Bossy Mr. Frosty Read online

  “I’m going to cook for you.”

  He frowns, chewing on his lip before letting out a huff. “Adrian, what are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I just know you need to eat and I want to feed you.”

  “You’re so matter-of-fact about this. I have to ask you,” he mutters. “Are you gay? Because, if you’re not, or at least bi, I feel like you’re sending me mixed messages. Tad says you go through assistants because when you get tired of fucking them, you move on.”

  I recoil at his words. “I don’t fuck them.”

  “But you like women.”

  “I guess.”

  He snorts out a laugh. “Either you do or you don’t, Frosty.”

  “They’re just fine.”

  “Do you like men?”

  “I don’t believe so, no.”

  “Another confusing ass answer.” He sighs. “What do you like?”

  I reach over to take his trembling hand in mine, bringing it to my mouth to blow heat onto it. “You.”

  “Okay…” he croaks out. “Not confusing then.”

  “I don’t date or…fuck.”

  The air is thick with tension.

  “But?” he whispers, his brown eyes exploring me.

  “But that’s because I never wanted to.”

  “You do now?”

  “No.”

  He tries to take his hand from mine, but I squeeze it. “What then?”

  “I just want you at my home in your tight non-work clothes with your hazelnut scent and your teasing smile. That’s all.”

  “That’s all, huh?”

  “I like your voice.”

  He chuckles. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known, Adrian. I don’t understand you. I’ve spent all week trying to figure you out and have come up empty-handed each time.”

  “I’m simple.”

  “Incredibly complex,” he argues. “Most days, I think you despise me—”

  “No,” I rush out, horrified by his words. “I don’t despise you at all. You intrigue me to the point of madness. My mind swarms when I think of you, which is always because you never go away.” I pin him with a hard glare. “And I don’t want you to go away. I enjoy the cacophony you’ve created inside me. It’s refreshing. For once, I feel alive.”

  His brown eyes dart back and forth, clearly trying to figure me out. There’s not much to know. I’m simple. Cut and dry. Black and white.

  He’s soft and fluid and all the colors all at once.

  “Let’s get to your place then,” he murmurs. “You better feed us well because I feel like we might need the energy later.”

  Four

  Rylan

  Stupid.

  I’m so, so stupid.

  Yet, my dick thinks I’m brilliant. My eyes are greedy and my heart’s all in. It’s my brain that has reservations.

  He’s my boss. Clearly sexually confused. And I’m eager to let him explore this—explore me—even though it’ll end in disaster as things like this always do.

  But he held my hand…

  I hate how my heart thunders inside my chest just thinking about how he’d grabbed my hand as though it was the most natural thing to do. Adrian Frost is going to decimate me. I can feel it. He’s dragging me back to his lair where he’ll no doubt ravish me to the point I don’t know which way is up, and when he’s had his fill, he’ll drop me like a bad habit. My employment will get dropped after that.

  I know this will happen.

  I know it.

  So why am I so damn eager to do it anyway?

  My job is important to me. After a week of being in the fray of the most successful magazine in the city, I’m in love. It has the fast-paced energy my parents’ magazine lacked. I can admit that my parents weren’t adapting to the changing times as they should have, which would have ultimately led to the closure of the magazine eventually. It’s not Adrian’s fault. In truth, by him paying them so well for the magazine, they were able to retire comfortably rather than slowly draining their life savings as their company went down with it. At least with the way it was handled, they retired with dignity.

  I’m a bit melancholy as Adrian quietly navigates through traffic. No music. No talking. Yet, the air is still comfortable. I don’t have the urge to fill it with words. Instead, I sneak peeks at the handsome and highly successful man. He’s always so serious and never smiles. I wonder what it would look like shining on me like the sun. A craving begins throbbing through me, eager to see it pointed my way.

  “They say we’re expecting nine inches tonight,” Adrian says absently.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to joke about nine inches, but it’d probably go over his head anyway. I stare at the heavy snow falling, marveling over its beauty, when he pulls up to an old building. Frowning, I try to imagine the fancy Mr. Frost living in such a place.

  “This your building?” I ask, glancing over at him.

  “It is. Were you expecting something different?” His expression is unreadable. “It’s been home for quite some time and I like it here.”

  “No, I mean, yes,” I blurt out and then huff. “I don’t know. You’re more than meets the eye. I honestly don’t know what to expect with you.”

  His body relaxes. “Careful when you get out. It’s icy.”

  Warmth shoots through me at his concerned words. That is, until he arrives at my door to open it for me, sending frigid air in to assault me. I groan against the cold, shivering as I get out and wait for him to hand me my backpack. We trek into the building at warp speed, eager to get the hell out of the elements. As soon as we enter the building, I realize it has a homey feel. Sure, the outside is run-down a bit, but inside it’s well-kept and has lovely historical architectural details like the thick crown molding near the ceiling to the rustic hardwoods. He guides me to a stairwell and we climb three flights. By the time he ushers me to his apartment, I’m breathing heavily, no longer chilled.

  “This is it,” he says, unlocking the door and opening it. “Just set your stuff down anywhere.”

  I close the door behind me and turn the lock, inspecting the space with curious eyes. It’s a studio apartment. Small and cluttered with tiny clues of his personality. Books are stacked everywhere. Framed pictures of him with what must be his family are crammed wherever they’ll fit. And when a jingling bell rings and a black cat trots my way, I’m shocked to say the least.

  “You don’t strike me as an animal person,” I say, squatting to pet the cat.

  “Night makes it not seem so lonely.”

  His words are sad. Gutting even. I drag my stare up to watch him shed his coat. Adrian Frost seems too large for this tiny space. He makes millions, so why does he settle for this tiny apartment? When he begins to undress, I stand and avert my eyes. It’s not like he has the privacy of a bedroom since the apartment is essentially one big room. Even the bathroom isn’t really private, a curtain the only barrier. I take my backpack off, setting it on the floor by the door, and then hang my coat on the rack.

  “I can make breakfast if you’d like,” he says, drawing my attention to his bare, muscular back as he pulls a T-shirt down over his body. “French toast is my favorite. I have about a hundred variations of it.”

  I’ve stepped into a parallel universe.

  My mind can’t converge the bossy Mr. Frosty with this warm, cluttered lonely French toast loving man.

  “Make whatever you like. I’m easy to please.”

  He looks my way, heat burning in his blue-gray eyes. “I really like those clothes.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. His random statements are jarring but also warming. It makes me feel noticed and wanted.

  “I like those too,” I utter, my voice hoarse as I settle my gaze on the way his T-shirt seems to mold around his impressive physique. The gray sweatpants are just torture on the eyes because I have an intense craving to peel them off his muscular body with my teeth.

  “Have a seat. I’ll grab you something to drink while
I cook.” He saunters into the open kitchen and begins rummaging around in his fridge.

  I kick off my shoes and make my way into the kitchen. A tiny two-chair bistro table is nestled in the corner near the stove. There’s barely room for him to prepare a proper meal. Again, I’m confused by his living arrangements.

  “Do you need help?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  I’m amused when he fills two champagne flutes with orange juice. He splashes vodka into each one before handing me one. I sip the drink, thankful to have something to take the edge off. He moves with practiced ease as he prepares the meal.

  “I don’t mean to stereotype, but you’re so successful. This seems like the type of apartment I would own, not you.” I chew on my bottom lip, hoping I don’t sound like a brat. “I want to understand you.”

  The tension my words created in him releases as he sighs. “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  He darts his icy eyes my way, cutting them into me as though he can find lies there and pull them out. “You tell me about your parents’ magazine first.”

  “I loved it,” I say with a nostalgic smile. “It was my life. I had big dreams for it, though Dad never took them seriously.”

  “Like what?”

  “I just thought we could be more successful if we took it to a vacation town. One where we could capitalize on the vacation season tourists stories, writeups on restaurants and bars and shops. Social magazines are becoming obsolete, so I wanted to become a boutique magazine focused on a niche. I just felt like it would sell better.”

  “Your dad didn’t like that idea?”

  “New York is home to him. He knows it inside and out. It was unfathomable to venture outside the box. My dad can be ridiculous.”

  The skillet hisses as he heats it up. His gaze roams down my front, cataloging every inch of me.

  “At least you have a father.”

  “Yours is gone?”

  “He died in prison,” he says with no emotion. “Mr. Kincaid was like the father I always wanted, but he died too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugs. “You wanted to take over the magazine one day?”

  “It was my hope I could buy it from Dad. But he sold it before I had the chance. Not that it would have mattered. No one was going to loan an eighteen-year-old kid that kind of money for a company. I was delusional to even hope.”

  He scowls at me. “Opportunities come when you least expect them. It’s not bad to hope. At least you have that.”

  “You’re hopeless?”

  He bows his head. “I was.”

  “Now?”

  “Not now.”

  I don’t press him on what that means, but I feel as though it has something to do with me. I’ve sucked down my entire drink by the time he finishes up the French toast. I smile, touched at the care he puts into the meal, from the evenly sprinkled powdered sugar dusted on the toast to the fancily cut strawberries on the side. He sets our plates down and then refills our drinks. I’m starving, so I don’t waste time, digging right in. As soon as the bite hits my mouth, I groan.

  “This is amazing,” I praise as soon as I swallow. “Truly.”

  It’s then it happens.

  The smile.

  Small at first.

  A tiny crack of light. It slowly widens into an explosive, bright grin that illuminates the entire kitchen. All I can do is stare, blinded by it. So damn beautiful.

  “I love to cook,” he says, efficiently cutting his food into perfect bite-sized pieces. “Especially for other people. Now that Dante’s moved away, I have no one to do it for.”

  My heart aches for him.

  “You miss him.”

  He nods. “He’s like the brother I never had.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Brigs Ferry Bay. It’s a coastal tourist town in Maine just a few hours north of Portland. He and his sister are opening a bed and breakfast there.”

  “Do you visit him often?”

  “Not yet, though he keeps asking.” He smiles again, this one not as bright, but warm as he thinks of his friend. “I’ll make it up there one day just to shut him up.”

  Being in Adrian’s environment, learning tiny tidbits of his life, a sense of contentment washes over me. I haven’t dated much, but I imagine being with someone you really like would feel like this.

  “So why here? I like it. It’s quaint. I just don’t understand,” I say once I’ve polished off my entire meal.

  His features harden and he shrugs. “It’s home.”

  I want to ask more, but the frosty façade has frozen him to his core. Helplessly, I watch as he stacks our dishes and carries them over to the sink. Needing to fix whatever it is I accidentally broke, I slide off my chair and make my way over to him. I step up to him and hug him from behind, resting my cheek between his shoulder blades.

  “I’m sorry,” I croak out.

  “What for?”

  “Upsetting you.”

  Tension bleeds from him. “I’m not upset.”

  “I just want to know you, is all. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Tenderly, he strokes his fingers over my hands that are clasped together, resting on his abs. “I…It’s just…”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “What if the success disappears tomorrow?” he blurts out, his voice shaky and afraid. “I could afford this when I first started at the magazine, long before I owned it. So if…so if it fails, I could still afford to live here.”

  He’s absolutely insane for thinking that because the magazine makes a shit ton of money. His bank account is probably exploding with cash. I understand, though, the uncertainty. That’s something I contend with every day.

  My future.

  My dreams.

  My love life.

  “I feel that way too,” I admit. “Like next week you might let me go and then no one will want me. I’ll be forced to be an Uber driver or work at Macy’s because I never went to college, pouring every ounce of energy into my dream that was ripped right out from under my feet.”

  He grabs my hands, pulling them off him, and then turns to face me. His features are furious. With gentleness that contradicts his anger, he clutches my throat, caressing his thumb along the side.

  “I’m not letting you go. You were right. You’re the best thing to happen to me.”

  I wait for him to correct his words, stating I’m the best thing for the magazine. He doesn’t. His gaze slides down to my lips. I lick them, moistening them out of a nervous habit.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Adrian says, confusion glittering in his eyes. “I want to know you because you’re my assistant, but I also want to…”

  “What?”

  “Devour you like you devoured your French toast.”

  I laugh, running a palm up his sculpted chest. “I can’t help it your dinner was so damn good.”

  “I can’t help this either,” he murmurs as his mouth presses to mine.

  My eyes flutter closed, shocked that he’s so boldly kissed me. I expect a brief kiss, but his grip on my throat slides up to my jaw, tugging down as if to urge my mouth open for him. I obey, eager to taste the syrup lingering on his tongue. We both moan the moment our tongues connect.

  I’m kissing him.

  My boss.

  Bossy Mr. Frosty.

  Five

  Adrian

  An explosion of emotions are lighting up my every nerve, vein, and organ. His tongue dancing with mine is the most erotic, fascinating thing I’ve ever known. I’ve kissed some people in my life, but never like this. Never with someone I…like. More than like. Need. I need him like I need my next breath. I don’t understand this need, just know it’s everything to me in this moment—driving my movements and thoughts.

  I slide a palm down his back, eager to feel the swell of his ass. The desire to touch him everywhere is so maddening, it’s all I can think about. I squeeze his
ass cheek, turned on by the groan that escapes him. Backing him up against the fridge, I kiss him harder and with more urgency than ever before. My hips grind against him, seeking out the friction of his erection.

  “Adrian,” he murmurs. “What are we doing?”

  “Everything I never knew I wanted.”

  He seems satisfied with my answer because his fingers spear into my hair, tugging at the strands, pulling me closer to him.

  It’s not enough.

  I want to feel his bare skin against mine.

  “I want you naked in my bed,” I whisper against his swollen lips.

  “Adrian, I…”

  His words are chased away as we kiss some more. More teeth and tongue and moans. I grab the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. He pulls away long enough to raise his arms. My mouth goes dry as I take in several colorful tattoos on his lean, muscled torso. His shirt gets dropped to the floor and I get to work on the button of his jeans.

  “I need to see all of you,” I groan. “Feel all of you.”

  He palms my dick over my sweats, sending curls of pleasure licking through each nerve ending. “The feeling is mutual.”

  I pull back to yank my shirt off. His brown eyes are liquid lust as he drinks in my chest and abs. Pride surges through me that I take such good care of my body and that he clearly appreciates it.

  “Holy fuck,” he croaks out when I shove my sweats down. “You’re not…where are your…”

  I grip my thickness in my hand as I kick out of my sweats. “I’m not wearing any.”

  He tilts his head up, staring up at the ceiling. His throat bobs as he swallows. Then, he shoves his jeans down, revealing the tightest pair of black briefs. They barely cover his big dick that I crave to taste. It maddens me that he’s been prancing around the office all week wearing practically nothing beneath his slacks.

  Fuck, he’s hot.

  “Adrian,” he says and then chews on his bottom lip as his eyes find mine. “I’m…I mean, I’ve had boyfriends, but…”