Page 94 of Dear Grumpy Boss

Her fingers curled around my lapels, and she gave them a tug while she sighed. “Weston. God, don’t say perfect things like that when I’m trying to keep hold of my feelings for you.”

I smoothed my hands from her wrists to her shoulders. “I’ll always tell you the truth and take care of you. As long as you know it, I don’t have to say it out loud anymore.”

Her gaze held mine. The shine in her eyes brought out the flecks of gold. Fucking dazzling.

“I do know.” She sniffled and dropped her hands. “What do we do now, pal?”

I chuckled, though it was bitter. The last thing I wanted to be was Elise’s pal. “I don’t know. If you were Luca or Elliot, I’d say let’s order takeout and—”

“Watch zombie flicks?” She bounced on her toes.

“Most likely a game.” I shook my head. “But I’ll watch anything you want.”

There might not have been White Russians, but inside my head, I was celebrating the fact that I was going to get my coveted zombie flicks with Elise.

We were on my couch, food in our laps, choosing a movie. Elise went forShaun of the Dead, which I’d never seen and probably never would have if not for the woman beside me.

I gave her the pickle that had come with my hamburger. Her wide beam had been thanks enough, but she leaned over and kissed my bicep too.

She’d run home to change out of her work clothes and into leggings and a T-shirt that hung off one shoulder, revealing the strap of her bra. The wide neckline kept slipping lower, and Elise didn’t seem to be concerned.

My burger went half-uneaten while I tracked the path of her shirt. Her bra was pink and, as I’d discovered, lacy. My fingers twitched to pull the neckline down another inch or two to reveal the creamy round tops of her breasts.

I wouldn’t.

Elise’s giggle brought my attention to the screen. A guy walked through his neighborhood, oblivious to the fires, dead bodies, and bloody handprints.

It should have been enough to turn me off, but my dick didn’t care about anything other than the woman sitting beside me. Her skin, her scent, her laugh, the memory of the feel of her, her taste.

Jesus.

I closed my eyes and pictured Elliot, thinking of the time my dad knocked me down the stairs. It had been a careless accident when I was a skinny ten-year-old, more bone than anything else. My dad had been drunk and blundering, pushing me aside without much force, but since I’d been at the top of the stairs, it hadn’t taken much for me to tumble.

An apoplectic Elliot had hidden me in his room for two days, bringing me bags of frozen peas and ice packs for my bruises while making detailed plans to kill my father. If I hadn’t approved, his alternate plot had been to hide me in his house forever. He’d had lists with bullet points. He’d meant it.

On day three, when my mother came for me, he stood in front of me until I relented and agreed to go home with her.

There was a lifetime of those kinds of stories between us.

That was what was on the line.

If I went for what I truly wanted, I would be risking the single most valuable relationship in my life. Even if Elliot approved of me dating his sister—a long shot—if things didn’t work out with Elise, nothing would be the same between Elliot and me.

With my track record and my single-mindedness, when it came to my company, failure was the most likely outcome.

And yet…

When I’d told Patrick Elise was mine, I hadn’t been lying. The words leaving my mouth had been the complete truth.

The fact that it was impossible hadn’t entered my thoughts.

“Are you even watching?” she asked.

I lifted my eyes from her bra. I’d been staring for a while, and now I’d been caught in the act.

“I’m watching you enjoying your movie.”

She smiled with a sigh. “I’m enjoying all of tonight. I didn’t know you were capable of relaxing, yet here you sit. Are you dying to check your email?”

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