Dear Grumpy Boss (Bossily Ever After #1)

14. Sasha

Fourteen

Sasha

When I wake up the second time—the first time was near dawn to Zayn waking me up with soft words and shallow thrusts, high on the brink of his orgasm—bright sunbeams are dancing across my face and bare breasts.

I lick the inside of my mouth and stretch my legs under the heavy duvet. That small movement makes me groan. I’m warm and tingly and sore and a host of other sensations I don’t have words for.

With a soft moan, I roll to my side and reach out a hand.

The coolness of the sheets on that side of the bed hits me first. I open my eyes and discover the empty space on the bed. Heart beating an uneven tattoo, I scoot up and nearly cry at how my muscles resist the motion.

Zayn is…gone.

Reaching for my glasses, I push them on and blink. The suite is filled with golden light bursting in from outside. Fierce as it was, the storm left a new and bright world behind. I feel new and different too.

Through the French doors, I can see the small courtyard of the hotel and, in the distance, the proud peak of Mount Rainier. Every leaf looks sun-dappled with dew drops clinging to them.

And while every inch of me groans with remembered pleasure and there’s a giddy joy in my chest, a quiet sadness settles in too.

I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s gone.

Even if I put the probable awkwardness of waking up together aside—a situation he abhors—he has a very specific morning ritual that I know he doesn’t break for anything.

It’s better this way, I tell myself, throwing my legs over the bed.

I nearly swoon back into the bed with how my knees quake under me. My body feels used up so thoroughly. Like I’m made of bruises and prickles and deep divots crafted by Zayn’s fingerprints.

For a crazy second, I consider not showering because I don’t want to wash him off. But that way lies prolonging the ache in my heart.

He promised me one night and oh, how he delivered it.

I promised him that I wouldn’t leave him. Doesn’t matter that it was in the throes of a mind-bending orgasm and all he admitted was that “ He couldn’t, without me.”

His attachment style has always been different after a rough childhood and teen years, and I know he cares for me in his own way.

So last night—once in a lifetime as it was—has to be enough.

Because I won’t break my word to him.

I won’t leave him.

Somehow, I need to think of him again as my very grumpy, very demanding boss who’s harsh with his words but generous with his actions. Somehow, I need to get over the fact that I know how he kisses and how he holds me through the night and how he pins me down with his delicious weight.

And how much I’ll always love him.

My shower ends up being long and luxurious.

It’s nearly impossible that I will get another chance to soak in a marble tub like this, so I take full advantage of it.

It comes to me as I’m soaking in the frothy bubble bath and washing my over-sensitive skin that tonight’s our family dinner together.

It’s my first ever one without my grandparents. My first one as a woman who knows what pleasure her body is capable of. My first one with a heart that’s been taken out of its dusty place on the shelf and given a full-throttle bumpy ride.

Now there are footnotes in scrambled handwriting and bent corners and the spine is slightly torn, but it’s all the stronger for how well loved it was for one night.

My mind wanders to a hundred different things and pulls away before a thought forms. But one thing comes back after all the detours and delusions.

Zayn might show up tonight for dinner at my grandparents’ house despite all the lines we crossed last night. He’s a creature of habit and while he won’t admit it, I know how attached he is to our family rituals. Wherever he was in the world, he always flew down for Thanksgiving, Christmas, this anniversary dinner, and Adam’s birthday.

And while I won’t ever ask anything of him that’s personal, this is something I want to do for him. And for my brother, who’s traveled thousands of miles just so I wouldn’t be alone.

The thought spurs me into action as I pull the drain plug and jump into the shower. Laughter builds up in me as I try to figure out hardware that could belong on a starship.

By the time I towel down, my skin is both prune-y and tingly. I gather the multitude of bottles for moisturizer, shampoo, conditioner—when is the chance I’ll get my hands on a luxury brand like this— and step into the bedroom. Only to realize that I didn’t bring anything with me last night.

Even my phone is MIA.

I do another sweep of the room—the last thing I want is to advertise my fantasy night by walking out wrapped in the hotel towel—when my gaze lands on the cozy armchair in front of the fireplace.

I dump the cosmetics on the bed, curiosity lighting a fire in me. There are several things on the armchair, beginning with Zayn’s sweatshirt that he gave me yesterday, the tote I leave in the staff room for emergencies —which contains a change of clothes and all other necessities, and my phone.

I dress quickly in loose linen pants, skip the bra and put on Zayn’s sweatshirt, and hurriedly switch my phone on. My gaze catches on a box on the coffee table I recognize. There’s also a carafe of coffee, along with fresh fruit and pastries.

Did he wait until the breakfast was delivered for me?

I don’t even need to see the logo on the pink box to know it’s Devil’s Donuts—my favorite kind.

There’s a crisply folded note on top.

My towel nearly slips off my body as I reach for it with shaking fingers. The words are in badly written cursive and it’s only because I’ve worked for him for so many years that I can read them on the first try.

Good morning, Mouse.

I’ll miss you at work. We broke too many rules for things to go back to the way they were. Plus, you’re wasted on these people and me. Before you say no to this, your dream is way too precious to just stay that. Like you always say, we need more books in the world, and who better than you to get them into people’s hands.

If you make a fuss that it’s too much, I’ll never talk to you again.

Z

My heart beats loudly in my chest as I read the note over and over. Under the box of donuts, there’s a white envelope with a pink string tied to it.

For Mouse is scribbled on the front. I nearly rip through the cover to get to the documents. My chest squeezes so tight that it’s a miracle I can breathe.

It’s a deed in my name to the secondhand bookstore attached to Devil’s Donuts, the same store with a For Sale sign hanging on it for the past few months.

Mariska and I make plans about how we would revamp the place and give it new life. Create a haven for people who love books.

I gushed about it only last night and now, he bought me the deed to the place.

My knees give out and I collapse into the armchair. Tears run down my cheeks as I lay my head back and stare at the pretty ceiling.

I don’t know if I’m happy or heartbroken. Or both.

On the one hand, he’s given me my lifelong dream. Already, a part of my brain is busy coming up with all the things I want to do with the store, starting with painting the walls.

On the other, he’s removed me from his life in one fell swoop. The big girl in me knows that it’s for the best. At this rate—seeing him once or twice a year, I can get over him by the time I’m fifty.

Straightening in the chair, I tuck my feet under me, pour myself a little coffee and take a bite of a glazed donut.

I read the documents over and over while I polish off the fruit cup, scrambled eggs, and two cups of coffee.

I began yesterday with the idea of breaking free of an obsession that wasn’t good for me, of growing up and moving on, of taking strides toward a new me.

Zayn has not only given me immense pleasure and made me see myself in a new way, but also the perfect reason to stick to my original plan.

I tidy the suite, make up the bed, open the French doors just a little bit to air out the sweat/sex cocktail, glad to see that he’s already left a generous cash tip. But then, as grumpy as my boss is, he hides the most generous of hearts under that exterior.

Except he’s not my boss anymore.

He’s not my anything anymore.

I sniffle, swallow, pack up all my stuff into the tote bag, and open the door.

To find my brother standing at the end of the corridor, his broad frame filling it up. His face is wreathed in lines of concern but there’s no judgement there.

As I walk toward him, fresh tears fall onto my cheeks. I scrub at them roughly, but more come.

His mouth has a tight set to it as I reach him. Brown eyes, so much like our papa’s, search mine. “Should I beat him up?”

Color floods my cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I manage.

“You hid it well,” Adam says.

I shrug.

He takes my tote bag and wraps a beefy arm around my shoulders. “If it helps, he looked worse than you when I saw him earlier.”

“It doesn’t,” I snap at him. Then I sigh. The corridor is empty and bright, exactly how I feel. “I’ll get over him, Adam. Don’t ruin your friendship over some false macho pride please.”

“So, no beating him up?”

“The question you have to ask yourself is why you would want to.” My heart sits in my throat, making words hard. “He gave me the world.”

And removed himself from it. I keep those words to myself. As much as I love my brother, the feelings are too raw and private to discuss with him.

Kind and sensible that he is, Adam doesn’t say anything.

I lean into his frame, knowing that at some point in the distant future, I’ll feel better about this.

Just not today. Or this decade.