Obsessed with My Grumpy Boss

Chapter 11

Ihate my boss. Mostly.

Ten days ago, we went to a dinner party. A work dinner party, of course.

And the bastard kissed me. No, not like the ones I fantasize about. It was far better. You know how dirty porn movies make you feel? That type of kiss. A rush of blood raced through my veins, and I”m not sure it”s stopped since.

Then, because of a family emergency, things came to a halt.Fine. It happens.

But the worst was what he said afterward—”How will it look if you leave and I don”t go with you?” Of course, optics are his number one concern—even when someone”s father is in the ER. Why would I expect it to be different?

Oh, but it gets worse—in the car… in the car, he talked to me as if he was using words his lawyer carefully curated for him. And asked me if I felt wronged by him—meaning our make-out session.

I mean, really?

I feel fucking wronged that my pussy is in such an unfortunate state after you touched it. I”ve been soaking wet like never before, and I have a pulsing ache between my legs that won”t go away—masturbating is useless. Not that I had much time for it, anyway.

But damn…

The man can kiss.

I wonder what else he can do.

”Hazel,” Emma calls. “I”m glad you”re back. Would you like me to get some coffee for you?”

I look at the clock.

Monday at 9 a.m., and Archer”s still not here. Unusual. I even went to the coffee shop an hour ago because I always expect him in the office at 8:10 a.m.

Today”s my first day back.

Dad”s surgery went well, and we got home on that Sunday, but I had to keep an eye on him. I texted Archer and asked him for a few days off to sort things out, but he offered me the entire week off. I know, so uncharacteristically generous of him.

He also offered the services of an on-call nurse. Turns out my dad was back to his usual self sooner than expected, so we didn”t need it, but Archer ensured we had that information handy if Dad ever did. He sent Dad a get-well basket, and the cynic in me wondered if he ordered it or asked the temp who replaced me for a week to do it.

These mixed messages from Archer confuse the hell out of me. Was he kind because he wanted to do damage control, or am I missing something? I want to trust him and believe he’s not as bad as I thought, but I need consistency to decide.

”I”ll go with you,” I say, shoving the journal into the drawer before I can finish the rest of my entry. For some odd reason, he”s late. Waiting for him to come to work drives me into a state of anxiety I haven”t felt since waiting for the season finale of my favorite TV series. This is the first time we”ll face each other after that awkward exchange at the hospital.

Emma and I walk side by side to the breakroom.

The breakroom on this floor is unlike anything else—the reason Emma always comes up, even though, as the receptionist, she should stick to the one on the lower floor.

We enter the spacious area with lounge chairs, state-of-the-art appliances, and a stocked pantry. There are not one or two but three different coffee machines. With all these machines, you”d think it was weird that Archer still makes me walk to the corner to buy him one from a coffee shop. But the man is a rare breed.

He can slip into different personalities within minutes. Just my luck, they”re all intriguing.

”How”s your dad doing?” Emma asks.

She knows because she”s been texting and checking in on us. ”He”s doing well. I asked someone to check in on him and walk Moonshine, and I”ll go home right after work.”

”Good. By the way, did you do anything else that weekend? We need to catch up. You never told me about that party you were supposed to attend.”

The party I wore her dress to. Shit. Seems like it was forever ago. ”Yes. Hmmm… it was cut short, but good. I”ll have your dress dry-cleaned and return it.” If they don”t entirely remove the stain, I”ll buy her a new one. Part of me wants to keep the dress as a keepsake because I”m sadistic. I need a memento of that night. That kiss.

She puts the small cup in the espresso machine and leans against the counter, looking at me. ”Oh, don”t worry about it. But tell me, did you have fun?”

I nod.

”Did you meet someone new? You said you were meeting old friends at some dinner party.”

I pull out one of the chairs and sit at the round table. I drum on the smooth surface, wondering if I should drink coffee. Do I need to get more jittery before the man even shows up to work? There”s no telling how much my heart can take. ”Hmmm… sorta.”

Emma takes her coffee cup from the machine and squeals. She motions to put another one in, but I lift my hands in refusal. I don”t need more caffeine. ”Tell me all about him! You never have any guy gossip.”

God, what can I say? Emma is great, but she has a big mouth. She”s not malicious, but she can”t help herself. If I tell her the secret, she”ll spread it to the entire building in about five minutes. I bite my inner cheek. It would be nice to have someone to share this with. I summarize the story without giving too much away: ”He”s hot… but not emotionally available.”

She sips her espresso, then grabs a chair next to mine. ”That”s vague. How old is he?”

I look up at the ceiling. God, I suck at this. I can”t say his age or she”ll connect the dots. ”A bit older?”

She squints her eyes and leans closer, interested. ”Like late twenties?”

I cough. ”Older?”

She nudges my elbow excitedly, and hot liquid nearly sloshes from her small cup. ”You naughty girl. Did you guys have sex?”

I wish. How I very much wish. ”No.”

”Did you want to?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.”Maybe.”

She whistles. ”Look at you, dirty girl! I wonder what other secrets you”ve been hiding.”