Dear Grumpy Boss (Bossily Ever After #1)

2. Zayn

Two

Zayn

I can’t believe the email I’m reading.

Resignation. Two weeks. Grateful for the opportunity.

The formal words mock my growing disbelief.

Sasha’s quitting, my brain screeches on loudspeaker. And then slowly, it hits the rest of my body, like a slow-motion scene in action movies.

Sasha’s quitting… Why? How dare she?

I almost stomp my foot, like the irritable, high-strung child I used to be, upset by the slightest change to his schedule. But this isn’t a small change , that man-child whispers now.

This is like being told that you’re going to lose a limb. No, a much more vital organ.

“What nonsense is this?” I bark at her, hitting delete on the email. As if that one click could right my world. That thought is another shock, but I shove it aside for the moment.

The woman staring at me through thick glasses, brown eyes full of righteous anger and something else I can’t define, is anything but the easygoing girl I’m used to.

In the landscape of dizzying shades of brown—hair, eyes, glasses, leather skirt and shoes, my gaze snags on her pink cardigan with the stain on it. Or rather, how well the fabric clings to her curvy figure.

Then to her plump lips. The image of her licking the jelly from her lower lip is seared into my brain. How Mouse enjoys her food with such wanton sensuality has always piqued my curiosity and now…

Focus, Zayn.

“It’s my resignation,” she says, her voice steady in contrast to the ripples she’s sending through me. “I’ll work through the end of the month, which covers my two-weeks’ notice.” Her fingers play with the hem of the cardigan, and she swipes her tongue against her lower lip.

The last button has popped open with her twitching and the lush curve of her belly winks at me.

I get a peek at smooth, silky golden skin that I want to lick. Higher, pull it higher , I want to say. Let me look at those glorious tits. Let me lick—

“Zayn?”

My head jerks up and I bite down a curse. Bad enough that I’ve been thirsting after her lush little body like a randy dog for months now. Reminding myself that she’s my assistant, and my best friend’s younger sister, is the only thing that put brakes on me.

Forbidden… that’s what Sasha is.

She says my name again and I say, “What?”

“I mean, if you really need me,” she swallows nervously, “I can give you an extra week, train my replacement.”

She thinks my fractured focus is fueled only by inconvenience.

“Like hell you’re leaving,” I say, pushing to my feet.

Sasha doesn’t shrink so much as blanches. Her feet do that side step she’s always doing around me. When I was twenty-five and she was a curious, shy thirteen-year-old, it was amusing.

Now at thirty-six, it is…annoying as fuck. Although I’ve never admitted that to myself. When it comes to internal reflection, I’m not the brightest bulb on the street.

However, I do know that I have a fearsome glower, and I use it against her now, ruthlessly.

My oversized desk separates us, and I fight the caveman urge to jump over it and corner her. It’s not the most insane, or the most inappropriate, urge that has overtaken me in her presence.

But with her words of resignation ringing in my ears, the feral attraction I’ve been keeping a lid on grabs my throat in a chokehold. In parallel channels, my mind blares warnings loudly, like disclaimers before a heart-thumping, knee-shaking, stomach-heaving amusement park ride.

Danger of uncontrollable lust.

Might cause too much emotion.

Frozen heart might jump-start.

Rough handling and jostling might break object of desire.

“You do know that declaring things in that grumpy voice doesn’t make it all just fall into place, right?” she demands.

As if she could read my mind, or my body language or both. Not a surprise after five years of working for me. As assistants go, she’s perfect—loyal, dependable and cool in a crisis. And she knows me inside out, knows my near-manic need for structure and order.

“Who turned your head? For how much?”

Her thick lashes blink. The movement, exaggerated by her glasses, makes her look like a large bug. A pretty bug, but one nonetheless. “What?”

“My competitor who stole you, who is it? And what’s he offering? Is there a big sign-on bonus?” Suddenly, her wide smile two months ago when some skinny app-writer came in to meet Nathan flashes in my head. “Or is there another reason you’re leaving me?”

“I’m not…No one’s…” Her mouth falls open, pulling my attention to the drops of sweat over the bow-like curve of her upper lip. “Are you asking me if I’m leaving the company because someone else offered me a higher-paying job?” Her chest rises as she says this. As if this is an outrageous concept.

For her, it is, I remind myself.

She is a Shetty through and through. They put stock in things like loyalty and family and love.

A flicker of tenderness streaks through me and I try to crush it like a pesky bug. Try and fail .

“Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

Her thick brows tie into a scowl. “I don’t have anything lined up,” she says in a small voice.

Anger sidles in and shoves tenderness to the side. Really, it’s a cocktail of feelings inside me now.

Then, there’s that deafening roar in my head, like I used to get when I was a child. When the reality of my parents became too much for me. Somehow, I blink and shove the roar aside. Although, it’s easier to do so with her large eyes staring at me with concern.

And this too, I notice, is not new. Just previously unacknowledged. All these realizations—I wasn’t made to feel this much emotion—make my words unflinchingly sharp. “You’re quitting a cushy job with great benefits without anything lined up. And there’s Adam thinking his little sister’s finally learned practicality. Clearly, you still exist in your own fantasyland, Mouse.”

She opens her mouth and closes it, breaths coming through those lips like rough pants. “Don’t bring Adam into this. And don’t…”

“What?” I ask, my entire fucking universe waiting for the answer.

“Nothing.”

“Sasha—”

“The HR handbook doesn’t require me to give you a reason for quitting.” The words are stiff and stilted. “Neither does it require your acceptance.”

Now she’s spewing my own handbook at me?

I tether my temper just in time. But still, the mocking words slip out. Apparently, there’s no filter on my mouth today. “So, it’s not a guy you’re leaving me for.”

Why my brain is choosing to hyper-focus on this now is beyond me.

I’ve been called a supercomputer but suddenly, my best friend’s little sister, my adolescent champion, my assistant of five years, my sturdy little anchor in a shifting world, is beyond my understanding.

“What? A guy?” She slides her glasses up on the bridge of her nose in that adorable way of hers. Then, something clicks in that her brain.

A rush of pink fills her golden cheeks and she swallows.

I watch, fascinated, my brain falling over itself to create a thousand new pathways to understand this woman. Apparently, I made a huge mistake in assuming I know her.

“No, I’m not leaving you over a guy,” she says, and I hear the truth. But it’s not the whole truth.

“Is this a strategy to get a raise?” I’m already picking up the phone to call HR and give her whatever she wants when a half growl, half snort comes from her general direction.

Nostrils flaring, chest rising, cheeks all flushed, she’s furious. And stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mouse angry. “You think I’m that underhanded?”

“Give me a reason then,” I say, out of all reasonable, rational options. And this scares me because I’m king of logic and sense, and a pauper when it comes to other matters. “Not because company policy demands it or because you’re a model employee. But because I’m me, Sasha.” Inside, a part of me backs away, even as the words come easily. “We’ve known each other for nearly two decades. I deserve better.” A load of bullshit because Sasha doesn’t owe me anything.

She flinches and hesitates.

I hold my breath in. It pricks me, like a sharp thorn, the waiting. The wondering. And the…wanting. The sudden, mystifying wanting that’s been twisting me inside out for months now. Feels like I’m covered in thorns and yet it’s not all painful. If I were an RPG avatar, I would say I’d broken into a new level of awareness. That I didn’t know existed.

“I’m not happy here,” she says, looking as miserable as I feel. Not a lie. “I’m actively unhappy here, Zayn. And you’re always telling us that life’s too short to stay where you’re unhappy.”

Then she leaves with a quiet clicking sound that feels like a death knell.

My bright, enormous office is crushingly silent and painfully empty without her. My head is reeling and the headache that threatened during the flight is back with a vengeance.

What am I missing?

It dawns on me, the compound misery she’s dealt me in a matter of fifteen minutes.

No monthly dinner with the Shettys where I could pretend like I belonged to their family.

No pretending in my fucked-up head that she’s mine.

And no Mouse outside my office with her wide-brown gaze, her shy smile, and her plump lips anymore.

Grabbing my car keys and wallet, I’m almost out the door when I halt.

The glass window is refreshingly cool against my forehead. Logic and sense return, beating the emotions crowding me into one small corner.

Why was I accepting Sasha’s resignation?

All my life, I survived, no thrived, against all the odds stacked against me. Against parents and friends and teachers and tutors telling me I wouldn’t make it. I made millions. Found a normal, happy life. Well, relatively normal at least.

Whatever this is on Sasha’s part— a snit, or a tantrum or some other real shit, I’ll figure it out.

She’ll stay with me until we both grow old and challenge each other over word games and pluck each other’s gross nose hairs.

The shakiness recedes under the resolve.

Now I just have to figure out what it is Mouse wants and give it to her.

And for that, I need advice from either my best friend or my brother. The former is out since this involves his sister. While Adam loves me, he can get a little over-the-top protective about Sasha. Not that I blame him.

I’m clicking on my big brother Nathaniel’s number as I walk out of my office and press the button to the penthouse. Without looking for my little offender.

There are only three people in my life I care about, and more importantly, can stand to be around. And no way am I losing the most important of the three.