You're My Boss
1178 Words
The glow from her laptop faded as Sofia stepped out of the room, leaving Jasmine laughing at some ridiculous gossip she’d found online. She didn’t need to hear it. Not now. Not tonight. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, letting herself exhale. The screen had given her the proof she needed.
Scott Millhone wasn’t just a regular patron or a wealthy guy who frequented Club Mirage for fun. He was the owner. Not just of the club, but a series of businesses, investments that spanned the city, and apparently, a budding partnership with none other than Dante Casagrande.
Her pulse quickened. The thought of it shouldn’t have fazed her, she was used to power, to money, to dangerous people, but it did. The Casagrandes were nothing but ruthless, corrupt, and greedy. The kind of people who left ruin in their wake. And Scott, anyone who willingly tangled with them, was just like them. But there was something about his energy, his charm, the way he had saved her, something that told her he wasn’t like them.
Sofia slipped into her room, closing the door and taking a slow, deliberate breath. She placed her phone on the dresser, her mind already replaying the conversation she knew was inevitable. She needed to calm herself, to appear casual. Jasmine didn’t need to know anything, her friend had no idea who Sofia really was, and that was how it would stay.
She ran a hand through her hair and started to undress, leaving her black off-shoulder dress carefully folded on the chair, her heels beside it. The shower would wash away the last of the day’s exhaustion, but it wouldn’t wash away the tension coiling inside her.
Just as she stepped out of the bathroom, phone in hand, it rang. The caller ID flashed, Scott. Her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile.
“Hi,” she said when she answered, her voice steady despite the flurry of thoughts racing through her mind.
“Hey, sunshine,” Scott’s voice came through, calm and warm. “You okay? I just… wanted to make sure you made it home safely.”
“I’m fine, thank you. And thanks again for dinner, it was so nice.” Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her robe.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “I mean it, Sofia. I really like spending time with you.”
She swallowed, letting herself linger in that feeling for a moment before she asked, her voice careful but pointed, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said immediately, a note of curiosity threading through his words.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“Lie?” he asked, the faintest chuckle escaping him. “I don’t think I lied. Did I?”
Sofia raised an eyebrow, her mind working through the implications. “Yes, you did. You… you didn’t tell me what you do. You let me think you were just a guy who came to the club for fun.” Her words were measured, but there was an undercurrent of suspicion.
His laugh was soft, almost teasing. “You never asked.”
She blinked, momentarily thrown off. “I didn’t?”
“Nope.” He paused, then added, “So, do you want to know now?”
She hesitated, then nodded slightly. “Yes. I want to know now.”
There was a brief silence on the line, the kind that made her chest tighten. When he spoke again, his voice was smooth, confident, but with a playful undertone.
“I own companies. I own businesses. I have investments all over the city.”
Sofia’s stomach fluttered. Not with fear, exactly, but with the cold, precise calculation she had learned over years of navigating danger.
“And… you own Club Mirage?” Her voice was calm, but her heart raced.
“Yes.” He let the word hang between them, a simple confirmation, almost casual, yet loaded with meaning.
“And you never said a word?” Her words were a challenge, a probe into his intentions, his honesty, his character.
“Well,” he said slowly, deliberately, “was I supposed to tell you? Would it have made you feel comfortable having dinner with your boss?”
Sofia didn’t answer immediately. Her mind raced, assessing every possibility. He wasn’t lying now. Not the way dangerous men lied. There was a hint of amusement, yes, but also openness. She let herself breathe out, letting the tension ebb just slightly.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice softer. “It’s… fine.”
“Good,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Because I want you to know something. Everything I do, every move I make, it’s not to impress you or hide from you. It’s because I like you.”
Her chest tightened, not from fear. Sofia leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment, letting herself simply listen. “Are you okay with being this close to your employee?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ve watched you for a while. Not in a creepy way, I promise. But I see you. I don't want to be too forward, but you're my kind of woman.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. It was strange, this pull she felt toward him, this mixture of curiosity, wariness, and something dangerously close to trust.
“So… this is all real?” she asked quietly. “You’re not playing mind games with me?”
“No games,” he said.
After years of being abused, traumatized and neglected, Sofia felt a connection to someone who liked her. Someone who wasn't her family, but sees her. An alarm keeps going off in her head, reminding her she was beginning to open up too much for a man.
She needed to shut it before she became too attached and besides he's her boss.
“Sofia are you there?” He asked, and she snapped back.
“Sorry, I got carried away. What did you say?”
“I said, I'd love you to come out with me again, this weekend my friends are having a little party and I'd love to have you around.”
“I'll be busy at the club.” She said, trying so hard to sound uninterested.
“That's not a problem, I'll handle that. Just say yes.”
“I know you think taking me out for dinner and buying me expensive gifts would make me be all over you, I just want you to know that whatever this is, it's not going past tonight.”
There was silence at the other side of the phone, then he cleared his throat. “Alright then, just take care of yourself.”
Before she could say another word, he hung up. She cursed under her breath, visibly frustrated with herself for always ruining every good thing.
Hopefully he's not mad at her.
- Writer
