Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,7
head and can see again, Hazel’s standing in the doorway, watching me. We need to have another conversation about boundaries.
She’s wearing her usual Saturday uniform of leggings and a tank top. A gold chain with an infinity loop nestles in the hollow of her throat and she’s tied an oversize men’s flannel shirt around her waist because she worries constantly that she’ll be cold. It doesn’t matter that we live in California or that the temperature will hit ninety this afternoon—she’s prepared for arctic temperatures and the ice-cream aisle at the grocery store. Hazel herself isn’t pretty or gorgeous. She’s none of those adjectives you come up with when asked what your date looks like, but something about her makes you look at her and smile, even when she’s driving you completely nuts. She’s just so alive and full of energy that it lights up her eyes and the room. She’s not particularly easy to be around, but she’s never boring. In a world full of taupe and beige, Hazel’s carmine and verdigris, framboise and vermilion. It’s certainly made for an interesting business partnership.
“I’m here to stage an intervention.” Hazel waves a hand at me just in case there’s any doubt about who the intended recipient is. “You need to get back out there.”
“To Max’s party?”
I wander out of my closet and lean against the wall. I can’t wait to hear this plan.
Hazel hands me one of the champagne bottles and plops down onto the bed. “Open sesame.”
“I need the magic word.”
“Please buy me a drink, Mr. Reed.” She makes a hurry-up gesture. “I stole high-end champagne for you, so you should be thanking me.”
I peel back the foil carefully. Given Hazel’s vigorous delivery, odds are high I end up wearing champagne. I retrieve a towel from the bathroom and then grab my water glass. Hazel will have to share because I haven’t gotten around to replacing the glasses Molly took with her. Hazel watches as I cover the cork and the cage with the towel.
“Why are you here?” I untwist the cage and then work the bottle clockwise until the cork pops free.
She throws her arms wide. “I’m hiding from the party. The big question is why you’re here.”
“It’s my house.” I pour a glass of champagne and hold it out to Hazel.
She swipes the bottle from me instead and takes a swig. “I call bullshit, Mr. Reed. You’re hiding from life.”
I take a sip from the glass. She’s right about one thing. Max bought the good stuff for this party. “You don’t want to celebrate Dev’s engagement?”
Brown eyes widen dramatically. “Usually Max has pool parties. Everyone over there today is wearing fancy clothes and there are no naked bodies in the pool.”
“You don’t even like swimming, so why do you care?”
Hazel can’t swim. Her reasons include allergies to swimwear, bikini-line maintenance and chlorine. It’s her loss. Pretty much all my nonwork time now is spent in the ocean.
She ignores me and instead inventories my desktop as she nudges the laptop screen closed. “You work too much.”
Coming from Hazel, that’s rich. She works all the time.
“Are you trying to tell me what to do?” I cross my arms over my chest and lean forward a little. Yes, it’s wrong to use my larger size to intimidate, but these are desperate times. “Because you’re my business partner, not my boss.”
“Coleman and Reed,” she points out, not a little smugly. She chugs champagne. “My name comes first.”
I should never have discussed business with Hazel after doing tequila shots. She’s entirely ruthless and far too convincing. “Because you insisted on alphabetical order.”
“I’m first. You’re second. If this was a wolf pack, that would make me the alpha and you the beta.”
“You’re still not the boss of me.” My glass is empty, so I hold it out for Hazel to refill.
She grins the evilest of Hazel grins. “It’s my month, so technically I am.”
Right. Fuck. Hazel and I have control issues, which is a polite way of saying we both have a pathological need to be in charge. In our early days, we settled our differences with “rock paper scissors,” but that looked weird once we started acquiring staff. So then we switched to taking turns. Every other month, Hazel gets to be the boss.
“We’re not at the office.” I feel compelled to point this out because not only are we both workaholics, but Hazel is also the kind of person who gleefully takes a mile when given an inch.
“You need to get