Romancing my Boss

Chapter 10

I showed up promptly at 8 pm outside Max's sleek high-rise apartment, my curves poured into a skintight red sheath dress that oozed sex appeal. As I smoothed my hands over the soft fabric, I had to resist a smirk. If my stick-up-his-ass boss thought normal office attire did me any favors, he was in for a rude awakening tonight.

Clutching a bouquet of roses I may or may not have swiped from the office lobby, I rang the buzzer and heard a muffled groan over the intercom before Max's annoyed tone crackled through. "Send her up."

I strode into the lobby with an extra swing in my hips, knowing the doorman's gaze had automatically dropped to my killer legs and sky-high heels.

The elevator seemed to take an eternity, giving me time to think too much of the different scenarios this night could end up like, each more mortifying than the one before. By the time the doors finally opened on the penthouse floor, my face was flushed, and my insides were fluttering like a deranged sparrow.

Which is probably why I temporarily forgot how to breathe when I drank in the vision of him leaning against the doorframe in a charcoal suit that strained sinfully across his broad, muscular shoulders and chest. Dark chestnut hair artfully tousled, carved jaw shadowed by stubble, and eyes glittering like seductive green gemstones.

Holy mother of all panty-droppers!

It should be illegal for any man to look that edible.

"You're really leaning into this cheesy rom-com thing, aren't you?" His deep, aristocratic voice jolted me from my thirst trip as he eyed the roses with one arched brow.

Mustering my dignity, I thrust out the bouquet with an exaggerated flourish. "Of course! How else is a leading lady supposed to make her grand entrance?"

One side of that too-perfect mouth quirked upward in a grin that did incredibly rude things to my insides. "Then by all means, make your grand entrance, Ms. Bennett."

With a coquettish hair toss, I brushed past him. One rebellious finger took the mind of its own and traced a straight line on his well-formed chest as I sashayed into the spacious, minimalist-chic apartment. The place oozed sleek masculinity, but I noticed some softer touches - potted plants lining the windowsill, a cozy-looking throw draped over the leather sofa.

"Not bad, Pemberton. Very suave and modern," I purred, casting him a smoldering look over one shoulder. "Now where's my candlelit dinner for two?" I teased, turning back to him with a wink. "A girl has standards, you know."

"Ooh, are those family photos?" I made a beeline for the shelf of framed pictures, eagerly drinking in this rare glimpse of Max's life beyond the office's stark walls.

For the briefest of seconds, something guardedly wistful flickered across Max's rugged features before he reigned it back in. With visibly reluctant steps, as though pulled by an invisible force, he gravitated to my side until our arms brushed - a whisper of contact that sparked an illicit shiver down my spine.

To my surprise, Max willingly offered up glimpses into his famously off-limits personal life as I examined the framed snapshots - a younger, carefree version of him in a backyard barbaque; an older, careworn man beaming over a massive fish on what looked like a boat.

"Let me guess...your dad?" I pointed to the older gentleman, unable to deny a certain fondness spreading through me at the thought of difficult Max having a beloved father figure.

An uncharacteristically soft look entered Max's eyes as he joined me, his broad shoulder brushing mine, close enough for me to catch the crisp, masculine blend of his body wash mingling with his cologne.

"Harold Pemberton," he confirmed in that lethal rasp that sparked a shiver down my spine. "He used to take me deep-sea fishing every summer until..." He trailed off with an inscrutable expression. "Well, until life became hectic, I suppose."

A hectic life as a fabulously wealthy businessman, no doubt. Though his wistful tone hinted at a more complicated story behind the pristine family album images. Before I could inquire further, Max seemed to shake himself from his reverie.

"Enough personal history for one evening. Our reservations await." That large, calloused hand that usually handled me so brusquely now settled at the small of my back with unexpected gentleness as he ushered me toward the door.

I startled at the contact, caught somewhere between wanting to shrug away from the intimate gesture and leaning back into the reassuring warmth and strength of his solid frame. Down, girl...it's just your brutally handsome boss-from-hell you've been toying with all week. The one who delights in making your life miserable

"Reservations? But I thought the mortifyingly awkward home-cooked dinner was a rom-com requisite!" I gasped in mock outrage.

Max's lips twitched with reluctant amusement. "As stimulating as that sounds, I'd rather avoid the inevitable food poisoning and evening in urgent care."

"Spoilsport." I stuck out my tongue at him. "So where are you whisking me away then, good sir?"

"A little place I'm rather fond of," was his infuriatingly vague reply as we made our way downstairs.

Once we stepped outside, a veritable swarm of paparazzi had staked out the apartment building's entrance, their camera flashes blazing like deranged fireflies.

"Well, well!" A brazen photographer shouldered his way to the front, sticking his lens obnoxiously in our faces. "If it isn't Manhattan's most sought-after couple. Looking sexy tonight, Charlotte!" His gaze raked over me in an exaggerated leer before swinging back to Max. "Hey Pemberton, care to comment on those sordid affair rumors going around?"

Before I could so much as open my mouth, Max's arm was curling protectively around my waist, pulling me into the solid wall of his side. He leveled the photographer with an icily imperious stare.

"I believe we've made our statement for the evening." With those clipped words, he guided me through the jostling horde toward a sleek black town car idling at the curb, his free hand raised in a dismissive gesture. "Not another word out of you vultures."

The paparazzi slithered back, quelled by the menacing undercurrent in Max's tone. Soon the town car door was sealing us into a plush, blissfully silent cocoon as we pulled away from the circus.

Max dragged a hand through his tousled hair, jawline tense and expression uncharacteristically perturbed. "My apologies for that ridiculous spectacle, Charlotte. I'd hoped to avoid such...unpleasantries this evening."

I blinked at the unexpected use of my first name, feeling it trip an odd sort of thrill through my veins. Forcing an airy nonchalant chuckle, I waved a hand airily. "Are you kidding? If we qualify as Manhattan's version of a fairytale romance, they've clearly misplaced their magic wand."

One corner of Max's mouth kicked up wryly at that. "You're something else, Ms. Bennett," he said at last, but the glimmer of humor in his tone took any sting from the words.

As predicted, Max refused to divulge any details about our final destination, insisting on preserving the surprise. Not that I minded - a rare evening of whimsy with my brutally pragmatic boss was already surprise enough.

Our destination turned out to be a cozy, tucked-away villa. The exterior was unassuming, but once inside it transformed into an intimate French bistro straight from a Parisian fantasy. Its facade, modest yet inviting, belied the lavish ambiance that awaited within. Max's hands remained gentlemanly pressed to the small of my back, utterly unhurried and polished.

It was enough to drive a girl mad.

Because there was absolutely no way that Maximilian Pemberton, Oligarch of All He Surveyed, could have planned out this positively swoonworthy sequence of romance clichés...right?

And even if he had, there was zero chance it could ever mean anything other than him simply indulging in the spirit of our fake courtship as a show for his colleagues and investors.

Right?