Caught by the Boss ✔️

20

LEILA

The knock on my door startles me. I had been waiting for it since I called him. I knew he would come, and yet I stare at the door with wide eyes.

How did he made it here so quickly? He must have sped here, broken traffic laws just because he's untouchable. Because he can afford to be reckless.

I look through the peephole and barely recognize the man standing there. He's looking at the staircase, wearing clothes that should look comical on him since he only wears suits. But his white t-shirt is criminally tight around his muscles. There's a hint of a tattoo peeking out of his sleeve.

I can't see much of his jeans from here, but I'm sure they're snug against his shaped thighs.

His hair is messy, just like mine had been before I brushed it. He must be stressed from all the press heckling.

But none of that matters. Not his attractiveness, not his stress. It doesn't even matter if he purposely abandoned his title just to get my attention and push me to contact him.

He's here in the flesh, and I must convince him to undo his mess.

I unlock the door and open it, pulling at my button-down blouse one last time. I even ironed the damn thing along with my slacks and cleaned the apartment from top to bottom. I couldn't picture myself in front of him wearing anything else. This is so awkward, our relationship so unexpected. I couldn't have imagined Hector and Henry were the same person even with all the signs right in front of me.

He looks into my eyes like it's the first time. Like he was in a daze all along. Like he was looking at me through a glass wall. Now, there's no daze, no glass, no interruptions. He sees me for who I am: the silly girl who pretended to be a confident, thrilling woman in The Machine.

I think of what to say, because I didn't plan this far. Do I invite him inside? God, my mother would beat me senseless if I let someone at the doorstep, even if they're my cunning ex-boss.

"Do you want to come in?"

He dips his head, and I widen the door to let him into my apartment. I close the door and press my back against the wall to slide past him. Because of course his shoulders are so wide they take up all the space in the passageway. The man's body was made to trap a woman's.

I slide past him and sit on the couch, kicking a red petal under the couch. It must have fallen off the roses.

He sits beside me, dwarfing the damn couch. When I bought it, I never pictured having a giant seated beside me. He places his elbows on his knees, conscious of how much space he's taking up.

"I'm glad you came," I say, watching him as he observes my living room without giving much away.

"Of course," comes his husky voice.

"I need you to return to your title as CEO. I don't know why you stepped down during such an unfortunate time, but there are employees and investors that need you. Please."

I never thought I'd beg this man for anything in my life, but my ego comes before the lives of thousands of people.

"I'm sorry, Leila, but I can't do that." He shakes his head slowly.

"But why? You are the one who built that company. The only one equipped to oversee its success. You must return."

His eyes find mine. Two blue oceans carrying a ship of emotion. His lips are set, his brow furrowed. But he's not angry. Just overwhelmed with everything inside. "I have failed the company morally, ethically. And I have failed you. I don't deserve to be praised by all the eyes that look up to me."

I shoot up from the couch and pace left and right, my legs brushing the coffee table. "But the company will go under without you."

He stands, too. And I stop pacing. Stop giving my back to this predator that's shadowing over me in my apartment. This is a titan capable of buying every little item in this apartment, every apartment in this building. Every building on this block. Rearrange my life like it's a game of tetris. He's a mighty thing, a terrifying thing. And there is no space for him in my tiny life.

"The company will survive. I have more important things to fix: us."

My heart jolts in my chest. Like it's responding to the word us and the hunger in his eyes. Like it's willing to get devoured by him. The poor, desperate heart that's still in tatters. It's just a servant to lust.

"There is no us," I rasp.

This is not how the conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to accept returning to the company, even by laying out some terms. If he asked me to return as his assistant, I would fucking do it because I feel so guilty about this mess. Responsible for all the lives that have been effected, the millions of dollars that have been lost. I would play in his hand, become his puppet. Because this man is a game developer by profession. He's a master of gaming.

"Maybe," he replies, taking a step forward, grabbing my shoulders over my crisp, ironed blouse. "But I will burn my fortune if that's what it takes to get you back."

No! No, goddamn it. He was supposed to exhaust the tiny flame left inside of me by coercing me to work as his assistant again. He was supposed to show me that he's a terrible, awful man. But he's not manipulating me. He's letting me go. Letting the company go.

"You should leave," I grit, stepping away from his hold, my crisp shirt now feeling wrinkled. "If you're not returning to the company, it looks like we have nothing else to talk about."

He dips his head. "Just know that I'm sorry."

"For what?" I ask, snapping my head up. "For acknowledging that we have a past in the game? It shouldn't matter that I'm Laura! Because people like you and I don't belong together in the real world. You should have ignored the revelation and never came after me. Never quit the company. It should have been another day at the office when you accused me of being a criminal, but now you're chasing me and making a game out of the real world and affecting the lives of thousands!"

It would have been so much better if he repulsed me. If he tried to manipulate me, and earned my hatred. But he's not doing any of that. And it's twisting my emotions into an ugly ball that I don't know where to begin to untangle.

He nods again, not countering any of my accusations. "I'm an ambitious man. I can't let you go. Forgive me." With a final look that's too tender for a face I've only seen frowning and glaring in the office, he turns away. He leaves my apartment.

After a few minutes of trembling from the flood of emotions, I run to my window to watch him step into his car. There's a nasty white line right by the driver's door, like he slammed the door open to get out. And there's another dent near his headlight.

I guess that answers my question. He did speed to get here. But he's taking his sweet time to drive off. Is he looking at me through the window, I wonder?

"You should have stuck with Grace!" I shout out.

He rolls his window down. In this low light, I can't see his face. But I hear his deep, rumbling, gripping voice when he replies, "even in a simulated world, Grace could never replace you."

He rolls up his window and drives his beaten sports car to his mansion, where he probably has a dozen more cars to destroy.

Me? All I have is my couch to lay on and pound my fists into.