Page 66 of Dear Grumpy Boss

“Then why are you in mine?”

“Elise,” he sighed. “Don’t be difficult.”

“Weston, don’t be confusing. You drew a line with me, which I agreed with. If you want to be my friend outside of work, fine. Let’s do that. But you can’t be a total dick to me when you’re being the boss. If we’re not going to be friends, then you really shouldn’t be in my hotel room.”

His face had drawn into a displeased furrow. “I’m not sure what you want from me. Is there anything I can say that will be right?”

I crushed the pillow to my chest, tired and hurt and so completely done with this conversation. “Have you had sex with Marisol?”

He barely flinched, but it was enough.

“You can go.” I turned away from him, staring at the far wall. This was the exact kind of drama I had no space for. And the wild thing was, I was half the cause of it. Me, the girl who had snuck out of Chicago in the middle of the night to avoid confrontation.

Weston Aldrich seemed to keep bringing out the worst in me.

It was maddening.

But when he got up and quietly left my room, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking him to come back.

Chapter Sixteen

Weston

Itwaslate.

Midnight.

Sleep eluded me.

I stood at the door separating my room from Elise’s. Had she noticed we had adjoining rooms? More than once, I’d pressed my ear to the door to check if I could hear her moving inside.

Silence.

I rested my head against the door.

I’d screwed up today and hadn’t even realized it while I’d been doing it. When I sank into work mode, personal relationships didn’t really exist. Marisol riding with me to the second site had been natural. We’d been doing it that way for several years now. A habit.

That was no excuse.

Dev and Jeff were harmless, but they were also gradeAassholes who talked shit about their wives and had no sense of humor. I’d bet anything the hour drive with them had been epically painful.

She deserved an apology.

Before telling myself the hundreds of reasons I shouldn’t, I raised my hand and rapped on the door. Something banged in her room. Rustling followed, then her voice.

“What? Is someone there?”

“Elise, open the door. It’s me.”

The lock clicked on her side. She swung the door open a few inches, peering at me with sleepy eyes.

“What do you want?” she rasped.

I pushed the door open farther, enough to fit through. She staggered back until I caught her shoulder, pulling her toward me.

The lamp beside her bed was the only source of light in the room. Her sheets were wrinkled. Her cheeks were creased from her pillow. Warmth emanated from her soft, plush skin.

Blood rushed to my cock. I’d seen Elise many ways, but never sleep mussed, in little silky pajamas. One strap had slid off her shoulder, but I did nothing to right it. I had no desire to.

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