The Boss Vol. 2 (The Boss #2) by Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott Page A
Authors: Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott
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believe it was an option for too many reasons. That didn’t mean I hadn’t pictured her naked when I had my hand clenched around my cock. Especially after she’d come to work for me under a ruse.
If I’d been smarter, I would’ve turned her away or better yet, confronted her about her lie the first moment after she’d stepped into my office. But I was intrigued. Grace had always been so self-possessed, so strong-willed. She’d never seemed to need anyone or anything.
Except for her grandmother, Annabelle Stuart. She and Grace had been exceptionally close until the day her grandmother had passed. Since then, I’d watched a strong, confident woman turn into a shadow of her former self. Watched her from the shadows, because when it came to Grace, I’d long ago resigned myself to watching. And no more.
Now I was watching again, though this time I was flipping through stills of a naked Grace wrapping her tie around her neck and doing an intricate series of knots, her pale fingers moving so fast. My cock throbbed even now, just from the memory. Irrational anger bubbled inside me as I gripped the mainframe computer, half-tempted to throw it before someone got to see what should’ve been for me alone. I wanted to shield her from anyone else’s prying eyes.
To do that, I needed to stop studying the flow and curve of her body as she teased me, my fingers flipping through stills faster than my mind could process. Because I’d lived it, and now, all I wanted to do was erase.
Make a copy and erase, I amended. No way in hell was I letting this footage go.
But it wasn’t that simple. I couldn’t just delete a section of the tape after I’d made a duplicate. I needed to splice in another section to make up for the time lapse, and to be careful enough that I didn’t have any obvious tells if Violet happened to need to check this particular time period for any reason. Unlikely, but possible. So I had to make sure the section I copied wouldn’t show a glaring discrepancy—if frame two-thousand-sixty-one had a cab passing by the vestibule, I couldn’t duplicate the footage so that it appeared to backtrack in the next frame.
Goddammit, I was the president of a company, not a computer tech.
I slipped the ring that contained my keys to the building, to my Land Rover and my thumb drive out of my pants pocket and slid it into the USB port. A few moments later, the interlude had been copied.
Transferring the footage was easier than doing the intricate splicing required. I had no doubt that a tech would be able to instantly see the hack job I’d performed. My only hope was that no one would need to investigate this particular section any further.
By the time I walked out of the security sector of the building, more of the staff was filtering in. I greeted everyone who passed, and thanked the gods of illicit hookups that Violet hadn’t yet arrived. She was my employee, true, but I paid her to be a hard ass and she was gifted at her job. She would thoroughly question why I’d been in the security room despite the fact that I signed her paychecks. I admired that about her. Nothing dented her moral compass.
Mine, however, was much more shaky.
I went down to the parking garage and climbed into my SUV. Soothing classical music filtered from the speakers as I navigated through the congested morning traffic to my home in the nearby suburb of Chestnut Hill. Outside of rush hour, the trip wasn’t bad. In the thick of it, crawling was the most optimistic word to describe my speed.
When my house came into view, I swerved into the driveway without any of my usual care not to clip the bushes. It was amazing I didn’t bump the half wall as I floored it into the garage. I needed to be horizontal, fast. All the better to forget the start to this day.
Even if I wanted to do anything but.
On the way in, my cell buzzed. I half expected to see Violet calling, but instead it was my mother. I debated letting it go to voicemail, but guilt
If I’d been smarter, I would’ve turned her away or better yet, confronted her about her lie the first moment after she’d stepped into my office. But I was intrigued. Grace had always been so self-possessed, so strong-willed. She’d never seemed to need anyone or anything.
Except for her grandmother, Annabelle Stuart. She and Grace had been exceptionally close until the day her grandmother had passed. Since then, I’d watched a strong, confident woman turn into a shadow of her former self. Watched her from the shadows, because when it came to Grace, I’d long ago resigned myself to watching. And no more.
Now I was watching again, though this time I was flipping through stills of a naked Grace wrapping her tie around her neck and doing an intricate series of knots, her pale fingers moving so fast. My cock throbbed even now, just from the memory. Irrational anger bubbled inside me as I gripped the mainframe computer, half-tempted to throw it before someone got to see what should’ve been for me alone. I wanted to shield her from anyone else’s prying eyes.
To do that, I needed to stop studying the flow and curve of her body as she teased me, my fingers flipping through stills faster than my mind could process. Because I’d lived it, and now, all I wanted to do was erase.
Make a copy and erase, I amended. No way in hell was I letting this footage go.
But it wasn’t that simple. I couldn’t just delete a section of the tape after I’d made a duplicate. I needed to splice in another section to make up for the time lapse, and to be careful enough that I didn’t have any obvious tells if Violet happened to need to check this particular time period for any reason. Unlikely, but possible. So I had to make sure the section I copied wouldn’t show a glaring discrepancy—if frame two-thousand-sixty-one had a cab passing by the vestibule, I couldn’t duplicate the footage so that it appeared to backtrack in the next frame.
Goddammit, I was the president of a company, not a computer tech.
I slipped the ring that contained my keys to the building, to my Land Rover and my thumb drive out of my pants pocket and slid it into the USB port. A few moments later, the interlude had been copied.
Transferring the footage was easier than doing the intricate splicing required. I had no doubt that a tech would be able to instantly see the hack job I’d performed. My only hope was that no one would need to investigate this particular section any further.
By the time I walked out of the security sector of the building, more of the staff was filtering in. I greeted everyone who passed, and thanked the gods of illicit hookups that Violet hadn’t yet arrived. She was my employee, true, but I paid her to be a hard ass and she was gifted at her job. She would thoroughly question why I’d been in the security room despite the fact that I signed her paychecks. I admired that about her. Nothing dented her moral compass.
Mine, however, was much more shaky.
I went down to the parking garage and climbed into my SUV. Soothing classical music filtered from the speakers as I navigated through the congested morning traffic to my home in the nearby suburb of Chestnut Hill. Outside of rush hour, the trip wasn’t bad. In the thick of it, crawling was the most optimistic word to describe my speed.
When my house came into view, I swerved into the driveway without any of my usual care not to clip the bushes. It was amazing I didn’t bump the half wall as I floored it into the garage. I needed to be horizontal, fast. All the better to forget the start to this day.
Even if I wanted to do anything but.
On the way in, my cell buzzed. I half expected to see Violet calling, but instead it was my mother. I debated letting it go to voicemail, but guilt
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