Page 3 of His Boss for Christmas

“Besides,” Peter said, dropping his gaze back to the Sabatini merger files. “You’re already a better lawyer than most junior partners, so they have nothing to complain about.”

“Okay, did you just praise me?” Justin pinched himself. “It must be the lack of sleep. I must be losing my mind.”

Peter just scoffed. That was what he got for trying to be nice for a change.

For a long while, they worked in companionable silence. Justin was probably the only person of his acquaintance who didn’t make silence awkward in the slightest. This felt truly companionable. Familiar. They’d spent countless hours in this office sharing space—and sometimes thoughts—as they worked on different things. Peter knew what Justin looked like right now without even looking at him. There was probably a tiny furrow between his brows as he frowned in concentration, and he tended to chew on his bottom lip when he thought. It always looked a little red and swollen because of this habit.

“Can I have tomorrow off?”

Peter snapped his gaze up. “Tomorrow off?”

Justin rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah. It’s Sunday. I know the concept is unfamiliar to you, but people normally leave their workplace for a day or two. It’s called a weekend.”

“We don’t do weekends. In fact, you know as well as I do that most of our clients mess up on weekends.”

“I know,” Justin said with a sigh. “But my brother is arriving tomorrow morning. I haven’t seen Riven in five months, Peter.”

And why should I care?That was what Peter should have said. Instead, he said, “I thought you said he’s a brat who doesn’t want to have anything to do with you?”

Justin pursed his lips, suddenly looking far younger than his twenty-seven years. “He is. But he’s still my baby brother. And I miss him, even if he doesn’t miss me. I barely talked him into spending Christmas with me.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Peter said. “There’s no need to take an entire day off. You can take two hours off.”

Justin rolled his eyes with a laugh. “God, you’re impossible. Tomorrow isSunday. I’m not supposed to be working on Sunday at all.”

“You’re getting paid for your work.”

“Money isn’t everything. I need some me time, Peter. I don’t actually remember the last time I left this building. I swear this couch has permanent indents from my ass. Don’t get me wrong—it’s pretty soft and comfortable, but I actually miss sleeping in a real bed.” He grinned. “Surely you can survive one day without me?”

Peter leveled him with a flat look. “Fine. Have a day off. I expect you here on Monday at seven sharp.”

“Yessir,” Justin said with far too much cheek for someone still working at eight PM on Saturday, and nearly ran out of the room, as though afraid that Peter would change his mind.

Peter scowled and turned his attention back to the contract he had been reading, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem able to focus on it, his mood souring.

Sighing, he rolled his chair back and got to his feet.

He might as well take the evening off. Have a shot of scotch and maybe get laid.

Chapter 3

He did have a shot of scotch at the bar across the street, but the getting laid part of the plan wasn’t going great.

Not for lack of opportunity. For all Justin’s jokes about his arrogance, it wasn’t based on nothing. Peter simply didn’t suffer from false modesty: he knew he was attractive, and other people knew it too. He was tall, he worked hard to keep himself in shape, and his dark hair was still thick and without a hint of gray. Peter had never had trouble getting laid even when he’d been an awkward teenager. As a successful lawyer of thirty-nine wearing a bespoke suit, he certainly didn’t lack for offers that evening, both from women and men alike.

He just wasn’t interested.

Peter scanned the bar with his eyes, silently observing over the rim of his glass, but no one caught his interest, despite the low hum of need under his skin. He wanted something, but he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t even sure it was sex he wanted.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Peter looked at the tall blonde who had just taken the seat next to him. She was his type—gorgeous, elegantly dressed, and confident—and from the way she was smiling at him, he could tell that she was looking for a good night and nothing more. She was practically perfect in every way.

But there was still nothing: he didn’t feel even a flicker of attraction, his body completely uninterested, as if he didn’t have an objectively stunning woman trying to pick him up. It was starting to unsettle him. He’d never had a problem with his sex drive. He was a healthy man in his prime.

“Sure,” Peter said, pushing away his unease.

She signaled the bartender to refill his drink. “I’m usually not so forward,” she said with a smile. “But you have really striking eyes. So blue. I couldn’t resist. I’m Karen.”