Chapter 21
Bella
Another day. Another round of brutal cuts by Barrett Adler.
My boss is heartless.
That’s putting it mildly.
There are a lot of other words I could use to describe him, but it boils down to the simple fact that he doesn’t have an ounce of compassion in his body.
He does have a lean frame and muscular arms.
I saw that yesterday when he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Today, he’s back to a dark blue suit paired with a white dress shirt and a deep purple tie.
“What can I do for you, Isabella?” He calls from behind his desk.
Dammit. I was staring again.
I pluck a piece of lint from the front of my red skirt. “Nothing.”
I hear the creak of his chair as he gets up. I know he’s headed in my direction. The rhythmic beat of his shoes on the concrete floor is a dead giveaway.
I finally look up when I sense him standing next to me. “What can I do for you, Mr. Adler?”
His lips curve up in a satisfied smile. “It’s Barrett, but I’m glad to see you finally mastered the pronunciation of my surname.”
I twist my lips in a scowl. “No problem.”
I knew when I arrived at the office this morning at ten seconds to eight that he would be firing more people today.
He sent me an email last night with a list of the names of twenty-five employees of Garent Industries and three simple words: Prepare Termination Documents.
I didn’t respond because I couldn’t say what I really wanted to.
I’d lose my job if I called him an arrogant asshole to his face or in an email.
I bite my lip to ward off the temptation to share my true feelings. This job is the ticket to my future, so I need to hold onto it.
“I found out last night that we share a mutual friend.”
My stomach knots at that announcement. He’s going to tell me that he’s dating someone I went to high school with or one of my cousins. Please don’t let that be it. I loathe him, but I don’t want anyone I know to sleep with him.
Guilt would consume me since I’ve been thinking about Barrett’s body at night when I’m in bed alone.
I look up into his blue eyes. “Who?”
He traces a path over my lips with his gaze. “Dylan Colt.”
I straighten my shoulders. I may have had a crush on Dylan for a hot minute the first time we met two years ago. It was at my cousin’s apartment. Rocco Jones is the eldest of Marti’s grandchildren. He’s also a retired professional poker player.
Rocco taught me ho
w to play cards using peppermints for chips.
Once he felt I was ready, he invited me to one of his monthly poker nights. A handful of his friends were there.
I emptied every wallet in the place, including Dylan’s. I did the same three months later.