How to Kill Your Boss - An Erotic Love Story

by Krissy Daniels

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

When Tatum's daydreams of murder become a reality, all fingers point to her.

In Tatum Wood's opinion, murdering her boss on a daily basis within the safety of her thoughts is better than therapy. Until he takes a swan dive off a building and all evidence points to her. Thank goodness she has Franklin Reed. Her mysterious, overprotective and drop-dead gorgeous coworker is all too eager to play hero. With two attacks in her building and her stalker with a penchant for roses, Franklin's injection into her life couldn't have come at a better time.

As Tatum and Franklin scramble to discover who's behind the murder, secrets are unearthed that question his motives. . .as well as his identity.

80,030 Words

Release date: July 23, 2014

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 222

Sample

 

As the blade sliced through the taught flesh of his stretched neck, revenge was not first and foremost on my mind. When his skin spread wide, revealing the muscles and tendons beneath, I didn’t squirm, gag, or suffer the slightest queasiness. Warm blood stained his shirt, sprayed across his desk, coated the leafy fern nestled in the sunny corner of his office, yet my thoughts were not filled with twisted delusions of hell yeah, he’s getting what he deserves.

No.

Rocky road ice cream called my name.

Mmm. My stomach rumbled. The closest grocery store was what, five minutes away? What time was it? I used the back of his shirt to wipe his blood off my watch. He wouldn’t mind. He was dead. Oh good, only nine-thirty. Plenty of time to get to the store before it closed.

When I released my death grip on the over-gelled, wiry hair rooted in Wallace Cruse’s head, he slumped and fell with a hard thud against the hickory desk. I cringed, thinking that must hurt, then remembered he couldn’t feel a thing.

Before dropping the weapon, I contemplated stabbing him in the back a few times, for dramatic effect. But time was-a-tickin’ and I needed my chocolate fix.

“Tatum!” he called out to me with his whiney voice.

What? I killed him. Dead people didn’t talk. Raising my arms over my head, I double-fisted the thick handle of the butcher knife, and with all my might pounded into a less-than-spectacular back. His flesh offered no resistance, and at first, I thought I’d missed.

So I did it again.

A pillow stuffed with pudding would’ve put up a better fight. The blade sunk with no effort right through flesh and bones. Its tip stuck in the edge of the desk.

Interesting. Apparently, his physical form was as weak as his moral character….

 

“Tatum. Tatum!” A whack to my backside snapped me back to reality. “Stop daydreaming. You gotta see this.” Nan looped an arm around mine and guided me down the hall. Stacy, from accounting, shushed us from the opposite side of Wallace’s door. Acting the love-sick teen, she wiggled her eyebrows, pointed toward his office, fanned her face, and swooned.

Whoever came to visit had to be hair-curling hot, because Stacy never behaved in such a manner. Maybe Wallace had landed a celebrity client again. Last time that happened, a fresh buzz of excitement chased the doldrums clean out of the place for weeks. We were long overdue for another shot of team spirit adrenaline.

“Tatum!” Wallace screeched with his high-pitched tenor. Thank goodness Nan still held my arm, because I jumped hard enough to hit the ceiling.

I’d yet to ascertain why, when Wallace needed me, he didn’t use the phone like everyone else. Nan’s office was one door down in the opposite direction, yet he’d never screamed for her. I’d stopped trying to figure him out years ago. Instead of dwelling on the three thousand reasons I hated my boss, I fantasy-killed him at least once a day.

A chill swept over me when I stepped through the threshold. The room, as always, reeked of overpriced hair and hand lotion. Only this time, a familiar scent tickled my nose. Dad’s cologne. I choked back the emotion that gelled in my throat. Even though he’d been dead for three years, I still welled with sentiment every time I caught a whiff of the beloved fragrance.

Wallace wore his fake smile and sat, back straight, hands clasped atop his desk. The unnatural gesture wasn’t for my benefit, but the person seated across from him.

“Ah, Miss Wood.” He lifted his chin to me. “Mr. Reed is joining our team today. Would you make sure Steve’s old office is stocked with the essentials?”

Miss Wood? Oh, jeez. Wallace only addressed me with the formal title when he needed to crank the schmooze dial to high for important clients—important meaning filthy, stinking rich. This guy wasn’t a client, so why the show?

“Of course.” I didn’t add “Mr. Cruse” to my reply because I knew it’d knock him down a peg. “I’ll be happy to.” Although I’d known Wallace my whole life, he insisted I call him Mr. Cruse at work, a request only made after my father passed. Dad would’ve slapped him silly for being so high-handed with me.

“Anything else?” I asked, sugar-coating my words.

The man seated in front of me turned his head my direction, revealing what had incited the tizzy outside. Yikes! One glance and my heart pitter-pattered. Those eyes. Electric blue, so striking I took a step back. I snapped my attention to Wallace. His ugly I could handle, and it didn’t make me drool.

A deep, intoxicating voice rose from the man before me. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he asked, and turned to face Wallace once again.

My boss’ eyebrows crinkled. “Of course. Miss Wood is our receptionist. Tatum, this is Franklin Reed.” Wallace cleared his throat, a nervous gesture he’d developed over the years. It only happened when he lied, or as he called it, embellished the truth, to land clients. “I’ve hired an auditor to tighten up productivity around here.”

Franklin rose, lithe and poised, from the chair. He turned toward me and offered a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Tate.”

Tate? Nobody had called me Tate except for my father and the assholes in high school. One-Date Tate. The nickname and the curse followed me like a perpetual shadow through most of my academic career.

I would’ve corrected him, but when his full mug came into view, my tongue curled up and shriveled. My IQ dropped thirty points. Again, I quickly averted my eyes. I had no choice. They threatened to pop out of my head. There was good looking and there was gorgeous. This man played in a league that put both of them to shame. “Pleasure meeting you,” I managed to stutter. With grace comparable to a drunk college freshman, I grasped his hand and gave it one good shake. When I tried to pull away, he squeezed tighter and caressed a thumb across my knuckles.

My girlie parts twitched. No joke. I needed to leave before I left a puddle of desire on the floor between my feet. Holy cow, I’d never been affected in such a way.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Franklin tilted his head as if inviting me to admire him.

Nope. No way. I would not look into those eyes again. The way my body reacted, I’d end up sprawled naked across the desk with a rose between my teeth. I reclaimed my hand and jetted through the door.

 

 

 

“Enjoy your tea, Mr. Cruse. I added something special this time.” I winked, smiled, and tucked the empty vial of Kill-Wallace-Cocktail I’d whipped up earlier that morning back into the pocket of my slacks.

He lifted the delicate cup to his lips and drew a long drink. “Delicious.”

“I’m happy you like it.”

“Why are you standing there? Get back to work. Receptionists are a dime a dozen. Without a college degree, you’re lucky to have this job.”

I leaned my shoulder against his doorframe and crossed my arms. Anticipation was half the fun.

Wallace slapped his hands on the desk. “I said, get back—” He coughed. Blood spewed down his chin.

“How ya feeling, Wallace?” I asked with mock concern. “You don’t look so hot.”

Mr. Cruse looked at me, confusion distorting his features. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a word.

I swelled with pride when the first crimson tear trickled down his cheek. I tapped my finger to the corner of my own eye. “You’ve got a little something there,” I teased.

Wallace wiped at his face and released a garbled screamed when he spied blood on his hand.

I tapped my ear. “There, too.”

He grabbed a tissue and dabbed first one lobe, then the other. He coughed again and choked on the fluid that bubbled up his throat.

I smiled. Oh, it made my spirits soar to watch him suffer….

 

A sharp pinch in the fleshy meat at the back of my arm jolted me from my fantasy. “Tate, where were you just now?” Franklin whispered in my ear, sending delicious tickles down my neck. “Boss-man is freaking out. Stop daydreaming and get your ass in there. Cruse needs his daily ego stroke.”

I smacked his arm. The firm muscle underneath his suit jacket didn’t give in the slightest. Franklin had only been with Cruse Investigations for two months, but we were already the best of buddies. Office buds, anyway. His title? Auditor. His duties? Make the women drool, and some of the men, too, while gathering data and compiling reports to make the company more efficient, or something like that. For reasons I failed to comprehend, he spent more time in my office than his own.

He was obscenely gorgeous and smarter than sin. I didn’t understand his career choice. Franklin should’ve been CEO of a Fortune 500 company, modeling, starring in movies, or traveling the world—anything. He didn’t belong in our cozy office. He was a bright star that needed space to shine.

Not that I would dare complain.

I grabbed my bold and obnoxious, red-rimmed glasses. I loved them, partly because they made me feel like a naughty librarian, but mostly because Wallace hated them. He’d mentioned, on more than one occasion, how ridiculous I looked, so I only wore them when I knew we’d be sharing the same space. I didn’t need glasses. My vision was near perfect. They were merely a fashion statement and a fun tool I used to get under the skin of a man I detested.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cruse.” I smiled, tilted my head in a sweet, shy fashion, and flashed my baby blues. Bastard didn’t even look up from his desk.

“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow. Is the MacKenzie file ready? I need it ASAP, hoping to head out early today.” Wallace scribbled on a piece of paper and got back to typing on one of the four desktops occupying his workspace. Who, in God’s name, needed four PCs? Apparently Wallace did, as he made a point to use each of them every time I, or anybody else for that matter, visited his office. Perhaps to remind us he was king of the castle and important enough to need four computers.

I rolled my eyes, confident he wouldn’t see. Wallace rarely looked me in the face. It’d been that way since I was a child. Mom used to tell me it was because kids made him nervous. What was his excuse now? I was all grown up. Did he feel guilty for the direction he’d steered my father’s company? Could he feel the animosity I harbored? Perhaps it was because I’d known him my whole life and could see through his bullshit.

Wallace had recently turned the big five-o. Looked it, too, despite wasted efforts and thousands of dollars spent on beauty products for men. Everything about him, from his Italian shoes to his waxed brows, screamed mid-life crisis. The few wrinkles he owned were polished, buffed, and shined, nice and pretty. I wanted to laugh.

Girlie-man. It wasn’t natural for a guy to primp the way he did.

“The file is ready. I’ll grab it.”

He looked up with dark, beady eyes. His gaze traveled the length of my body, starting with my red pumps. I’d been visually violated by the time his perusal rested on my breasts. When I inhaled, drawing my clingy white blouse tighter across my chest, his eyes bulged. Was I flirting? Of course not—just breathing, and hopefully torturing him a bit. He’d always acted nervous around me, especially when puberty settled in my chest and grew like a tumor—or two. When I’d hit my teens, Dad stopped bringing Wallace around as much. My father was amazing like that. My great protector.

I turned, regretting my wardrobe choice. The tight gray pencil skirt accentuated my ample derriere. I was sure I heard a moan as I walked away.

Franklin waited for me outside Wallace’s door and followed me back to my office. He wore a cheesy grin that didn’t match the dark shadows lurking behind his glare. When I leaned over my desk to grab the MacKenzie file, he moaned, too, mimicking Wallace.

“Knock it off,” I scolded, unable to stifle a giggle.

“You are so bad.” He pinched the bridge of my glasses, wiggled them up and down, and made a tisk, tisk sound.

“I know. It’s so much fun, and he’s so damned easy,” I whispered.

Franklin turned to leave and I stole a moment, as I often did, to appreciate his spectacular physique. He was average height and solid. I’d never seen him without a suit on, but good gracious, he filled it out so well, I could only imagine what glorious surprises hid underneath. He wore his dark blond hair trim, almost shaved, and carried himself with an air of confidence few men could pull off without coming across as cocky pricks. The man, far too beautiful to be stuck in our boring, average company, didn’t belong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about him didn’t fit.

Before disappearing down the hall, he turned and gripped the doorframe. “Hey, Tate.”

Ooh, that voice. Husky, deep, and exactly what you wanted to hear in the throes of passion. Powerful, commanding, I’m gonna take you places you’ve never imagined. My insides warmed in response. Delicious, naughty images swirled in my brain.

“Yeah?” I asked with an embarrassing enthusiasm.

“Have a beer with me after work.”

Well, that was unexpected. He didn’t ask, nor was it a command. The timbre powering his words made it sound more like a sinful temptation dangled in front of my nose.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

“Wallace will be gone an entire week.”

“That’s certainly worth celebrating, isn’t it? Except I can’t. I’ve got plans already.” Yes, it was a date with my television. No, I would not admit that to him. Besides, inter-office dating was strictly prohibited. As much as I would love a date with such a fine male specimen, my spirit couldn’t take a rejection. The man took amazing to a whole new level, and I wasn’t about to set myself up for heartbreak of that magnitude.

His throaty laugh nearly made my clothes fall off in wanton misbehavior. “Tate, have a drink with me. It’s not a date, just friends hanging out. I promise, I’ll have you home in time for your show.”

“How did you know? Are you a secret agent or something?” I asked, half joking. How he knew my plans for curling up on the couch for some quality time with Antony Starr, I’d never know. I might have mentioned it to Franklin once during one of our many conversations. Not that I would remember. My brain matter turned into over cooked oatmeal whenever I was in touching distance of the man.

Could I handle a drink or two with the enigmatic Franklin without my panties self combusting? Probably not. It would be good to bust free of my shell. One drink couldn’t hurt. Besides, he was so far out of my league, any chance of sparks between us fizzled before leaving my vivid imagination. Franklin was spectacular. Office eye candy.

Me? Well, my mother used to say, “That Tatum, she’s short on stature, large on spunk, and amazingly average.” Mom had it right. That was me in a nutshell.

“Sure, why not.” Maybe I’d get to see a different side of the mystery man. Maybe he’d be loose-lipped after a few drinks and spill his deepest, darkest secrets.

* * * *

My cheeks burned hot as Hades. My heart pounded loud and relentless in my ears. I shut down my computer, tucked my cell into my purse and pushed my chair in. Pulled it out, brushed lint off the seat, and pushed it back. Hmm… Maybe I should dust my workspace. Hadn’t done that in over a week. Trash needed to be dumped, floor could use a quick vacuum….

“Tatum, get out of here.” Nan peeked her head around the corner. “You have a hot man waiting to get drunk with you. I can’t believe you’re still hanging around.” Nan Cummings, the office manager, was by far my favorite coworker, aside from uber-sexy Franklin. The woman read me like an open book. Acted more like a beloved aunt than a coworker. Kept the employees in check and the place running smoothly. Basically, she was Wallace’s bitch, did everything for him, and always with a smile on her face.

It was creepy, her knowledge of everybody’s business. Like now, she knew I was meeting Franklin for a drink. I hadn’t said a word to anyone. Franklin wouldn’t have spilled the beans. His lips were tighter than a pair of Spanx. But she knew, and it didn’t bother me. Gossip was not her style.

I smiled. “I’m going, I’m going.” I straightened my skirt and inspected my blouse. “Should I go home and change first?”

“No, my dear. You’re perfect.” Wise eyes scrutinized me. “Why so nervous?”

I sighed and slumped my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s not a date. It’s just, I’ve never hung out with him outside of work. You should come with me. Then it would feel less date-y, you know?”

Her laugh warmed my heart and calmed my nerves. “Sorry sister, you’re on your own tonight. I’ve got plans.” She glanced towards Wallace’s door then back to me. “Now, get going so I can lock up and get on with my evening.”

Nan was the only other person Wallace trusted with a key, which meant she arrived before anyone in the morning and couldn’t leave until each of us cleared out. Never once, in my four years at the firm, did I hear her complain about it.

With an exaggerated sigh, I threw my handbag over my shoulder, blew her a kiss and headed out for my non-date.

I managed to make the short drive, traipse across the gravel parking lot, and through the heavy wooden door of the Malted Maven in my stilettos without breaking a bone. All grace left my person the moment I spied Franklin sitting in the corner, suit jacket open, tie gone, top two buttons of his gray shirt undone. My ankles turned to wet noodles and my legs buckled under me. Thank the good Lord above there was a barstool within reach to steady myself.

He’d chosen a table in the darkest corner of the bar with a half-moon, vinyl booth seat. Legs crossed at the ankles, arms stretched across the top of the chair, GQ model if ever I’d seen one. When his eyes met mine, he wasted no time scooting from his perch to meet me where I stood clinging to the barstool like a crutch.

“There’s my girl. I thought you were blowing me off. What took so long?” With the firmness I expected, he grabbed my elbow and walked me to the table.

Oh, busywork, passing time, trying to build courage to meet the sexiest man alive on this non-date. “Nan caught me on my way out. She needed to talk,” I lied. “Sorry I made you wait.” Not the least bit sorry he waited.

Franklin waited, hands in his pockets, urbane as a well-bred English gentleman, while I scooted into the seat, a feat not easily accomplished with the lack of give in my skirt. He slid in and didn’t stop until his thigh rested against mine. Holy hot tamale, nothing but trouble rolled my way. His body heat melted the tension from mere nanoseconds before. I inhaled slow and deep and let the faint scent of lemon-lime, lavender, and orange fill my nostrils. Fresh and clean. He always smelled so damned good.

“Gendarme?” I asked.

His chuckle made my blood pump harder. “It is. How’d you know?”

“It was the only cologne my father wore. Not because it was his favorite, but because it was the only one that didn’t irritate my mother’s allergies.” Dad was my hero. I loved everything about him, the way he smelled, dressed, every wrinkle that graced his face. He spent his life making Mom and me feel cherished.

Franklin held my gaze just to the point of uncomfortable before blinking away and gesturing to the woman behind the bar. “Dark beer, right?”

Damn. The bastard was good. “Yes. The darker the better.”

The waitress bee-lined it toward our table, never taking her eyes off Franklin. Her shiny black hair bounced behind in a high pony, pulled tight, no doubt to show off her numerous ear piercings. When she reached our table, she studied me with a perplexed curiosity. Her black mascara and smudged eyeliner looked like it’d been applied by a professional, specifically to frame a set of deep jade eyes. With her skull and crossbone belt, she rocked the sexy, tough-bitch vibe.

“Hey Frankie, what’ll it be?” she asked. Her perky voice didn’t come close to matching the biker-chic facade.

Franklin pulled a fifty from his pocket and handed it to her. “We’re going dark tonight, love. Surprise us.”

Love? My cheeks warmed and my vision narrowed. Shit. Was I jealous? The barmaid was long and lean, like a yoga master. Not an ounce of fluff anywhere on her over-toned body. I shot flaming daggers at her ass as she walked away.

I turned to face the man sitting next to me. “Frankie?” No way was he a Frankie.

“Nickname. She gives one to all the regulars.” His words traveled through my ears, yet I barely registered what he said. He inspected me, raking the length of my body with a hungry leer like he couldn’t decide which lump to take a bite out of first.

“Oh, you come here often?” I looked around the room. Everything was dark; the wood of the tables and chairs, the carved ornate bar, wrought iron mirrors, sconces, even the paintings hung sparsely about were dismal in color and theme. I liked the ambiance. Was I out of my element? Without a doubt, but I’d stuck to the safe confines of my daily routine for too long. Change was good. Especially when it involved Franklin. “I have to say, Franklin Reed, you don’t strike me as the type who’d frequent a place like this.”

“Why not, Tatum Wood? Please, do tell.” His smirk begged to be kissed. I licked my lips and wondered what he tasted like. Man-oh-man, I hadn’t even started drinking yet. I could tell it was going to be a long night.

“That’s easy. You’re Mister Armani Suit, suave, professional. Not gloom and doom, emo, goth, whatever the bejeezers this place is.”

Small dimples formed at the corners of his mouth. “I live upstairs, and did you just say bejeezers?”

“I did, Frankie.”

Oh. He lived upstairs. Interesting. A hummingbird hatched, then grew in my belly and jetted around, desperate to be set free. . .