My Straight Boss

By Van Cole

The love of my life shatters my heart… but my worst enemy might be able to fix it.  

Life couldn't get any better until it all comes crashing down when my wife divorced me.

Now I'm rebuilding my life in small-town Georgia with my painting business.
Times are tough and the only employee I can afford to keep wants to watch my downfall.
Ian's young, cocky, and irritating, but he's the one person I have left to rely on.

I know that I hate his guts…so why is he making me feel so out of control?
Even when we argue I can't help but look into his dreamy blue eyes.
I know he has a good heart but all we do is fight.
Yet why does he make me want him?

There's something so alluring about him…and my life might be about to change all over again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Van Cole
• Release date: May 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215247433

Book preview

Chapter One

Malcolm

Once, I had everything. Picture the American Dream—the white picket fence, the beautiful wife, two shining kids, a self-made business to be proud of. Hold that image in your mind. Now understand that it was mine, built up from nothing, a life that I created and thrived in.

Then, in a matter of moments, I lost it all, with the divorce papers Alyssa laid in front of me on the kitchen table we’d bought together seven years prior.  I went from family man, business owner, and devoted husband to nothing, all because of a little scribbled signature at the bottom of a contract.

Now, what do I have to my name? A business without the funds to support it. An ex-wife trying to take half of everything I have, including my two beautiful kids. And an employee who hates my damn guts.

Pick up the phone, Ian, I curse into the receiver of my cell phone as I steer my truck down a gravel road with one hand. The Georgia summer beats down hot and heavy against the roof of the truck. Cicadas sing lazily in the trees, loud enough to be heard over my air-conditioning and the loud radio.

Henrietta is the kind of town where paved roads give way to dirt, where the sun is blinding overhead and fat bees bump into one another as they flit back and forth between their hives and homes. Save for the four years I spent a few towns over in college, I’ve lived my whole life here, and it never changes. It’s the same people, same faces, same houses that Painted by Price slaps a coat of yellow on year after year. The same town that saw me, Malcolm Price, born and raised. That’s the way that I like it. It’s what I’ve always wanted, a hometown that I could be proud of and that could be proud of me in return.

But those divorce papers ruin everything, don’t they?

My phone beeps against my ear, signaling that it’s time for me to leave a message. Ian, can you pick up your phone please? I’m on my way to the McElroy house now. I need to know if you need any supplies, or if you’ve finished painting the kitchen already. Call me back.

I hang up with a huff and steer the truck down the side road that leads to James McElroy’s property. I went to high school with the guy, and he’s always been a bit of dick, but business is business and if he wants to pay my company to paint his house then I won’t complain.

I try another call, though I’m already annoyed as the dial tone sounds on the other end of the call. When my ex-wife picks up with a snapped What, Malcolm? it takes everything in me to keep my cool.

We need to talk, I answer, trying to keep my voice even and calm.

We’ve talked enough. I’m not going over this with you again.

Alyssa, please listen to me. We’re rushing into things. I want you to think about this.

You always speak to me like you’ve already made up your mind and I’m just supposed to go along with the decision you’ve made, Alyssa snaps back.

I can hear my kids, Ellie and Jack, chatting excitedly in the background. Ellie says, Is that Daddy? Can I talk to Daddy? and my heart aches in my chest.

Let me talk to her, I tell my wife. Ex-wife. It’s still difficult to wrap my head around the concept.

Not now, Alyssa says sternly, though I hear a twinge of regret in her voice. It’s hard for them, Malcolm. They need time to adjust before we just throw them in the middle of this.

I’m not the one throwing them into the middle of anything, I say through clenched teeth. I pull the truck up to James’ house and park beside the white truck that reads Painted by Price on the side. At least Ian actually showed up to the job, though that doesn’t explain why he isn’t answering my calls. I’m his boss—you’d think he’d have a little more respect for when I need to reach him.

I’m not having this conversation right now, Malcolm, Alyssa snaps. We can talk when you can be civilized about it. You’ll see the kids next weekend, but right now I need to take Ellie to dance. Goodbye.

She hangs up before I can even respond. Anger flares behind my eyes and smarts in my chest, hot and overwhelming. I want to go back to how things were a month ago, when Alyssa and I had problems, but nothing that couldn’t be handled. When I had the opportunity to see my kids every day and tuck them into bed at night. When I had a family and a home and everything I ever wanted.

I toss my phone into the passenger seat with a grunt of annoyance, but with a second thought snatch it up and put it into my pocket in case Alyssa calls back. I get out of the car and smooth a hand down the front of my button down. I don’t have time for this right now. I have a job to do, and an employee to rein in.

I walk up to McElroy’s house. The outside is still a clean white from the last time we painted it—James has been a reoccurring customer for the past few months, ever since I first hired Ian, fresh out of Clemson University and pleading for a job. At least it seems like the guy is pleased with the work we do.

This kind of job is typically the work I reserve for Ian—I prefer to handle the administrative work, building our brand and making connections in the community. My days of painting under the hot Georgia sun on top of tall ladders are long gone. But Ian’s young and he can handle whatever I throw his way, even if it means I have to check up on the quality of his work sometimes like I am today.

Hello? I call out into the house. Malcolm Price here, Painted by Price.

No one responds—the kitchen is painted but empty. Tarps are still laid out over the floors, a ladder tucked into a corner, the walls a fresh pale blue.

Anyone home? I call again, frustration leaking into my voice. I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Ian’s number again. After a beat, I hear distant ringing, sounding from upstairs. What the hell? I say to myself, making my way upstairs as I follow the sound of the ringtone.

The phone is ringing in a room at the end of the hall, where the door is shut tightly. I can see shadows moving in the space under the door where afternoon light illuminates the silhouette of whoever’s standing behind it. My shoes thump against the wood floor as I make my way over to it and knock hard.

Ian? Are you in there? Where’s James?

I wait a few drawn-out moments. There’s the slight sound of scuffling on the other side of the door. When no one answers, I swing the door open, and stop in my tracks.

Ian is in the room—it’s a bedroom, James’ bedroom, and Ian’s half naked, buttoning his paint-stained khakis and smoothing back his blond hair from where it hangs in his eyes. His torso is bare and toned and sweat clings to his hairline, pink dusting his cheeks. His eyes are wide and frantic as they meet mine. He gives me a sheepish grin and a little wave. Hey, boss.

I stare at him, blinking, and then my eyes drift to the bed, where I catch sight of James, blankets pulled up over his hips, his gaze focused anywhere but on me.

What the hell? I say for the second time today, unable to process. What—are you—what the hell is going on here?

I can explain, Ian says. I promise it’s not what it looks like.

It looks like you two just— My mind short circuits. It looks like they just finished hooking up, while Ian was on the clock and supposed to be painting McElroy’s kitchen not…doing whatever it was that they were doing. Flushed embarrassment washes over me and curls deep in my gut. I didn’t even realize that Ian was gay—nor James—and now I feel completely dense and blindsided, rage taking over me and heating up across my face.

Get out, I say to Ian, fury coating my words. Go get in the car. We’ll discuss this at the office.

Listen, Malcolm— Ian starts, but I cut him off.

It’s Mr. Price, not Malcolm, I spit out, glaring at him. Go. Now.

Ian slips past me, his bare shoulder brushing my arm and sending a current racing down my chest. I’m humiliated to find my body covered in goosebumps, an uncomfortable sensation pooling in my stomach. I’ve never been in a situation like this, never had to deal with my own employee fucking around on the job, especially not with a customer. A very male customer in our very small town with prejudiced views. They aren’t views that I share, but I’m a straight man trying to run a respectable business, and it wouldn’t look good for my employee to be sleeping with clients, would it?

You’re not going to say anything about this, are you? James asks, the blankets still drawn around him as he sits up in bed. You and I both know Henrietta, Malcolm. If something like this gets out, I’ll be—

Relax, I say, cutting him off. My voice is sharp, but I mean what I say when I tell him, I’m not going to say anything. This would look just as bad for me as it would for you if this town got a hold of it.

And it’s the truth—I’d rather keep my reputation solid than punish James McElroy for my employee’s mistakes.

Speaking of. I turn to leave, but stop to level a glare at James. I hope the service was satisfactory. I suspect this will be our last job with you.

I head down the stairs before he can answer. The tarps in the kitchen have been gathered and cleaned up, and Ian hurries past me with the ladder in his grasp. He avoids my gaze as we make our way outside.

What were you thinking? I snap as I follow him over to the company truck with my name on it. This is my business, Ian. I could fire you right now.

Then go ahead and fire me, Ian snaps back. He gives me a scathing look. Listen, I get that I made a mistake by…spending time with James on the clock. But my work for the day was done, and we’re both adults, and you don’t get to judge me for my lifestyle. I’m sorry that I screwed up on the job, but don’t take out your judgement on me.

"I’m not judging you for