Page 45 of Romance with Mr. Bossy Pants

Chloe Summers: It’s unfortunate that your senses are so delicate. Maybe gradual exposure to the scent will help to build tolerance? Sometimes, appreciating the little things, like the fragrance of flowers, rather than bulldozing through life, could be beneficial. The world is abundant with diverse and charming personalities, just like a garden full of different flowers. And remember, manners are the finest accessory a gentleman can wear.

I scoff at the screen, not bothering to reply. The rest of the day blurs into a marathon of calls and emails, and I lose track of time until Chloe’s knock breaks the silence. She steps in, notebook and pen in hand.

“Come in,” I say, shoving the pile of papers to one side to make room. She sits, poised to jot down notes, tapping her pen steadily. “So, the soirée?”

“First thing’s first, it starts at 5:30 P.M. Next, I’ve had my eye on the perfect Chef for the event for some time, but he’s booked solid. Since I’m not one to throw in the towel, we’re making a trip to see him tomorrow. He works in South San Francisco. We should head out 5 A.M.”

“Should I see you at the office first?”

“No, I’ll pick you up from your place.”

“Umm.”

“I’ve got an early call with a client in London. Usually, on road trips, I drive until we hit breakfast, then swap drivers, so...”

“I don’t have a license. I can’t drive.”

I blink. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope, never got around to it. It’s pretty common for folks that live in the city.”

“Ever thought about learning?”

“Eventually…It’s on the list.”

I exhale loudly, frustrated. “Alright, not a big deal. I’ll handle the driving. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll meet you at the office.”

“It’d be simpler if I just picked you up.”

“I prefer it this way. I’m not comfortable with you picking me up from or dropping me off at my apartment.”

I run my hands over my face in exasperation. “This is such a simple thing that you really shouldn’t argue over.”

“But I choose to.”

“Whatever you say,” I concede, clearing my throat.

“Okay, what else should I know about the soirée?”

“We need to nail down the guest list. Make sure it’s tight—no gate crashers like last time. I’ll probably send you a list tonight.”

Chloe nods, scribbling furiously. “Got it. And security?”

“I want eyes like hawks that night. Let’s not give the press a field day. Keep them at arm’s length but still in the loop.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Sounds good.”

“As for your outfit. We’re aiming for elegant and professional, not eye-catching in a distracting way.”

Chloe’s expression sours. “Eye-catching? Could you clarify? And distracting for who?”

I cough slightly, “Forget it. Just stick to something similar to what you’re wearing today. It’s a soirée, but we’ll be working, not lounging on a beach getaway. And... it’s ‘whom,’ by the way.”

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