I Hate You, Mr. Boss-Man [18+]

004

Head pounding.

That was the first thing I felt when I came to, the sounds of cars beeping and chirps of pigeons faintly from behind the glass pane windows. My eyes flutter open, my cheek pressed up against the silkiest fabric I ever felt. If I wasn't feeling like death, I would have marveled at the quality. That's when I realized, I didn't own silk.

My eyes widen, shooting up from the bed, my hands immediately pulling the duvet over my chest as my eyes took in the space I was in. Giant floor-to-ceiling windows were the first thing that caught my gaze, long black-out curtains hanging in front of them. My eyes move to the next thing; a walk-in closet lined with way too many blazers and dress shirts, shoes lined perfectly along with a full-length mirror, and drawers stretched out against the walls. My eyes shift to the bed, my hand smoothing out the black silk beneath my fingers, noticing the untouched space beside me. Yup, definitely not my place.

Slowly, I toss the duvet from my legs, taking note of the lack of bottoms on my part, nothing to cover myself except the oversized shirt that fell mid-thigh. God, I pleaded, please don't let this be a one-night stand. My bare feet pad against the wooden planks glossed and polished as I gently turn the knob to the closed bedroom door. I couldn't recall a single thing from last night, only blurred lights and a vague idea of what I drank.

The door opened to a long hall, a couple of closed doors, and railless stairs that descended to an open floor plan of the kitchen which stretched out into a dining room and living area. This was way bigger than the place I shared with Jen and I knew that this was the upper east side of Manhattan. My footstep begins at the top, my red-painted toes barely touching the second step before I'm greeted with the sound of a door opening.

"Mornin',"

A voice so clear, and so damn familiar that I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. Oh fuck, don't tell me...

"Miss Stratford?"

I shut my eyes, sighing heavily—throwing a temper tantrum inside of my head. Oh hell, it was him. Slowly, but surely, I backtrack my steps and turn to face my boss.

"Oh my god," I recoil, running my fingers through my hair in distress. My eyes trail from his shoes, slowly taking in his slacks, belt, and dress shirt as he works at his tie. "Did we...?"

"No," His response is quick, shaking his head at my assumption as he drops his hands, and the tie hangs around his neck. "We didn't, I can assure you. You called me last night, inebriated, and confused. Not very professional If you ask me,"

"I know," I sigh, hugging myself, "Forgive me, I just..."

"You don't have to explain," Jesse interrupts, working at the tie again. "Everything came out like word vomit, and you actually vomited," He explains, pulling one end of the ribbon through the loop before tugging firmly, adjusting the knot to sit comfortably against his neck. "-All over your clothes too, I sent Sonja out to get you new clothes. Actually..." He trails, flipping over his wrist to get a glimpse of the time on his silver Cartier watch. "She should be here by now."

"I...did you change me?" I ask, slightly tilting my head in question.

"No, you did. All I did was lay out some clothes for you to wear. I didn't want to disrespect your modesty, especially when you're drunk." Jesse kept his eyes on mine the entire time, never breaking away to look at the part of me he knew would make me uncomfortable. In a weird way, he was quite the gentleman. "Coffee?" He asks suddenly, gesturing to the flight of stairs that led into his kitchen.

I nod, stepping out of the way to let him lead the way. "I just want to thank you," I chime, keeping close to the walls so I wouldn't fall to my death. "Not many people would be so respectful, especially to a drunk person, so...thanks, really," I halt my footsteps behind the counter, watching as reaches for a bottle from his cabinet.

"Don't worry about it," Jesse dismisses, sliding the bottle across the counter and I catch it, turning it to read the label. Aspirin. "Shit happens but, I don't recommend you do it again."

"Noted."

"I'll be back in a few, what kind of coffee did you say you wanted?" Jesse asks, glancing over his shoulder as he pulls a dark blue blazer from his coat rack, feeding his arms through before throwing on a coat.

"Anything doesn't matter," I say, "Black is fine."

Nodding his head, he plucks his keys from the hook, pulling one of the double doors open before looking back at me. "Sonja should be here with your clothes, if she comes before I do, let her in and get ready for work." And with that, Jesse walks out and shuts the door behind him.

I blow out a breath, my eyes scanning the entirety of his apartment. It must've cost a fortune, and because of the multi-million dollar company he owned, he could afford it. "Rich people," I grumble, my footsteps echoing in the apartment.

A knock at the door startles me, my pulse quicking at the sudden noise. Cautiously, I make my way to the door. Did Jesse forget something, or was it Sonja, his housekeeper? I turn the knob slowly and pry the door open.

It was an older woman, gray hair combed softly into a low bun, fine lines sat below and around her eyes, eyes as dark as chocolate with a smile that could warm your heart. "Sonja...?" I murmur, pulling the door open wider to let her in as I step aside.

"You must be Katherine?" She spoke, her voice was thick and full of an accent. Was it French? Italian? I couldn't tell.

I nod wordlessly, shutting the door behind her as she lugs in a few bags. Give or take a few. "Oh um, do you need any help?" I offer, taking some of the heavier load from her grasp.

"Thank you, ma belle."

French indeed.

"When Monsieur. Thomas asked me to go out and get a few outfits, I didn't think much of it," Sonja explains, settling the paper bags on top of the counter, my footsteps trailing behind. "Since that is a weekly occurrence but..." She stops, her eyes flickering to mine, her smile widening. "When he said it was for a woman, I couldn't hide my excitement."

"You really didn't have to, Sonja. The gesture is..." I trail, looking at the many bags she had displayed. From leading brands to designers, my eyes widened at the Burberry label printed on one of the bags. "-Sweet but, I could've just worn my clothes. I couldn't imagine you going out of your way and-"

"Mademoiselle Katherine," Sonja voices, making my lips snap shut, her eyes kind and warm. "It wasn't out of my way, I promise. I don't mind, honest." Her eyes break away from mine, her hand digging into a bag to pull out a shoebox. "Besides, I never get to shop for women, Mr. Thomas has never had a woman over, you happen to be the first."

I was quite taken aback, somehow realizing that I have never seen a girl around him, let alone a wife or even a ring on his finger. I always assumed he never liked to talk about it. How could I have been so incognizant?

"Madam?" Sonja snaps me out of my thoughts, my eyes refocusing on her.

"I'm sorry," I smile awkwardly, mentally shaking my head. "I'm just trying to find a way to accept...this," I say, gesturing to the bags as well as the box of designer shoes in her hand. Which from the label itself—is crazy expensive.

"I'm not... I mean, it's too much, no?"

Sonja takes a breath, setting the box down as she pushes the bags back to make some room. "He did mention you vomited on your clothing, yes?"

I nod slowly.

"Then what's the problem?" She exclaims, making me choke out a laugh. "I say take what you can get and ask questions later. Now..." Sonja gathers the bags in her hands, "You are going to get changed and are not to worry about the price, got it?"

I nod again.

"Good, there are towels already in the bathroom of the room you were in if you want to shower. Let me know how they fit." And with that, she shoves the shoebox in my arms and sends me off.