Take Me, Boss: A Billionaire Boss Obsession by Sylvia Fox

Author:Sylvia Fox [Fox, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Dom

Charlie calls up promptly at seven to tell me a car is here. I gather my clutch and head downstairs, my phone in one hand as I lean against the elevator wall and shoot a few texts to Jacki, filling her in on what I’m doing. She’s spending the weekend with Eric at his cabin in the mountains and couldn’t care less about my evening with Nate. She calls me the asshole, but she’s self-absorbed and we’re perfect together because of it.

7:03 pm Me: Have fun, sweets. You’ve earned it.

7:04 pm Jacki-O: You too. We’ll swap battle stories later. ❤

The elevator doors slide open and I stride out into the foyer, my heels clicking on the gleaming tile like war drums. Nerves started fluttering in my stomach after I got home from work which only made me mad. I don’t get nervous on dates. In fact, I rarely let myself get nervous about anything, but that’s because I trust myself to steer a situation the way I want it to go. If Nate wants me to hand control over to him, it could go so many different ways and not having a say in the matter makes me feel untethered. What happens when I let someone else take the wheel? Where will we end up?

I hold my head high as I step out into the cold night, nodding to Charlie as I pass. A sleek, black car waits for me at the curb, shining in the streetlights. The driver stands at its side, his uniform as sharp as any general in the Marines. The laugh lines etched into his skin deepen when he sees me, his smile lifting his thick jowls and caterpillar-like eyebrows.

“Ms. Thorne?” His voice is low-pitched and comforting, like hot chocolate and brandy.

“That’s me.”

He pulls open the back door of the limousine and gestures for me to enter, bowing his head graciously. I lower my hips to the seat and then swivel my feet into the car, my pencil skirt demanding perfect posture and rigidity. The driver closes the door behind me before he climbs into the driver’s seat and then turns to face me.

“There’s a folder on the seat beside you. Mr. Wellington requests that you sign a non-disclosure agreement prior to your arrival at his home.” The man smiles that grandfatherly smile again, his dark eyes so warm. It’s out of place in a dark car, talking about NDA’s in the glow of the streetlights.

I pick up the folder, flip it open, and find a single sheet of paper and a pen tucked inside. The paper rustles in the quiet car as I pull it from the sleeve and read through it. The words are standard fare and Nate’s signature is already scrawled across the bottom. I pause momentarily, analyzing all the possible reasons he would want an NDA, and then decide curiosity will haunt me for the rest of my life if I don’t find out what Nate Wellington wants to hide from the world.

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