Grumpy Boss by Hamel, B. (best non fiction books to read TXT) 📗

I studied Rees, but he kept a surprisingly straight face, like he was actually considering it. The massive cross glittered down in the grass and Rees didn’t move, and there was some part of me that felt a surge of anger. If he agreed to this, then whatever we had going on, our little fake romance, or even the real one that might be blooming, that would be over. He’d give up too much for this one man, and I couldn’t stop it.

“I’ll think about it,” Rees said finally, and I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t turning Modesto down right away. The idea of him considering it almost broke me, and I had to turn my back on them and stare down at the grass to keep from showing too much distress.

“Alright then,” Modesto said. “I can’t expect you to agree right away. So stay the night, we’ll have a good dinner, we’ll talk a bit in the morning, and you’ll decide one way or the other. I think this could be good for us all, really, for you and for me. I get you to behave, and you get my money.”

Rees didn’t answer. Modesto shot me a look, and in that moment, I knew he knew— or maybe he suspected. But either way, he thought I was sleeping with Rees, and this was his way of stopping that in its tracks. Maybe that reporter leaked the news and we hadn’t heard yet, or maybe Modesto had heard it some other way, but it didn’t matter.

This was his play. He wanted to keep Rees on a short leash, and he’d use his money as leverage to make it happen.

“My housekeeper will be out sooner to show you to your rooms,” he said. “Forgive me, but I have some work. You’re free to do as you wish with the house. I suggest going for a swim—it is very lovely outside right now.” He left with a happy wave, and disappeared back inside.

I stood staring at Rees. I couldn’t believe what just happened. He should have shouted at Modesto or at least pushed back.

Instead, he said nothing.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rees glanced back at me, but I didn’t see anything in his expression. “He’s playing a game, and I need his money.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re considering that stupid deal?”

He shook his head. “I’m considering everything right now.”

“Rees—“ I started, but he walked to the sliding doors. I gaped at him, feeling betrayed.

“I haven’t decided anything,” he said. “And we need time to convince him to change his mind. So relax and try to enjoy yourself while we’re here. That’s some cross, right?” Then he opened the door and went inside, leaving me alone.

I stayed there and turned, staring down at the glittering gold in the grass, the sunlight breaking off its polished face in small rainbows on the stonework walkway, and I wanted to jump off the deck, and go running into the hills. I wanted to get away from here—away from Rees and this sick game he’s playing, away from all his rich friends and their absurd rich lives. I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t, not with what was on the line, not with all this life changing money I could make if only I held on for a little bit longer.

16

Rees

My room was barely large enough for a bed and a dresser. Modesto had me tucked into the top floor in the far corner, away from the rest of the house—probably trying to keep me separated from Millie.

That asshole. He knew what he was doing. He knew that I wasn’t some playboy. Maybe we weren’t best friends, but he knew my reputation, and he must’ve known that all these rumors were total garbage stirred up by Desmond. I couldn’t believe he thought he had to make some morality clause in order to invest with me, and the thought sent chills of rage down my spine.

I couldn’t sleep. Dinner was awkward and strained. Millie barely spoke, and Modesto left halfway through, making some excuse about work. I let him go—I wasn’t going to win this battle if I kept pushing him hard, but even still, I tried. He wouldn’t budge though, and insisted that the contract would benefit us both, and that he wouldn’t enforce it either way.

It still rankled. I hated being told what to do. I worked my ass off to get into my position so that I wouldn’t have to take shit from men like Modesto, men with puffed-up egos and an inflated sense of importance. That god damn gaudy cross lying in the grass out back was the perfect metaphor for Modesto, all flash and no substance. He knew what he was doing though, and as much as it pissed me off, he knew that I needed his money, and needed it badly enough to give in to his demands.

Sleep wasn’t happening. I got out of bed a little after midnight, pulled on some clothes, and stepped out into the hallway. Paintings of the manger, and Mary, and a hundred little religious icons plastered the walls. Some of it must’ve been fairly old, likely a few hundred years at least, and yet he had it on the wall casually like it didn’t actually belong in a museum. I lingered in front of one particularly striking image of the rock in front of Jesus’s crypt, partially rolled away, and light coming out. That was all: simple, understated. No wonder it was tucked up away from the rest of the house. It was by far the most gorgeous piece he owned.

Downstairs was quiet. I found something to eat in the kitchen, and a hidden bottle of whisky in the back of a shelf. I grinned to myself as I poured a drink—it was probably the kitchen staff’s, but shame on them for leaving it somewhere