My 5 Bosses - Page 2

A take a deep breath. I’m more than ready. I’m … happy. I feel it in every part of my body. I’ll do my job, they’ll sell this app, and I’ll have everything I could possibly want. My friends—no, not my friends. It doesn’t matter what my friends think of me right now. I’ll be proud. That’s all that matters. I’m not doing this to prove anything to anyone else. This is my time to shine.

Two

That evening, after work, all five of my bosses take me to the apartment they rented for me in the city—just one of the many perks of my new job. It’s one of those beautiful homes on the hills that San Francisco is known for, split into a duplex.

“We bought this place back when the market was good. Got a steal on it,” Beck says. “Turned it onto apartments.”

“How many tenants to you have?” I ask, looking up at the Victorian-style building. It’s painted white and gray with yellow gingerbread—which, I learn from Beck, is what all the fancy detailing is called on old houses like this.

“Just us. Now you. You’ll get used to the set-up.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“The apartments are all self-contained for the most part. They have their own kitchens and toilets with sinks, but because of plumbing restrictions in these old buildings there are only three showers. It can be kind of a pain in the ass when everyone is trying to get ready for work at the same time, but you’ll get used to it. We have schedules. I’ll fit you into it.”

“Oh, okay. Like a hostel. I stayed in one similar to that when I went with my parents to Europe a few years back.”

“Exactly,” Beck says. “I hope you like the apartment.”

“I’m sure I will.”

The thought of sharing a home with five gorgeous men is … thrilling, actually. Even if I do have to share a shower. The naughty part of my brain lights up at the thought of catching one of them in the nude through a glimpse of an open door or as they’re coming out of the shower.

We go inside and I’m immediately in love with the place. It’s gorgeous. Hardwood floors, original glass doorknobs, bits of stained glass here and there. The view is even more stunning than the one in the office.

The others say goodbye and Derrick shows me to my room. It’s upstairs in the back of the building. I open the door and see that it comes fully furnished, which is such a relief because I have nothing. I was worried that I’d have to spend my entire first paycheck on things I would need for my new place. The furniture is so cute. Sort of an updated version of Victorian style. I absolutely love it.

Derrick follows quietly behind me as I examine each room. It’s bigger than I thought it would be. This place is deceptive on the outside, tall but narrow. I had no idea how far it went back, like a very large shotgun home.

Derrick is so tall he has to duck under some of the doors. We go from the living room to the kitchen to the—well, I’m not sure what to call it since there isn’t a bath—powder room? We stop in front of the bedroom where the door is closed.

“If you need anything, just let me know and I’ll get it for you,” he says.

“It’s perfect. I’m sure I have everything I need.” Which is basically just a coffee maker and I saw one of those in the kitchen.

“This is the bedroom,” he says, opening the door.

The room is huge. At least it seems that way with all the different mirrors. There’s even one on the ceiling.

“Wow. This is … something.”

Derrick laughs. “It was Jason’s idea to add the mirrors.”

I laugh too. “I should’ve known.”

I fall down on the bed and look up at the mirror on the ceiling.

“I’ll take it down for you,” he says.

“No,” I say a little too quickly. His eyebrows shoot up and he gives me an amused look. My face grows warm. “I kind of like it.”

His gaze sweeps around the room to all the mirrors on the wall. He stares at one mirror in particular. “Well you do look good from all angles.”

I rise up on my elbows and follow his gaze. I see that my skirt has slid up to my thighs. I shift on the bed enough to give him a show. Just a touch of red thong is exposed where my legs meet. His Adam’s apple dips in his throat. I can’t help but smile.

“So do you,” I say, noticing the hard mass beneath his jeans grow bigger the longer he

watches me.

Tags: Penny Wylder Erotic
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