Page 14 of Romance with Mr. Bossy Pants

“I’ll have it in your inbox first thing.”

“Good. We’ll see how reliable and dedicated you are.”

She tries to mask her frown, but I catch a glimpse of it. A pang of guilt tightens in my chest. She has been nothing but helpful so far. Still, it’s better not to make her too comfortable too soon. It’s only her first day. A lot can still go wrong.

“Goodnight, Mr. Andrews.”

“Goodnight.”

“You’re leaving already Chloe?” A voice calls from behind.

We both turn to find Michelle walking into the living room, a tablet in her hand.

“You’re not staying for pancakes?” Michelle asks.

“I wish I could,” Chloe says. “But I should be on my way. It’s pretty late and I have a big day at work tomorrow. Plus, I’ve got this very worried friend at home.”

Chloe’s phone rings. She glances at it and smiles. “See, she’s calling already. How about some other time?”

She shrugs. “Sure.”

She waves goodbye as she steps inside her Uber. I hold the binder up in my hand and shout, “Remember, tomorrow morning!”

I shut the door behind her and let out a deep breath. I might have been too harsh to call for a replacement earlier in front of Chloe. If she keeps up this level of productivity, aside from her clumsiness, of course, we’ll get along just fine.

“She’s cool,” Michelle says.

I roll my eyes. Michelle has a radar for coolness that apparently skips right over me.

“You think she’s cool?” I ask.

“I know she is. She doesn’t treat me like a toddler. I like her. Don’t you?”

“I don’t get to like her, sweetie. Work should stay at the office.”

Ha! Says the guy who asks his Assistant to deliver work to his home the first day on the job. In my defense, she caused it. Yet, she fixed it better than I could have imagined.

“You gotta think she’s cool, Dad.”

“You don’t give up, do you? Wonder where you get that from,” I laugh, tousling her hair. “Well, if I’m being honest, she’s good at her job, that’s for sure.”

5

Chloe

“Chloe, Chloe.”

Amber’s voice filters into my dreams, rousing me from sleep. Disoriented, I blink away blurry shapes that form as I try to open my eyes and fumble for my phone. The harsh light of the screen momentarily blinds me further.

“Ugh, it’s not even sunrise yet,” I mumble, eyeing the drawn shutters.

Amber’s rousing comes again, more insistent this time. “Chloe, wake up! You’re gonna be late.”

Everything rushes through my head in a flash. My job, Daniel, the proposal!

I jump out of bed, my eyes darting to the clock on the nightstand. It’s 7:34 AM. My alarm clock is clearly in cahoots with my bed.

My throat feels like sandpaper, my head throbs with a dull ache, and every muscle in my body protests the sudden movement. How can I sleep for so long and still feel so worn out?

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