The Boss Crush
Penny Wylder
Copyright © 2020 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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Contents
1. Dalia
2. Dalia
3. Lyle
4. Dalia
5. Dalia
6. Lyle
7. Lyle
8. Dalia
9. Dalia
10. Lyle
11. Dalia
12. Lyle
Epilogue
Books By Penny Wylder
1
Dalia
You can't bang your boss.
Dalia, you can. Not. Sleep with him.
That's what I tell myself as his breath skirts along my throat, his teeth brushing my skin until I'm on fire from above and below. Until I can think of nothing but Lyle's lips on mine, especially after he stops teasing me through my panties then eats me out—like I'm positive he will--letting me taste my own sweetness on his tongue.
He's your boss!
Off limits!
The thing is... that would be so much easier to believe if I didn't already have years of fantasies built up around this man. Because he's not just my boss, not just some sexy guy in a suit that hugs his muscles. Oh no. This man who is making my nipples strain against my bra is so much more than a powerful stranger.
He's the boy I went weak-kneed for in high school.
My boss is my childhood crush.
I'm so fucked.
Present
Looking up across the street at the crosswalk sign, I wait for the walk signal. A hoard of people surrounds me like a cloud of bugs, all of us heading in the same direction. I'm squished between some guy who looks like he's talking to himself and a woman wearing a neon yellow jumpsuit.
Her arms are still moving, knees bending one at a time as she stays moving at the corner. I watch her for a second, wondering why she doesn't just keep going straight, or even down to the park, so she doesn't have to stop at all.
I'm bumped from behind as the waiting crowd grows with people eager to get on with their day. No one in this city likes to wait.
Taking a small step forward, my feet hang half off the sidewalk, anxious for the light to change so I can get out of this cluster. It's my first day at my new job, and I'm ready and excited to finally start the life I've always pictured for myself.
The screech of tires hits my ears, causing me to cringe, and tuck my ear against my shoulder. A horn blares behind the bus, and some guy yells out his window, shaking his fist as if the bus has done something wrong.
New York City is worlds away from the small town in New Hampshire where I grew up. I traded the tall trees for mile high buildings, and quiet streets for a symphony of noise. But I'm finally here and loving every second of this crazy new world.
A cool breeze blows between my legs, sweeping up my chest, and sending a ripple of goosebumps down my body. The light turns, and I move with the hoard of people like we're a single unit.
My new building comes into view, spearing the sky proudly. It's almost the tallest building on Thirty-Eighth Street, dwarfed only by one other skyscraper.
An overwhelming sense of accomplishment heats me on the inside, filling me from head to toe. I've never truly been proud of myself—until now. This is the culmination of everything; the long nights in college, the crap jobs, all of it to get right here, right now.
Every step brings me closer to living my dream. A big time job, in a high profile advertising firm, with famous clients, it's what every graphic designer wishes for.
I'm here. I'm finally here. I made it.
Stepping up onto the curb, I stop and take a deep breath. I can feel my nerves start to buzz. The knots in my stomach twist harder, the sweat on my palms gets thicker, and the pounding in my chest becomes an atomic bomb.
You got this.
I'm bumped lightly, it's fleeting, and I almost don't give it any thought. But I glance down briefly anyway, and find a small boy crying beside me. He's rubbing his eyes, looking up at everyone as they go by with terror on his face. Heavy tears stream down his cheeks, and his skin is flushed from crying.
Looking around him, I expect to see an adult. But there's no one around him. No one even close enough for me to question.
He's all alone.
Leaning over, I smile big and friendly. I don't want to frighten him. “Hi there. I'm Dalia.” He's sucking in huge pulls of air, weeping loudly. I'm quiet for a moment, letting him steady his eyes on my face. Once he seems to focus, I soften my smile. “What's wrong?” I ask, dropping down to his level to look him eye-to-eye.
The boy doesn't answer, he just stares at me with huge brown eyes.
“Are you lost?” I ask, looking around behind him, hoping to see some sign he's with someone, and not out here alone.
He nods, rubbing his eyes in long sweeping circles. “I can't find my mommy.” Each word is pushed out on hiccups of air as he's inhaling.
You have to be at work soon, Dalia, a voice inside reminds me. It's the first day, you can't be late.
Only, my heart breaks for this little boy, and the thought of just leaving him here alone turns my stomach. I can't do it; I can't abandon this child. It's wrong. This little boy needs help, and I'm the only who seems to give a shit. No one else has even slowed down to check to see if he’s all right.
It's an easy decision, and I don't need one more second
