Page 18 of Romance with Mr. Bossy Pants

“Then why do you take it for a joke?”

Her mouth opens, and she flinches. “I don’t.”

“I expect you to take punctuality seriously.”

Her brows furrow, and the crease on her forehead deepens. I watch her adjust the weight on her legs, and my eyes dart to her outfit again. There has to be more offenses to count. There’s none.

The curve her hips afford the straight dress holds my attention. She’s gorgeously carved in all the right places. How can that be an offense?

How about the red scarf? My eyes are drawn to it. It brings forth the warmth in her green eyes, making it as soothing as the Christmas air. I can’t be mad at that either. I’m stuck with her just being late.

I maintain my stern glare.

“It won’t happen again. It wasn’t intentional.”

I raise my brow. “Just like the coffee spill wasn’t intentional.”

She winces.

“Not to mention the—” I look at the scarf and can’t complete my statement. “—that there are press releases you need to work with the editorial team on.”

She blows air from her mouth. “I see. But should I bring you some coffee first?”

“What are you waiting for?”

Her heel clicks and clacks against the floor as she hurries off. Does she really need to ask? If it’s not on my desk, isn’t it obvious that I want it?

She returns with a cup of coffee and places it on my desk.

“Your coffee.”

I eye her. “Where is the proposal?”

“Here is a printed copy, but I also emailed them to you late last night.”

She taps on her tablet and slides it to me. A smile tugs at the edge of my lips, but I instantly muffle it. It’s surprisingly brilliant.

Beauty and brains.

‘This is amaz—” I suck my breath and pick up my coffee.

A hot, scalding black sip is the right thing to set me back in place.

“Nice job,” I say, putting the cup back down.

She smiles. Smiles have a remarkable way of lighting up one’s face, and it’s literal in this moment. An instant glow spreads across her features, wiping away any concerns she had a few minutes ago for being late, making my heart flutter unexpectedly. I stiffen my jaw, trying to regain control.

What the heck was that, Daniel?

This is not like me at all. Keep it professional.

“It’s good,” I add.

She grabs her tablet and adjusts her weight again. Her shoes must be tight.

“Sit,” I tell her and rise from my seat.

Her eyes squint with doubt. With one hand in my pocket, I step out from behind the desk. “You should sit. Those heels look like they’re killing you.”

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