Hazel
Q uitting this job is a last resort. Just to be clear. I don’t take the amazing pay or the generous benefits for granted, and I know the people can’t possibly be any nicer at my next office. Grapevine is as good as it gets.
But I can’t stand it any longer. Can’t go on this way. I’m weak, okay?
If I spend another year in love with the boss here, pining after him while he barely tolerates my presence, I’ll go mad.
My fingers tremble as I fold my resignation letter, the paper still warm from the printer. Heartbeat thumping in my ears, I slide the letter inside a snowy white envelope.
It’s fine. So fine! This is totally fine.
I’m not tucking my bleeding heart away in this envelope. Not losing a piece of myself. That’s ridiculous.
But when Leo Corbin bellows for me from inside his office, that thunderous voice rattling the walls, I jump up with a squeak, my cheeks flaming. Like I’m doing something wrong out here, something sneaky.
“? ! Get in here.”
Seriously, why do I love this man? He’s such an ogre sometimes. Huffing out a breath, I snatch up the envelope and edge around my desk, mentally rehearsing the moment that I’ll give it to him.
Just place it on his desk and run away. Be a coward! That’s why it’s in writing, yeah?
We’re on the top floor of this building, just the two of us alone up here. My desk is out in the antechamber, where I can halt visitors and save Leo from ninety-nine percent of the conversations he would otherwise hate. His office, meanwhile, if you ever get a peek inside it, is all huge, sparkling windows and abstract paintings and views of the city stretching away in all directions. His fortress of solitude.
There’s only one wall between us. Only one door.
But lately, it feels like a vast chasm. One that I can’t get across, no matter how hard I try.
Because I desperately want to be welcome in that room—and preferably balanced on the boss’s knee. But meanwhile, he sees me as just as much of a pest as everyone else, and it hurts. It makes my chest ache.
Hoo, boy. Okay. Tugging my purple dress straight and firming my shoulders, I rap on the boss’s door.
“Come in,” he rumbles, and I swear to god—the vibrations from his voice tingle through my feet. My palm is sweaty on the door handle, but I fumble it open and slip inside to where the ceiling is higher somehow, the sunlight brighter.
Leo watches me from beneath lowered eyebrows. His dark hair looks thick and tuggable; his eyes are piercing blue.
And he’s scowling.
Always scowling at me.
“Everything ready for tonight?” Leo Corbin is a man of few words, and he leaps straight to the point. Shaking off my spiraling thoughts, I fix a bright smile on my face.
“Yes! Everything’s ready. The caterers and the band will set up this afternoon.”
He grunts again. That’s Leo for ‘good’, though you wouldn’t know it from his grumpy frown and firm jaw. If anyone ever gets this man to crack a smile, the fabric of reality might tear apart.
“Tonight needs to go well, .” The boss rubs his jaw, glowering out of the window. “I’m not throwing another fucking party. This is it. Make it count.”
“Roger that.”
As if I’m half-assing this event! The Grapevine ten year anniversary party has haunted my freaking dreams for months. More than once, I’ve woken up sweating in the night, reciting guest lists and drink options. I’ve been on it. This event is my masterpiece.
But Leo doesn’t care about that. If anything, he seems crankier than usual, slumped in his chair and tugging on his collar, so his morning meeting with our star composer must not have gone well. The way his shoulders bunch up is a dead giveaway. I can read this man’s moods like a weather report.
And this is bad timing. The boss is rattled already.
But this envelope feels like it weighs one hundred pounds. I need to set it down. Need to get this over with.
“What’s that?” Leo is doing that one-eyed squinty thing he does when he’s got a headache brewing, and I’m already itching to run and fetch him a painkiller and a cool glass of water. Hate when he’s in pain. But my feet are glued to the floorboards, my stomach twisting into knots as Leo drags the envelope across his desk and rips it open with a scowl. “You already brought the mail…”
He trails off, frown deepening as he reads.
Silence fills the office, swelling between us and cutting off my air supply.
Oh, god. Oh, god.
Can’t breathe. Can’t think.
And this is awful . Easily one of the top ten worst moments of my life, and I’ve had some doozies. In fifth grade, I tried to dye my blonde hair pink with a box kit and botched it so badly, half my hair fell out. Everyone at school called me Gollum.
“I’ll work my notice period—”
Leo cuts off my squeaky voice. “You’re not leaving, .”
Well… I am. That’s what my resignation letter says, right there in black ink. But sometimes the boss needs a minute to process bad news, so I suck in a huge breath and keep going. He’ll catch up, and then he’ll probably be glad.
No more perky assistant trying to cheer him up on gloomy mornings! No more elevator rides with me chatting his ear off about my weekend baking disasters! No more me !
Leo will see. This is for the best.
He’ll get the serious, silent assistant of his dreams, and I’ll get a chance to nurse my poor, bruised heart far away from his scowls.
“My new role starts on the fifteenth. If you would be willing to write me a reference before then, that would be—”
“New role?” Leo blinks and sits up straighter. His desk chair creaks under his impressive bulk. “You have a new job lined up? This is serious?”
Lord, give me patience. This man is experiencing a shock.
“Yes,” I tell him gently. “I’m starting a new job on the fifteenth.”
He’s already shaking his dark head. “No, you’re not.” His big hand twitches around my letter, crumpling it into a ball. “You’re not leaving, . This is not happening.”
When I burst out laughing, Leo looks at me like I’ve gone insane—and maybe I have. The jitters have taken over my body, and there’s a weird ringing noise in my ears. None of this is going like I expected, but I have to push through, because the second I leave this room, my jelly legs will give out. I’ll collapse into a sad puddle on the floor.
“You don’t even like me, boss.”
He blanches, shaking his head.
And I wait for the words to come—any words, anything nice at all, because if Leo asks me in this moment to stay, if he says he actually likes me, I’ll do it. I’ll cave.
But he gives me nothing. Nada. Zip.
The big, scary boss opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish. The man I’m desperately in love with can’t deny that he finds me annoying.
Oof . New low.
And meanwhile, a crack splinters through my chest, pain searing my insides. See, this is why I’m leaving. It’s self preservation, that’s all, because I deserve to find a man who likes me. A man who’s thrilled by my bouncy attitude and who can’t get enough of my chatter. Hell, even just a boss who’ll tolerate my presence without wincing.
So although this hurts even worse than I thought it would, although it feels like I’m sawing off a limb, I need to stay strong. Need to hold out for something healthier. Something sweet.
For starters: a man who sees me as more than a planner on legs. An annoying planner at that.
“You let me handle tonight’s party.” If we didn’t have this giant desk between us, I’d pat Leo’s shoulder. He looks shell-shocked. “You focus on that reference, okay? And I’ll set up interviews for my replacement. Don’t worry, I know your wish list by now: someone who won’t speak unless they’re spoken to, and who doesn’t believe in Flapjack Fridays.”
AKA: not me.
“,” Leo says.
“And I know you hate interviewing, but I promise this will all be over in no time. The fifteenth will come so fast and then you’ll forget I was ever here, I swear! This transition will happen in a blur.”
“ .” The boss sprawls back in his chair, breathing hard, face chalky-pale. If I didn’t know better, I’d call for a doctor, because he looks ill. Does he really hate change that much? He coped okay when we repainted the lobby. “I mean it,” he says. “You can’t leave.”
Master of the universe . That’s who Leo Corbin is in this building; that’s who he’s been to me for the last four years. The all-powerful master of all he surveys… including me.
When he gives orders, we hop to it.
When he asks questions, we rush to answer.
No one tells him no. What Leo wants, he gets, and that conditioning is strong . It takes every ounce of my willpower to raise my chin and meet his gaze square-on.
“This is happening,” I say, and if my voice is shaky as hell… it still counts as a victory. I’m standing my ground, damn it! I’m protecting my wrung-out heart! “I’m sorry, but it’s not open for discussion. Some things aren’t.”
And it’s not the best parting shot, but I turn on my heel anyway—because one more minute in this room will make me fray into a thousand pieces.