Rich and Bossy (Rich Boys)

9. Paxton

CHAPTER 9

Paxton

It’s official. I’ve become a stalker.

I’m using my precious time on a Sunday, the one day a week I do nothing but watch football—at least during the season—and the day I play with my nephews, to track down Hazel during her shift.

That’s right. I went so far as to look at her schedule because that’s how obsessed I’ve become. I couldn’t even believe it. I thought she usually watches the games with her old man. That’s what she said. But I guess sometimes she has to work during the games.

What the hell am I doing here?

She’s haunting me. My every thought, always hovering in the back of my mind. Distracting me at the worst possible times. I can’t fucking focus. I can’t sleep. I’ve barely made it through all my conference calls this week.

I don’t know much about addiction, nobody I know has really suffered from it, but there’s one thing I know about me: tell me I can’t do something, and that’s all I want to do. That’s what Hazel is. Forbidden. There is no way in hell I should be driving to our warehouse, trying to manufacture an excuse to be there, just so I can see her.

I wish Rapid could afford to give all employees Sundays off, but the business couldn’t function. It just wouldn’t be possible. There are always packages to be loaded, shipments to be fulfilled. Twenty-four seven, it never stops. There are still days when I have to remind myself this is real, that John and I built all of this from nothing.

No matter what Hazel or anybody else says, I still believe we did a good thing. Not to mention the fact that we employ hundreds of thousands of people now. Yes, over a hundred thousand. We have also made it possible for tens of thousands of small businesses to flourish on our platform. We don’t discriminate against our suppliers. Anyone can sell on there. We did that. We made that happen. How many millionaires are millionaires now because of us? We take a small percentage of each transaction, but way less than they’d get squeezed by the big box stores. We changed the game, and since then we’ve raised the bar for other retailers. It’s a win-win all the way around. Who wouldn’t be proud?

People can buy stuff cheaper and faster because of us.

I’m not too happy about having to drive this BMW around, but the Charger draws too much attention. It’s kind of loud, and I didn’t want her to see or hear my car and go into hiding.

My stomach knots up when I flash my security badge and pull into the lot. Hazel’s shift starts in ten minutes. I remember her car from the parking lot at the office store—it’s not here yet, telling me I have time to kill before she arrives.

I’d think a model good worker like her, would show up fifteen minutes early to get a start on her day. No, no, she’s defiant. She won’t give this place one extra minute of her time. Not without a good reason anyway.

I sit back, grinning while I wait for her to pull in. Things ended well between us last week. Honestly, I didn’t want them to end at all. I wanted to take her home with me.

My fingers are still itching, every second of the day, at how close I was to kissing her. Then, when the second guy knocked her into my arms. I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to just hold her there, against me. She’s so petite, and soft, but still firm.

It felt right, her wrapped up in my arms. I have no idea why. I’m being reckless and stupid, I know that, but I can’t stop myself.

My heart shouldn’t leap into my throat at the sight of her beat-up little Volvo, even though it does.

Even dressed in warehouse gear, complete with that bright vest and the work gloves she has to wear to protect her hands, helmet on, she still looks like she could be a runway model. The best part is, I don’t think she has the first idea how gorgeous she is.

Everything about her intrigues me. Her fire, her spirit, her looks.

Most women who talk to me are so vapid. It’s completely obvious they’d like to find some way to get me to marry them, so they can automatically secure themselves a small fortune.

Not Hazel, though. She’s not like that. She doesn’t care about that kind of shit.

I made sure to position my car where she’d walk right in front of it, without noticing me.

You shouldn’t do this.

You can still leave.

This is a horrible idea.

Damn, you’re gonna do it.

Right as she passes in front of the beamer, I open the door and reveal myself.

“Well looky who we have here.”

She spins on her heel, her brows drawn together like she’s ready to fight. I’m pretty sure she recognized my voice immediately. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes dart all around, then over to the BMW. “And what is that…” Her hand waves around at it. “Thing?”

“Had to be stealthy. You’d see black beauty and take off the other way.”

She just launches right into a tirade. “Are you nuts? Do you know how awkward you’re making things for me? I can’t be seen with you here.”

“Why does it have to be awkward? I own this place. It makes sense that I’m here.”

“I know. People will see me with you . It doesn’t look good.”

“Why not? We’re all on the same team, right?”

Her eyes dart around and her jaw sets. “You know why.”

Wow, I expected her to be uncomfortable, but this is even more fun than I thought. I take a step toward her. “Worried someone might take a picture? Think you’re colluding with the enemy?”

She backs up a step to match mine. “Would you quit?”

She looks like she’s mad, but I can see a hint of a smile trying to come out. “I don’t think I will quit. I’ve been closer to you than this. Surely you remember.”

Now, her cheeks turn a little pink. “I, uhh, yes, I remember.” She takes another step back.

“Do I make you nervous, Hazel?” I get dangerously close to her ear when I say it.

She looks away, like I’m not getting to her. “No.”

“I think you’re full of shit.”

“Feeling is mutual. Trust me.”

I lean back, arms folded, and grin at her. “Fair enough. I have a way to solve this dilemma.”

“I have a feeling this is going to be the dumbest question I ask in my life. But how do you propose to do that?”

“I need you to come with me.” I pat the hood of the beamer.

She stares at me in open-mouthed surprise for a split-second before a throaty laugh bubbles out of her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“No way. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She glares at the car. “And not in that .” She starts to walk toward the warehouse.

Before she can get away, I grab her arm and draw her closer. “Oh really? Then you’re fired.”

I have the pleasure of watching her face go dark red. “You can’t fire me.”

“I already told your manager, good ol’ Paul, that I need you for the day. If you refuse, that’s insubordination. Where I come from, that’s a fireable offense.” I shake my head in mock sadness, clicking my tongue. “What a shame. You’ve been so good to the company to go out like this.”

Her glare could cut through steel. “This is extortion and you’re a jerk.”

“Insulting your superiors is not a good way to respond right now. You’re racking up the charges today, Miss Strous.”

All she can do is glare right at me.

It makes me laugh harder than before. “Come on. Lighten up. I want to take you somewhere.”

She stands there, arms folded, staring at me then back at the warehouse, then at me again. “This is insane. Why are you making me do this?”

“Enough questions. Come on.” I walk over and open the passenger door. “There are worse things in the world than getting paid to hang out with me.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, whatever.”

Something about her attitude, it does things to me. It’s her voice, her body, all of it working together.

She gets in and sees her fliers in the backseat. “Glad you brought these with you.”

I get in and start the car. “Yeah, you can have them back now.”

“Miscreant.” She mumbles the word under her breath, but she doesn’t sound as mad as she was a second ago, now that she’s in the car. “This thing sucks.” She stares ahead at the car, then starts laughing.

“Oh piss off.” I shift into gear and get us out of the parking lot, then hammer it at the first green light. Sure, it’s not the Charger, but this car still has some horsepower. It doesn’t deserve the abuse she’s hurling at it.

“Fine, fine, it’s okay, but the Charger is way better. Louder and meaner.”

“She accepts your apology.” I pat the steering wheel.

“Where are we going?” She folds her arms, eyeing me warily.

“You’ll see.” I steer us onto the highway. “It’s a surprise.”