Sexting The Boss - K.C. Wells Page 0,1

last minute, so I get it. You going out tonight with the rest of the gang? Rachel, Joey, Phoebe, Monica…?” He snickered, like he always did every goddamn time he said it.

I don’t know which I hated more—my name, or the fact that everyone felt they had to make a joke out of it. So my mom loved Friends. So what? Except right then I was in no mood for Dean’s laughter at my expense.

“I really don’t need this. In fact, the joke is wearing pretty fucking thin.”

I thought I heard Dean choking. A moment later, he was back. “You okay, buddy?”

And just like that, I regretted my outburst. “Sorry, Dean. I… I got a lot on my mind.”

“Wanna tell me about it? A problem shared, as they say.”

I deliberated telling him for all of two seconds. I had no one else to talk to, for God’s sake. “I… might have just sent Stu Ganford a photo of my cock.”

Okay, this time he was definitely choking. “Jesus fucking Christ, Chandler!”

“It was an accident! I was sending it to someone else. Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never done it. Because I’ve seen your phone, remember?”

“Sure, yeah, I’ve sent a girl a dick pic, but I’m always real careful when I’m sending.”

“It was one letter different, that’s all.” One goddamn letter that was gonna cost me my job.

“Maybe he won’t get the message. Maybe he won’t see it.”

Bless his optimistic little heart. “And maybe he already saw it, and emailed me to say he wants to see me Monday morning.”

“Aw shit. Really? That’s too bad.”

“Too bad? You do realize he’s gonna can me for this, don’t you? Because once I step into that office come Monday, my ass is grass and he’s a fucking lawnmower.”

Dean sighed. “Looks like there’s nothing you can do, except hope he’s feeling lenient. You might get away with a reprimand.”

“Yeah, and pigs might fly outta my butt.” I’d had enough. I had a whole weekend to come of thinking about Monday, and I was already depressed as hell. “I’ll see you Monday morning, okay? Until I get my marching orders.”

“Try not to think like that. You don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Yes, I do, I thought as I disconnected the call. And it’s not gonna be pretty.

“What do you mean, I can’t see him?” This was driving me nuts. “He asked to see me, this morning.”

“I know that,” Fiona explained with more patience than I would’ve had in the circumstances. “But as I told you this morning—and on each of the…” She glanced at her notepad. “…four occasions you’ve asked to see him, Mr. Ganford is very busy. When he’s ready to see you, he’ll let you know.” She went back to peering at her monitor.

There was nothing to do but go back to my desk and wait for another unspecified period of mental torture. I glanced at the clock on the wall in the hallway. It was already four in the afternoon. The office closed at five, for God’s sake. Was he gonna keep me waiting until the end of business?

And then it hit me. Of course he was. It was his way of making me sweat.

Damn him. It was working.

I sat at my desk, trying to focus on my insurance reports. Like that was possible. When five o’clock came, people got up and headed out of the office, exchanging comments and wishing me a good evening. Dean said nothing as he strolled past, but he patted my shoulder twice. When I caught sight of Fiona walking toward the door, her purse over her shoulder, I sighed with relief.

He’s gone. Then I realized I’d have to go through the whole process again the following day. If he hadn’t been about to fire me, I’d have sued him for mental cruelty.

The irony of the situation was not lost on me. As bosses went, Stu was drop dead gorgeous. Short brown, neat hair, brown eyes, a permanent five o’clock shadow, and this sexy lopsided smile that always did things to my insides.

Okay, I’ll admit it. My boss was hot.

“Chandler.”

I glanced up and froze. Stu stood at his office door, his jacket and tie removed, the top two buttons of his pale blue shirt open. “Sir?”

He beckoned with his finger. “My office. Now.” Then he disappeared behind his pale wooden door, leaving it ajar.

Fuck. This was it.

I shut down my computer, tidied my desk, picked up my jacket and bag, and trudged along to his office.

“Close the door.”

I shut