Dear Grumpy Boss (Bossily Ever After #1)

6. Sasha

Six

Sasha

I know the roses that Zayn is talking about. Though it’s not his brother Nathan’s nanny, but his stepdaughter Sophie’s companion/friend Jasmine who grows them in their greenhouse.

Next to the delicate, ethereal beauty of a pink rose, those roses look positively…voluptuous and their fragrance heady. That Zayn thinks I’m like those roses…my heart leaps at the very idea and my body fizzes like a champagne bottle about to be cracked open.

Does he truly think I’m beautiful? Even desirable?

“I’ll make some coffee. Feels like it will be a long day,” I mumble and walk away.

My palms tingle and so do my lips. Kissing his cheek like that…stupid thing to do. Only I want to do it again and go for those sensuous lips this time.

Suddenly, the prospect of me—bookish, awkward me— kissing my boss seems more real and possible than ever before. Like fantasy and reality are converging.

Things are changing between Zayn and me. Like the day itself. Sunny and breezy this morning and now it’s raging thunderstorms.

If I don’t give myself something to do, there’s no telling what I might say next. I measure the coffee beans and pour them into the grinder automatically.

Something happened in the bathroom. I mean, yes, Zayn saw my boobs and probably got distracted.

While I sometimes wish they were smaller—bras would be so much cheaper for one thing—they are a great set of boobs. I don’t blame him for getting discombobulated at the sight.

But just now, in the living room, what magic did he weave to get me talking like that? Why is he suddenly interested in me when he’s ignored me for years? And to share what some of the staff call me…what has driven me?

I’m not the slightest bit embarrassed that he knows it now. But what I didn’t anticipate was how good it would feel to trust him with it. The burr of the coffee grinder can’t even match my heartbeat rushing in my ears.

He listened. Like he used to, after the summer my parents passed away. He spent hours listening to my fears and worries and dreams. Before he went away to college, and we drifted apart.

This is the Zayn that I remember. The Zayn I don’t see much of anymore, especially in the last two years.

I scoop the ground powder into the French press and grab the kettle. There’s an ache in my throat.

It’s so unfair that he’s showing me this side of him when it’s time for me to go.

But then, when has life ever been fair?

I usually dust myself off, eat a donut and move on. That’s what I’ll do now too.

I’ll take this fun, caring Zayn I’ve suddenly got through this evening as a goodbye gift.

—

We sip our coffees, black for him and a splash of vanilla syrup and cream for me. Outside the French windows, the storm seems to be getting worse. And inside…it’s no less tense.

I need to bring this conversation back to something remotely professional. “Did you have something specific to discuss?” I make a point of checking my cellphone. “I have to go over to the hotel to check on the arrangements.”

He frowns.

“Earlier, when you came looking for me,” I say, even as my cheeks warm at the mere mention of it.

He considers me over the cup, his gaze thoughtful. “What about if I buy a retirement house for your grandparents in Florida? No, even better, Hawaii.”

“What…do you mean?”

“As an incentive for you to stay.”

I almost choke on the coffee. It spills over my fingers. The mug shakes as I put it down on the table and grab a napkin to wipe them.

Why am I surprised that he hasn’t given up on changing my mind?

Zayn is ruthlessly single-minded. And while this…talking and spending time together makes the ache in my heart bearable, I have to remember that this is his campaign to make me stay.

Although, a part of me does wonder why he needs me to stay so badly.

Yes, I’m a damn good assistant. I know his moods and quirks, and a little something about his background. But I’m not indispensable. No one is, in the corporate world.

Is it just a point of pride for him to not lose me? Or is he attached to me because I’m a link to Adam and my grandparents? The thought makes my chest hurt.

“You’re serious,” I say. My boss doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

“You’ll never have to worry about them living in a house that requires constant repairs. If you prefer, I’ll buy something in a retirement community so they have company.”

God, the man is a master strategist and he knows me well.

The thought of my grandparents escaping the relentless rain in some balmy Florida town tempts me to my very soul.

“They won’t accept it,” I say, before I’m tempted to think of ways to make them accept. I can be as diabolical as the man looking at me as if I’m a complex problem he intends to conquer.

His mouth flattens. “Because I’m not family?”

“That’s not true,” I rush to assure him. “You know that, Zayn. They wouldn’t accept it from Adam or me either.”

He nods absently, but I can see his gears turning at sonic speed in his eyes. The thought of him applying that super genius brain toward pleasing me…is stupidly flattering.

“What if I double your salary and get you a company car?”

“No,” I say, laughing. It’s fun to be on the receiving end of his requests than demands.

“What if I—”

“You can’t buy me, Zayn.”

His brows lock in a ferocious scowl. “I’m not trying to.” When I stand up, his fingers chain my wrist. “Give me a little credit here, Mouse.” His thumb pad taps against my pulse. “I know you.”

“Do you, actually?” The question bursts out of me before I can stop it.

Pulling away, I pick up his untouched cup and mine and take them to the sink.

He follows me. My spine tingles because I feel his gaze drift down to my ass.

Or is it wishful thinking? God, I’m going to lose my mind by the end of this day.

I rinse the cups and pile them into the dishwasher. Only then do I look up.

With his forearms on the white quartz island, he leans down, dwarfing the kitchen. In my chest, my heart sputters because it feels like he’s reaching for me.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes and I think, for one crazy second, maybe I’m not that far off in imagining something changing between us.

I fight my body’s instinctive need to bow toward him. “Why all these questions? What are you trying to do?” I clarify because I’m a chicken.

“I want you to stay.”

I sigh. “And I said I’m—”

“ Actively unhappy, I remember.” In the blink of an eye, he’s walking around the island, cornering me. Some emotion I’ve never seen before glimmers in his amber gaze. “I’m trying to fix that . I’m trying to make you happy.”

“Oh.”

That gaze drifts to my mouth and stays there. There’s still at least a foot distance between us but he’s leashed me with his scent and his warmth and his look.

I lick my lips and bite into the lower one. “Why?”

“Because I want you to be happy, Mouse. Here, with me.”

Happy with me… The words knock me sideways, because that’s what I want the most in the world. And I want his happiness to be with me too.

“That simple?” I say, past the elephant-sized lump in my throat.

“It should be that simple, yes,” he says, flashing that rare, heart-thumping grin of his. I’m nearly blinded by the sheer voltage of it. “But right now,” he rubs his jaw, his gaze turning thoughtful again, “you’re the most complicated puzzle I’ve ever met.”

I grin, a fierce thrill flooding my body. Everything inside me feels tight and loose. This is how the heroines from the romance novels I read feel. Empowered and sexy and happy to be weak at the knees. “That’s an interesting turn of events.”

A dangerous gleam enters his eyes, and he takes another step toward me. His henley stretches across his taut muscles. “You’re enjoying this.”

Another step and his chest will brush mine.

I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I feel like I’m on a free-fall ride. But I’m sick of standing on the sidelines, of living vicariously through romance novels.

This is the man I’ve wanted for so many years, and I take pride in doing whatever I do well. If I have this chance at showing Zayn that I’m not his mousy assistant, then I’ll own it.

I shoot my hand out to stop him and it lands on his abdomen. I mean, the man climbs mountains for adventure, yes, but this slab of rock-hard abdomen is something else. He’s so hard that the urge to press myself against him and see how it pushes and presses my softness rides me hard. My fingers spread, as if to cover more ground.

I’ve touched him before. A hug at Christmas—which he doles out like scrooge with his coins. Then there was the time we danced two years ago at my grandparents’ wedding anniversary. And when Adam sustained a head injury in a car accident sixteen months ago and Zayn stayed with me at the hospital for four nights.

Of course, he had me running chores for him during the day. Well aware that sitting still would drive me bonkers. When I broke down on the fifth day—for fear of losing my brother too, he pulled me into his lap and stroked my back.

All those touches left a mark on me, making me pine him for worse than before. They hollowed me out because while I had his attention, and him, it was for the wrong reasons.

But this is different. This is me touching him because I want to. Need to. And he’s allowing it. No, by the way he looks at me, he’s encouraging this.

“After five years of your gruff moods and your rude demands,” I say, pushing my fingertips into his abdomen. His muscles clench and the pulse between my thighs becomes relentless. “Yes, I’m enjoying your slightest discomfort.”

“Yeah?”

“And your requests, not orders.” Color floods my cheeks. “It’s nice to receive something else from you for a change.”

“Oh, I have many things to give you, Mouse. If only you knew to ask for them.” A sigh lifts his chest. “But first things first. Is any of this working? Toward making you happy?”

I shudder and sigh and fight the smile that wants to climb to my lips. “Thank you for—”

“You aren’t answering my question. Is it working?” Frustration rings through each word.

I shrug.

There’s something near manic in his eyes. And I know that look. It’s the one he gets when he’s hyper-focused on some problem. Usually, resulting in launching some app or tech platform that takes the world by a storm and makes him millions.

He’s never once failed after getting that look. And if he figures out why I’m quitting…it’s humiliation central.

What if he returns your feelings, Nutty Shetty? What if all this today is because he…

“I’m not playing a game, you know,” I say hurriedly. “I would never do that.”

“I don’t think that, Mouse.” A strand of affection coats the words, and then, it slips into me, like a thread of magic, and coils itself around my heart. “But I will know all your secrets before the night’s out. Although I’m not so arrogant that I’d discount any hints you might throw me.”

I laugh then, because this is the man I’ve fallen in love with.

This negotiator who goes from intense to charming in three seconds. This caring man who he rarely lets out but when he does… I feel like I’m the only star in the entire fucking universe and everything orbits around me.

He orbits around me.

“What do you want from me, Mouse? Say one word and—”

“A kiss. I want a goodbye kiss.” The words rush out of me.

Then they drift in the space between us, like there’s no gravity, for what feels like an eternity. His sweat and musk wind around me again, squeezing everything tighter, making me prickle with need.

He smacks my hand from between us and inches closer.

A soft gasp falls from my lips as his chest presses against my breasts, as his hands grip the counter near my hips, and I’m engulfed by him.

His amber gaze drifts to my lips. “Okay,” he says, stunning me into silence.

Wait, what?

“But what if I want more?”

“More?” I repeat, like a bird.

His hand slides to my cheek and cups it. “What if one kiss isn’t enough? Are you game for that, Mouse? Or are you going to scurry away into your hidey-hole again?”

I should be annoyed by his mocking, but I know what he means exactly.

I’ve been hiding myself, for most of my life, in books and fantasies and comfort zones. Maybe it’s the freedom that comes from cutting off your own life support, but suddenly, I don’t care where this leads or the fact that come tomorrow morning, Zayn will regret it.

There’s one thing I need to know for sure before I take the plunge. “Why…why do you want more?”

“Why do I want to kiss you and touch you and lick you and mess you up in ways I shouldn’t be thinking of with my best friend’s younger sister?” He tugs off the pink string at the end of my braid and unravels my hair. It’s such a possessive move that I nearly melt inside. “Why do I want to ruin my naive, innocent, shy assistant in the filthiest of ways? Why have I tried my damnedest to keep you at a distance?” He sounds almost angry at the end.

He’s tried his damnedest to keep me at a distance… Okay, that explains a lot.

My swallow is audible. Every inch of me is on fire. I know him and he’s dead serious. He wants this. He wants me.

Why, how, when it started…I don’t care about that right now.

“I want everything you said,” I say, bringing my hands to his stomach. He’s warm and solid against them, and slowly, I inch them up his muscled torso.

I trace his thick shoulders, then lace my fingers behind his neck. With each inch I cover between us, my curves push and squeeze against his and that drag is so good that I moan.

Zayn simply stares at me from under those thick lashes, unbending, challenging.

And then I realize another thing.

My very confident, very grumpy boss isn’t sure that I won’t back away from this. He’s just as twisted up about this as I am.

I push onto my toes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I want a whole night with you, Zayn. One night, please. And I’ll play by your rules, do whatever you want me to.”