Page 23 of Bossy Romance

“Are you not answering because it’s true? Did you finally bed the billionaire?”

What is that? The name of a cheesy romance novel?“Adam and I have a boss-employee relationship.”

She rolls her eyes. “Honey, no boss in theworldwould hire a driver for their employee.” Island gestures with a rat-tail comb to the glass door through which we can see Steve parked outside, waiting for me. “And they definitely don’tinsiston paying for their employee’s trips to the hair salon. I’ll never forget the day that hunky man slapped his card on my counter and told me that you wereneverto pay for your own hair. I almost jumped him then.”

“The way I present myself is important to the image of Vision Tech,” I argue.

Island bats away my explanation like it’s cheap cologne. “No, sweetie. No one in their right mind would believe that.”

Well, it’s a good thing Island isn’t in her right mind.

Realizing she’s going to harp on me and Adam if I don’t tell her what she wants, I admit, “I’m changing my hair because I’m entering a new phase of my life.”

“New how?”

“I’m moving on from Vision Tech.”

“Moving on? To what?”

“To unemployment. I’m resigning.”

The comb slips out of her hand and rattles to the floor. Her jaw drops right alongside it.

Keeping my tone level, I add, “I’ve always been interested in learning how to care for my natural hair, but I didn’t have the time. Plus, I wasn’t sure if it would be professional to wear my hair out at work. Now that I’ll be stepping down from my position in a month, I’d like to start learning.”

She blinks unsteadily.

Did I do the unthinkable? Did I break the unstoppable chatterbox?

“Why are you resigning?” Island stammers.

My phone lights up with a call from Adam.

“Excuse me.” I put the phone to my ear. “How was your first night with Rowan?”

“Heruinedmy kitchen!” Adam hisses. From the low volume of his voice, it’s clear he doesn’t want Rowan to overhear. I can picture him ducking in the bathroom, railing about his son behind closed doors.

“What do you mean?” I ask calmly.

“The kid made waffles by throwing flour on every surface in the kitchen and hoping some of it hit the bowl. My sink looks like a murder scene. And there’s a banana peel on my freaking chandelier, Nova.”

“Okay, then ask him—nicely—to clean up after himself.”

“You think he’ll listen to me?”

“He has to take responsibility for the mess he made. He probably got to this point because his mother was always cleaning up after him. If he learns that cooking messily comes with cleaning duties too, he might learn to be more careful.”

Adam lets out a sound that’s part grunt, part groan. I bet his stress line—the lone wrinkle that appears on his forehead—is out in full force right now.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he admits.

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“Exactly. How much worse is it going to get?”

My lips twitch. “Ask him to clean up and offer to help him. It can be a good bonding moment for you two.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Island listening in keenly. Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m at a hair appointment now, but I’ll come over when I’m done.”

“Thank you.” He sounds relieved.

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