Page 33 of Playing with the Boss

FIFTEEN

Lisa

“I think I dodged a bullet,” I tell Emma while nursing a glass of wine.

She motions for me to scoot over, and then joins me on our small two-seater sofa. “Surely Mason isn’t that bad.”

“He started a fist fight with our General Manager today.”

Her eyes go as wide as saucers. “Spill.”

I chuckle at the way she folds her legs, wriggling her ass around on the cushion to get comfy. “Nobody knows what the argument was over, but Tony had him in a throat hold against the office wall.”

“Holy shit,” she breathes. “What happened after?”

I sigh. “That’s just it; I don’t know.”

“So find out.” She backhands my thigh, frowning. “Jesus. Offices are full of grapevines and shit. One of the gossips must know what happened.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you have his number?”

I take a sip of wine and frown before answering. “No. And even if I did, what the hell am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know,” Emma sasses. “Go get your phone anyway. We’re doing some research.”

I roll my eyes. “If you want to stalk his profiles, do it on your own damn phone.”

She smiles softly. “You’re really pissed at him, hey?”

“Can you tell?” I retort before downing the rest of my drink. I need a damn top up. All the way to the top.

“You never said what he did wrong last night,” Emma calls after me as I head to the kitchen. “What did he say?”

“It’s what he didn’t have to say.” I refill my glass and then head back toward her. “That hotel he’s staying at?”

“Yeah?” She turns to face me as I re-enter.

“He’s a major investor. Obviously owns the lion’s share because he stays there for free. Some small-time donor wouldn’t get those kinds of privileges.”

“And…?”

“And,” I snap, “how the hell am I supposed to expect him to understand how important it is to me that I keep my job if he has no idea what it’s like to struggle?”

Emma groans, her head dropping to the back of the sofa. “Oh my God. You’re such a prude.”

“Excuse me?”

“So what if he has money in his back pocket?” She fixes me with a hard stare. “Most women would see that as a bonus. Only you, Miss Nobody-has-it-as-hard-as-me would see it otherwise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I take a healthy swig of my wine, my free hand stamped to my hip.

“You have this enormous chip on your shoulder about anyone who’s flush.”

I say nothing. Is that really how she sees me? Is that how Mason sees me?

“Go on,” Emma taunts. “Try and deny it.”