Page 6 of Broken Boss

Time to turn the conversation.

The last thing I need is for these two to figure out that I’m lusting after one of my senior associates at the firm. It’s too similar to their story, and not everyone gets a happily ever after just because they’re hooking up with someone they work with.

“It’s more about picking a new partner,” I insist cooly. “A lot of inner fighting, you know? I’m not looking forward to the next twelve months of being distracted by every senior associate’s peacocking around the office.”

Jenson chimes in with his own story about a colleague who made an ass of himself, and pretty soon, we’re all laughing and chatting again. As the night winds down, I find myself more relaxed—but only because they haven’t figured me out.

I can’t stop thinking about Autumn. She’s on repeat in my head, and not just her stripping down to those little pink undergarments.

Every glimpse or glance I’ve gotten of her around the office; every breathtaking moment where I had to duck into the shadows.

Only now, we’ve come face to face. And I can’t avoid her any longer.

I’ll have to step into the light.

It’s almost eleven by the time Jenson and I trade a gruff hug and Mel walks me out. She leans in the doorway, the oversized sweater she’s wearing swallowing her whole—in a charming way.

“Hey,” she calls softly. I turn back. “Maybe with all this stress piling up, you’ll remember what’s really important. It wouldn’t be so bad for you to focus on your relationships outside of work, Chris.”

She narrows her eyes in a half-joking manner before waving and closing the door gently.

Apprehension tightens my chest at the thought.

If I’m not focused entirely on work, what else do I have?

As I drive home to a darkened house, I realize the answer is—nothing.

And I’ll just have to lie in the empty bed I’ve made.

Chapter 3

Autumn

Rush hour on Friday keeps me from getting home until six thirty at night. As soon as I reach the apartment door, I can hear Frank whining on the other side; he’s probably been waiting for at least an hour now.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” I gush as I turn the key, push the door open, and practically spill inside. I end up on the floor with Frank in my lap, his lean mutt body wiggling as he licks my face.

“Autumn,” Orla, my roommate, deadpans. I look up through the licking and see her standing with her hands on her hips. “Did you just rip your pants? Again?”

“Oh God.”

Laughing, I push Frank off me and stand to inspect the high-waisted black trousers that show off my surprisingly trim ankles and the polished heels I’m wearing.

“Yup.” A tear right along the meatiest part of my hip. “Any chance you feel like repairing them sometime tonight?”

I give her my biggest puppy dog eyes, bending to hug Frank and include his happy little face in the begging.

She rolls her eyes, but the smile that appears before she turns gives her away. “You’re lucky I’m good with a sewing machine,” she calls as she disappears into our little galley kitchen.

The apartment isn’t big by any means. It’s at basement level, with a walk-out garden in back. But I loved the character of it right from the start. Orla and I have lived here for two years. I’ll probably stay longer, if I can help it, because not many apartments in NYC allow dogs Frank’s size.

My mutt shadows me through the apartment as I head to my room, his tail thumping against the couch and rapping against the coffee table. “Careful, love.” I chuckle, giving his wiry head a rub.

As soon as I strip off my clothes and pull on a floral-patterned sweatshirt, Orla appears in the doorway with a bag of popcorn. She drops onto my bed and cuddles up to Frank, who sneaks a treat from her fingers.

“Alright,” she says, leaning back and crunching on her snack, “your first week is officially over. Tell me everything.”

Joining her on the bed, I sink against a pillow and feel the exhaustion of the past week settle over me. I’m bone-tired and could probably pass out right now if it weren’t for my stomach growling.

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