“Company policy,” said one in a monotone voice. Jaw tight to the point of aching, Sebastian closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Then he retrieved a Banker’s Box from one of the shelves, dumped the papers out of it and onto the floor and started cramming his personal effects into it. Less than five minutes later, he was practically being frog marched down the hall, sandwiched between the two security guards, the box clutched in his hands. He kept his eyes down, refusing to look at all the people who’d come out of their offices to see him escorted off of the premises.
Until he saw her. Kayla. The woman who, once upon a time, he’d had a raging crush on, with her blond curls and ample curves and mouth made for sin. She was smart and confident and had never put up with his bullshit, and he’d always liked that about her. He’d never made a move because she was technically his subordinate and he was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a douche to women. Never. Especially not Kayla.
And then she’d gotten him fired. She’d cost him his job, the only thing keeping him afloat in the quagmire of his life.
He locked eyes with her and she had the balls to wave at him, a little smirk on her face. “Good luck, Sebastian,” she said in that breathy come-fuck-me voice of hers. It was a voice that had once filled his fantasies, but now would haunt him. “You’re going to need it.”
1
Present Day
Kayla Bristowe shuffled her way through the snow and the slush on the sidewalk as she walked the few blocks from the subway station to her apartment building. A sharp wind blew, whistling between the buildings and smacking her in the face with air that felt like needs. Her fingers were numb and her toes weren’t far behind. She grimaced as another blast of wind had her turning her face to the side just to catch her breath. Yes, she was used to winter and cold temperatures, having grown up in New York City—Queens, to be exact—but that didn’t mean she liked it. No, she was a summer girl, through and through. Winter could kiss her bikini-loving ass.
Nose running and eyes streaming, she reached the lobby of her Midtown apartment building, forcing her shoulders down from where they’d hunched around her ears. She took the elevator up to the eighth floor, where she shared a two bedroom with her best friend, Willa.
As soon as she stepped in the door, Kayla felt some of her tension start to melt away. Today had sucked. Big time. Not just because of the cold, but because her boss, Robert Stammler, was a capital-A Asshole.
The apartment was small but bright, and they’d decorated it with cream and gray colored furniture and deep fuchsia and wood accents. They both loved design and pretty things, and had taken a lot of time to pick out the perfect table and chairs, the perfect living room set, the perfect high stools to line the breakfast bar. Sometimes it felt like her close friendship with Willa was as close as she was going to come to any kind of long term relationship.
“Hey,” called Willa from the kitchen as Kayla unbundled herself. The entire space was open, with a hallway to the left leading to the two bedrooms and bathroom. She stirred something on the stove and Kayla caught a whiff of garlic and tomatoes. “I’m making spaghetti with homemade meatballs and garlic bread,” she added, turning the heat down and wiping her hands on the dish towel flung over her shoulder.
“It smells amazing,” said Kayla, heading to the fridge and pulling out the bottle of pinot grigio there. “Still stuck on that problem?” Willa was a software engineer at a huge app development company and often kept herself busy in the kitchen when she needed time to think. Some kind of bug had resulted in last week’s incredible lemon cheesecake, so Kayla wasn’t going to complain.
“Stuck on something,” Willa muttered, pulling down two wineglasses from the open shelf above the sink. “How was your day?”
“Shitty. I’m so mad at myself for letting Stammler rope me into planning this stupid retreat. Event planning is so not the job of the VP of marketing and communications. Just saying. This has taken up so much of my time, and I get the feeling he’s expecting the moon. Or expecting me to screw it up. I’m not sure which one is worse.” Although Kayla was pretty sure the second one would be much, much worse. She was a perfectionist and hated making mistakes of any kind, personal or professional.
Willa shot her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. That really sucks. At least it’ll be over soon,” she offered as Kayla poured them each a generous glass of wine.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love my job—when I have time to actually do it. I think the thing that bothers me the most is that I’m pretty sure Stammler assigned this to me because I have boobs and event planning is a job for someone with boobs.”
Willa let out a groan. “Ugh. I hate that shit. Believe me, the tech world is no better. Maybe even worse.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Willa handed her the glass of wine and gave her arm a squeeze. “Cheers. To being badass women not taking crap from anyone except when we do take crap which is probably more often than we should.”
Kayla laughed and clinked her glass against Willa’s.
Willa, always so full of warmth it was like she ate sunshine for breakfast, gave her arm a squeeze.
“Maybe we’re too nice,” said Kayla, sliding onto one of the stools and sipping her wine.
“Are you that nice?” asked Willa, scrunching
