. “Oliver.”

  “Shh,” he whispers, barely audible over the rhythmic sound of tracks beneath us. “I just want to see you.”

  I shiver, instinctively drifting even closer to him as he pushes the zipper down.

  The fabric hangs loosely off my hip.

  My blouse untucks.

  My skirt drops to my thighs, revealing black panties and nude-colored stockings.

  I let it go.

  I let it all fall away.

  I let this happen.

  “Incredible,” Oliver growls.

  If you don’t mind,

  I like to be in control.

  He leans in close again.

  His mouth grazes my cheek.

  I turn toward his lips.

  My cellphone rings, stopping us with a specific tone reserved for one person in my entire contact book.

  “It’s Graham,” I say, my voice twisted in my throat.

  Oliver steps away. Panic instantly sets in as I bend over to grab my blouse off the floor.

  “Hey, Graham.”

  I spin around to find Oliver holding my phone. He raises a hand to his lips to keep me quiet, his eyes gladly taking another stroll down my body as I cringe with annoyance.

  “Yeah, she’ll be back in a minute,” he says. “Just ran to the bathroom.”

  I quickly button my blouse, my shaking fingers fumbling with the task one too many times before I scoop up my skirt.

  “Oh, things are going great out here,” Oliver says behind me. “Little plumbing issue in New York. Nothing too serious. I’ll let Paige fill you in on the details. How are Jen and the baby?”

  I tuck in my blouse.

  I zip up my skirt.

  I wonder with awe how Oliver flawlessly slips into a casual tone after what we just did.

  What the hell did we just do exactly?

  “Here she is,” Oliver says, still looking at me. “And she’s glaring at me for answering her phone, just like you warned me about.” He laughs and holds it out to me. “Sorry, Paige,” he says loud enough for the microphone to catch it. “It’s Graham.”

  I take the phone and spin around to put my back to him again. “Hey, boss,” I say.

  “How is everything really going?” Graham asks.

  I force a chuckle. “Fine,” I answer.

  I give myself a quick once-over before sliding the car door open and stepping outside into the tight train corridor, eager to put as much distance between myself and Oliver as possible.

  Seriously, what the fuck did we just do?

  “Are you on a train?” Graham asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “We had some extra time after New York, so I figured we’d take the long way to Boston and give Oliver some time to prep for his meetings.”

  “How’s his performance so far?” he asks. “Is he keeping up?”

  I pace the corridor toward the dining car and back again.

  “Actually, I’m impressed,” I answer truthfully. “He’s really got a handle on… things.”

  “That’s good. Stay on top of him. There’s a lot riding on this, so keep him focused.”

  I cringe. “Sure thing,” I say.

  “Thanks, Paige. Say hi to Vin and Evey for me if you stop by.”

  “I will. Bye, Graham.”

  “Bye.”

  I hang up and plant my back to the wall to remain standing.

  Never mind what we just did.

  What did I just do?

  I let a superior undress me.

  I let him put his hands on me.

  I could have stopped it, but I didn’t.

  I wouldn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  Because I wanted it.

  Every second I’m with Oliver brings back memories. Memories of events that also never should have happened, but they did. I’m stupid to have ever let it get that far before, and now I’m making the same mistakes all over again.

  I love this job. I need this job. The last thing I need to be doing is risking everything I have over a few moments of pleasure.

  No, I tell myself.

  This can’t happen again.

  Chapter 22

  Oliver

  Well, I fucked up.

  Paige didn’t return to the train car until five minutes before our destination in Boston. With barely a word spoken, she gathered her things and left to go fetch us a ride to the hotel.

  Do I blame her? No.

  Does it annoy me? Yes.

  But that’s life.

  I was fine with the silent treatment... for a while. I deserve it, after all. But after several hours of terse head nods, bobs, and shakes, I feel a little... what’s the word?

  Grumpy.

  No. That’s not right.

  This isn’t about me.

  Guilty. That’s the word.

  I miss her.

  Barely even ten hours of this cold shoulder and I already miss her. I miss the delicate half-smile she wears every time she checks an item off her endless list of to-dos. I miss her laugh and her wit and how she always had an answer to every question, even the stupid ones — though she makes no one feel inferior for asking.

  Above all, I miss my friend. I miss the woman I could chat with for hours on end without an ounce of boredom — about romance novels, of all things.

  She’s a credit to her profession, an asset to this company, and I...

  I fucked up.

  But I will not let this fester for another day.

  I step off the elevator onto the fourteenth floor with a keycard in my hand, a book in the other, and a purpose in my step.

  While I’m perfectly happy in a basic suite on the second floor, Paige takes the room upgrades offered to the Liaison; one of the many perks of her job. I suppose being twelve floors away from me also has its perks at the moment.

  But I’m not a man who likes to be ignored for very long.

  I open room 1404 and step inside.

  The room is quiet. No television. No music. For a moment, I think she’s stepped out, but my ears perk to the sounds of the shower running behind the bathroom door.

  Oh, I shouldn’t, but...

  I smirk.

  As I walk toward the chair by the window to make myself comfortable, I notice her suitcase lying open on the bed. Her clothing is meticulously folded, or rolled depending on the type, and nestled perfectly together in what I assume is Paige’s own special system of wardrobe organization. Best not to disturb it.

  I lean over it anyway, far too curious about the satin travel bag resting on top. Lavender-colored. Draw-string. The obvious shape of an item hidden inside of above-average length and... girth.

  My smirk grows.

  Good girl.

  The shower turns off. I step away from the suitcase and settle on the chair with the book in my lap. As I wait, I run my fingers along its rugged spine. I listen to the shuffling towel on wet skin on the other side of the door. I realize that she won’t react well to me letting myself in like this, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take for friendship.

  The door slides open. Paige steps out, her chest obscured by a towel tightly wrapped around her torso. She uses another towel to blot her damp hair, partially covering her face and hiding my presence for one last moment until—

  “Hi, Paige!” I greet with a smile.

  “Fuck, Oliver!” She slaps her hands to her chest to hold her towel in place. “What are you doing in here?!”

  “I let myself in.”

  “How?”

  “The same way you do.” I hold up my keycard. “Hey, did you know that I can wander behind the desk of any Botsford Plaza in the world and the staff will let me do...
whatever I want? No questions asked? It’s pretty cool.”

  Paige sighs, her cheeks red as roses. “What do you want, Oliver?” she asks.

  “I wanted to give you this,” I say as I grab the book from my lap. “I could only find it used, so I hope you don’t mind.”

  I extend it out to her. Paige hesitates for a moment until the bookworm in her nudges her forward to take it.

  “The Blind Mask,” she reads aloud, “by J.P. Holwood.”

  “I totally get it if you want to abandon the series, but if you liked the maid in the first one, you’ll love this,” I say. “She really takes the spotlight here.”

  Paige nods. “I’ll think about it,” she says before setting it down on the table. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She clings to her towel again as she shifts backward toward the bed. Her eyes drift to her suitcase, then she stiffens before performing a quick, casual lunge forward to fold it closed.

  I pretend not to notice. “I see you don’t air dry,” I say over the tension.

  “No, I do not,” she says.

  “Damn.”

  She rolls her delicate eyes, but a smile twitches her lips for a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it second.

  “Look, Paige,” I say. “Obviously, we have a very... complicated friendship.”

  Paige nods. “Yes, we do,” she says, looking down.

  “I shouldn’t have touched you. It was wrong and I take full responsibility for it.”

  She looks up as if to say something, but stays quiet.

  “The things you said last night. About how I was your last...” I clear my throat. “It fucked me up. Blurred the lines. I let my urges determine my actions and I’m sorry. You have every right to be pissed at me. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

  She raises a curious brow.

  I stand up, purposefully leaving the keycard on the table next to the book. “Anyway, I just wanted to say that. I hope we can still be friends, but if you don’t, then that’s okay, too.”

  Paige shifts back as I step around her and make my way toward the door.

  “What was the joke?”

  I pause. “The joke?”

  Paige pivots in my direction, keeping a steady hand on that towel. “Last night, you said you were going to crack a joke after I told you, but you didn’t,” she says. “What was the joke?”