Page 5 of Bad & Bossy

We’d parted ways.

And now he was my boss.

What the fuck?

I quelled the shaking in my hands as I got closer by picturing Drew sleeping soundly in the backseat. If I thought about calm and peace then I could get through this. I could shake his hand, rush back to my group, finish the last twenty minutes of their tour, and head home. Surely it would be fine.

The woman ahead of me, someone I didn’t recognize but wore the uniform of the bar staff, stepped out of the way and, suddenly, I was face-to-face with him.

Cole fucking Pearson.

The Pearson of Pearson Beers. How did I not put two and two together? God I was an idiot.

He loomed over me, his dark blonde hair looking far too perfect for having supposedly just gotten off a plane. The suit he wore clung to his arms, not a wrinkle in sight. His eyes—those stupid, goddamn perfect, green-as-grass eyes that drew me to him in the first place—seemed to be looking straight into my soul. He was far more attractive than any man I’d managed to grab in my twenty-eight years on this earth.

He was going to be the fucking death of me.

I hoped he could see every ounce of discomfort I was feeling, that my awkward stance and forced smile would clue him in. I hoped he could replay that horrible scene when we had last seen each other, echoing in his head like a bad pop song on repeat. Maybe it haunted him as much as it did me.

Cole dared to smile, that same infuriating, charming smile that had once made me melt. But I had already made up my mind. I would never forgive him for the bullshit that had happened the morning after that hot night.

The man behind Cole, one I’d seen around the brewery a handful of times but knew definitely didn’t work here, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. I could relate.

But nothing could change what was happening. I was here, standing before the man who had hugely impacted my life beyond just a one-night stand.

I had imagined this moment hundreds of times in hundreds of different scenarios. Running into him at a restaurant on Pearl Street. Seeing him at a party at Lottie and Hunter's. Even bumping into him in the mountains. What they all had in common was that my son, Drew, was never present and I counted my lucky stars he wasn't here now either.

Without me even offering my hand, Cole grabbed it in his.

His touch was warm and firm, a stark contrast to my own hand, which instantly turned into a floppy fish.

A shiver ran up my spine as his fingers wrapped around mine, his grip both familiar and unsettling. "Nice to see you," he said, his eyes drilling into mine with an intensity that made my heart do somersaults. His hand felt strong and reassuring, yet it ignited a flutter of nerves that I couldn’t quite control, making me painfully aware of the goddamn chemistry sparking between us.

"Mmm-hmm." I faked a smile so wide it probably came off as psychotic as I pulled my hand away.

Cole's expression wavered, a mix of nervous excitement and uncertainty crossing his face as he realized I wasn't falling at his feet.

But there was something else lurking behind Cole's stare — something that made my pulse quicken. An unmistakable familiarity, a reluctance to pretend he hadn’t seen me naked, and worst of all: a desire to actually talk to me.

His mouth opened as if to say more, but I turned away from him as quickly as I could without raising any red flags to the rest of the staff and scurried toward the back of the brewhouse. There were at least four people behind me still in line, not a single chance of him getting through them all before I was gone.

Or so I thought.

Footsteps echoed behind me, clacking against the sticky floor. I glanced over my shoulder as I grabbed the door handle, those wild green eyes meeting mine once again. He stopped in his tracks the moment I got through the door.

————

About half of my tour group had gone home instead of waiting around. I couldn’t blame them. I did, however, hate the idea that those people might leave me a bad review and Cole would be the one dealing with it.

The campus was massive. It stretched an entire block of downtown Boulder, with a bar at one end and a restaurant at the other. In between was the brewhouse, with its high ceilings taking up two floors of the center of the building. The second and third floors consisted of mostly offices and storage for the bar and restaurant.

From the top level of the brewhouse on the overhead walkway, I could see Cole and the man that had been standing behind him during the meet and greet on the lower level. Cole’s hands were flying as he spoke, but with the sounds of the machinery, I couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Is the brickwork original?”

“Huh?” I turned, my hand gripped on the metal railing. One of the men at the front of the group, an older guy who smelled horribly of cigarettes, held his hand up to claim the question. “Oh. Right. Yes, it is. The building was built back in the early 1900s. It was meant to be a brewery back then, too, but prohibition hit in 1916 and it was forced to close.”

“What’s this?”

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