How to Kill Your Boss - An Erotic Love Story. Krissy Daniels
HOW TO KILL YOUR BOSS
An Erotic Love Story
KRISSY DANIELS
LYRICAL PRESS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/
Dedication
For lovers, dreamers, and victims of douchebag bosses everywhere.
Acknowledgements
To Sexy Boyfriend and the babies that are too amazing to be mine, your patience was pushed well beyond the limit with this book and you all handled it like the champs you are. Thank you for being my rock every single day.
Corinne, thank you for putting up with me yet again. I have a newfound respect for nipples and their proper place in the literary world. You make me laugh even when I know you want to slap some sense into me. You are a gem.
Renee, thank you once again for a kick-ass cover and for all you do. Thanks to Lyrical Press/Kensington and all who work their tooshies off behind the scenes.
Jen. From ant hills to paradise pond, Tubbs Hill streakers to pervs with a penchant for toes, you have been and always will be the Laverne to my Shirley, the Red and White to my Apple Blue. I could write a thousand adventures starring you.
Mom, Share-Bear, Auntie Lia. My heart is bursting with the love I have for you, the three women I admire most in this world. You’re my calm in a sea of crazy.
And above all, thank you dear sweet baby Jesus for the narcissistic boss who inspired this story. His lies, greed and psychotic personality made for one hell of an exercise in patience, humility, and human decency in general. Thank you for the chain of events that led me here. I didn’t understand at the time, but I’m starting to get it now.
Chapter 1
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