Page 20 of Dear Grumpy Boss

“Yes. I knew it would be awkward, and he was only asking out of obligation, so I tried to pass to save us both. But, of course, he’s stubborn and egotistical, just like Elliot, so he had to have his way.”

“Or maybe he wanted to have lunch with you.”

I picked up my wineglass, swirling the amber liquid around. “I doubt it. Anyway, it was strange and uncomfortable. I’m almost certain he felt the same way too. Hopefully that will be the last time we put ourselves through that.”

She put down her loaded tortilla. “How did he look?”

I rolled my eyes.

Saoirse cackled. “Thatgood, huh?”

Admitting defeat, I nodded. “He’s more beautiful than he ever was. It’s sick.”

Weston had the immaculately dressed, artfully scruffy tousled-hair thing down to a science. He walked the line of high-powered CEO and sexy outdoorsman. He had always been handsome. Strikingly so. But as he’d gotten older, his attractiveness had been honed to something hard to look at straight on.

Saoirse sputtered. “Sick? You’re crazy, Lise. If he insists on being in your face, enjoy the view.”

“I told you, he’s not going to be around. He did his good deed, which I can admit was very nice of him, but I’m sure I won’t see much of him anymore.”

Saoirse and I made the most of the weekend. We’d gone to a farmers’ market, loitered at a coffee shop for a few hours, then hit a pub with a few of our college friends Saturday night. Sunday, we did an easy hike and lazed about. It was perfection.

Monday started filled with optimism—until I got to the elevator bank and a familiar face was waiting there.

Not Weston.

Worse.

Miles.

The elevator came. I didn’t move. He stepped on, and when he turned and faced the doors, his eyes lit on me. With recognition? It was hard to tell. I hadn’t moved, and since there was no one else around, it was even more obvious I was resisting boarding the elevator with him.

He grinned and beckoned me with his hand. “Come on. I don’t bite.”

Oh jeez.

Trapped, I got on.

The seven was already lit up.

Oh no.

“What floor?” he asked.

“Um. Seven.”

He swiveled around, taking me in. His fingers snapped. “Are you kidding me? Ellie Levy?”

I forced a smile. “Hi, Miles.”

I barely got his name out before he was hugging me tight. My arms stayed limp at my sides, but he kept on hugging. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was sniffing my hair too. His nose was definitely firmly buried somewhere behind my ear.

Finally, he pulled back, cupping my upper arms.

“What in the world are you doing on this elevator with me, Ellie Levy?”

Miles was a less refined version of Weston. Still as handsome as the devil, but where Weston was chiseled, Miles was more roughly hewn. If he’d been born in the eighteen-hundreds, he could have easily slid into the role of a cowboy, bandanna, fancy hat and all. These days, he reminded me of an overgrown frat boy, which he probably was.

My eyes darted to the climbing numbers. “It’s Elise or Lise, please. And I work here now. On seven.”

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