Dear Grumpy Boss (Bossily Ever After #1)

8. Sasha

Eight

Sasha

My boss is a brute, a… bully, and a bit of a bastard.

I rifle through my brain for more bad words to call him as I walk the perimeter of the luxury ballroom, making sure everything is running smoothly.

What happened in the penthouse a couple of hours ago still feels surreal.

Every time I pass a glass wall, I stop and stare at myself. When I stole into the bathroom earlier to change into my “party dress,” I locked the door for a few minutes.

There are stubble marks on my breasts and my nipples feel extra sensitive. I don’t even have to close my eyes to imagine his mouth there, sucking and nibbling away as if I’m his favorite treat.

Shamelessly, I cupped my core with my tights on, just to feel the needy pulse there. Zayn has unlocked something within me—like flipping a switch to my sexuality—and all I want is to explore more with him. I want to do things to him that will make his knees quake like mine did.

My body—my achy, sensitive nipples and the sweet throbbing awareness between my legs—wants to agree to his conditions, however outrageous they are, and just…surrender.

God, the things he said and did to me…

He’s wanted me this whole time. I still can’t wrap my head around it. If I didn’t know that Zayn never lies, I’d call it another ploy to make me stay.

So, if he does want me, why not take what I’m freely offering tonight? This way, he can ruin me, as he put it, and he won’t even have to see me again. Except for some random holidays when Adam forces us together.

I hide behind a potted palm, next to floor-to-ceiling frosted-glass windows. Outside, rain is pounding away, matching my own tumult. Increasingly dire storm warnings have been issued in the last half hour. The last thing I want to do right now is to pretend like I’m having a great time.

But the annual company party’s my favorite project and Zayn gave me free rein for four years. While I don’t mingle or dance with any of the staff—only Nathan or their other friend Max, or Adam, if he’s in town, has ever asked me—tonight I feel extra removed from the festivities. The fact that I’d chosen the theme this year to be centered around Valentine’s Day mocks me.

Though I’m glad I booked the ballroom in the hotel with a skyway connected to our office building. At least the staff won’t get drenched in their fancy cocktail dresses.

People are filtering into the ballroom—everyone part of a pair, eyes widening at the magical tableau I’ve created this year.

The floors are polished marble and the layout is open, with a spacious dance floor at the center, surrounded by round tables with white tablecloths, each draped with lace overlays.

The grand chandelier, made of crystal and gold, hangs in the center of the room, casting a soft, romantic glow over the proceedings. Around the perimeter of the ballroom, cascading fairy lights are draped like delicate strands of stars, giving off a soft, enchanting ambiance

Each table has a tall glass vase filled with a mix of deep-red roses, white lilies, and long-stemmed, blush-pink tulips. Around the base of the vase are scattered rose petals and tiny fairy lights that glow softly in the dim light, along with place cards and gift envelopes that I personally put together for the entire staff.

The DJ’s playing popular love ballads from the last two decades, each song twisting me up a little more. Servers are circulating with trays of hors d'oeuvres that I had the most delightful time tasting before ordering—miniature crab cakes, bruschetta with fresh tomato and basil, and delicate smoked salmon canapés.

But the last thing I feel like right now is eating or revealing myself to anyone. What Zayn did to me…I feel it in every inch of my body and wouldn’t be surprised if it glows like a neon tattoo on my forehead.

My boss sucked my tits and made me come so violently that I still can’t stand straight. Or something equally mortifying.

Like the “Mouse” he calls me, I walk the perimeter of the ballroom and cast a glance toward the kids’ zone I’ve had set up in a conference room. Pizza and donuts have arrived and there’s already a huge line for the balloon animal guy. For a moment, I consider spending the rest of the evening with them. There, no one with beautiful amber eyes will mock me or drive me out of my own skin.

“You’re not thinking of hiding, are you?” says a booming voice behind me.

I turn around to find my brother Adam towering over me, thick brows bunched together. Having not seen him in three months, I throw myself at him like a little girl.

He grunts and hugs me so tight that I feel ridiculous tears piling up my throat. Thirteen years older than me, he’s always been my safe space, especially after our parents died.

Keeping my fascination with Zayn a secret from him has always made me feel like I’m lying to him. Or hiding an important truth about myself.

Now, though, I’ve set things into motion that can never go back. Zayn is mad at me and I’m mad at him and we’ve crossed a line that might make Adam mad too. And what if Zayn and Adam fight because of this?

All the ways that things can go wrong makes me shudder. I’ve always been afraid to rock the boat. Now, I’ve gone and capsized it.

Adam strokes my back as I struggle to keep it all bottled inside. “You’re shaking, Sash.” Then he kisses the crown of my head and laughs. “Already missing Granny and Gramps? I’ll be around for a few weeks this time.”

The hearty affection in his voice cuts through my stupid fears. Having made the decision to quit work, I’d called him in a panic. And now that he flew back from New York just so I’m not alone…I feel awful.

Pushing out of his arms, I kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“Why are you apologizing to Adam?” says the man who has been MIA over the past two hours.

My face flames instantly and I can’t, for the life of me, make eye-contact with Zayn. I keep my gaze somewhere at his chest. It’s not guilt that weighs on me—we’re two consenting adults. But something else.

Adam squeezes me closer, one arm around my shoulders. “Mouse doesn’t want to be alone over—”

“I think it’s time you stopped calling her that.”

My head jerks up at the confrontational tone Zayn takes. And then it’s stuck on him, because the man is knee-meltingly gorgeous in a black suit. With his hair slicked back, he looks like he walked out of the cover shoot from one of his magazine profiles.

Our gazes hold, his pulling me into his gravity.

Adam, oblivious to our undercurrents, only laughs. “Should I?”

“Yes. That pet name is…asinine. Neither is she incapable of living by herself in that big house. If anything, I’d say she’s more capable than any of us at making big decisions.”

Adam looks like he’s been punched in the throat by his best friend. His laugh slides from his mouth and he gapes at Zayn and then me. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say, suddenly sweating under my slinky pink sheath dress. “Zayn’s having a tantrum, as usual.”

My boss sidles up to me and thrusts his face into mine, the tips of our noses nearly colliding. “Do you want to tell him or should I?”

“Tell me what?” Adam growls. But his voice sounds far off, as if he’s worlds away.

My breath leaves my body, leaving me shaking. I don’t want Adam to know about us. If the “us” even exists anymore. “Zayn, don’t be—”

“What is he talking about, Sasha?” My brother says again, eying us both with suspicion.

“Nothing,” I say, putting my hands on Zayn’s considerable chest and pushing.

He doesn’t budge. God, the man might as well be a sculpted statue. Only he’s not, with warm skin, tensile muscles, and a thumping heart.

He lowers his head even more and his breath drapes my ear shell. I squeeze my thighs together to hold on to the sweet ache there. “Come dance with me and maybe I’ll shut up.”

I look up and there’s that wicked glint in his eyes again. “You’re up to something,” I say, a hundred shivers claiming me at that look.

He shrugs. “Are you coming or should I tell Adam how you begged me to—”

I press my palm to his mouth so that my brother doesn’t hear his outrageous threats.

He plucks me from Adam’s side like I’m some ripe, low-hanging fruit. “Excuse us, Adam. Your little sister and I have a score to settle. Go hang out with Nate. You and he can bore each other to death with baseball stats.”

By the time my panic subsides, and I can breathe normally again, Zayn’s got me cornered against an alcove. We’re still visible to the guests, lot of heads are craning toward us. Plus, Zayn shows his face for five minutes at these things, usually in a sweatshirt and week-old jeans. Not sexy and suave like tonight.

With his breadth covering me, no one can see my expression at least.

“I like when you get bossy, Mouse,” he says, pointing to my fingers wrapped around his wrist.

I drop him like I’m scalded. “Don’t do this in front of Adam.”

He shrugs, but there’s a tight line around his mouth. “He’ll know, sooner or later. This way, his break at home won’t be boring.”

“Learning that his baby sister’s horny and wants to be his best friend’s little slut is a nice surprise?”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, Mouse. I like it.” He rubs his thumb over my lower lip. “Are you a slut for me?”

I nod, because at this point, I’ve got nothing to lose. “Yes.”

“But you don’t want your brother to know?”

“What’s the point in disrupting your friendship when this is nothing but a game to you? It’s not like we’re dating.” My voice goes low at the end, and I feel small. No, I feel on the verge of getting my heart broken by tomorrow this time. But neither will I back down from whatever this is and however long it lasts.

Maybe I’m finally grown-up.

“I’m not the one hiding behind potted palms and big brothers, Mouse.” There’s a gentleness to Zayn’s tone that ruins me. “Come, dance with me.”

I stare at his hand with its long, elegant fingers and rope abrasions on the palm. Every inch of me sways toward him as if he’s my true north. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Everyone will be watching and I’m not—”

“You love dancing. I’ve seen your moves when you dance along to the choreography on the Xbox.”

“When?”

“That Christmas morning when your gran said you couldn’t open presents until I was up too.”

“I knew it,” I say, slapping his chest. “I knew you were awake but just messing with me. Coming between me and my presents.”

He grins and it takes everything I have to not taste it and steal it for myself. But I’m not ready for the world to know that Zayn is entertaining himself with me for one day. It’s too precious and fragile.

“I sat on the steps and watched you for forty-five minutes, Mouse. You dance with your soul.” He searches my gaze. “Of course, now I can admit that I was entranced by that heart-shaped ass in purple leggings.” He laughs and thrusts a hand through his hair. The gesture is not nervous exactly, but full of self-deprecation. “You’d just turned nineteen and my ogling was barely legal.”

Warmth floods my entire being. How does he unravel me so easily? So many little things, he’s stored them all away, in that big computer brain of his. And yet, the things he’s saying, they don’t come from his brain.

He’s speaking from his heart and I’m helpless to resist.

I place my hand in his and the touch anchors me like nothing and no one else can.

“And by the way, you look gorgeous in the slinky number. Although, I still think you looked better in my sweatshirt.”

I’m grinning like a loon when he drags me toward the dance floor, and for once, I don’t care who sees it.