Page 15 of Rich and Bossy

“This isnota good idea, Hazel. It’s not the way to get what you want.”

“I said beat it.”

Suddenly, he’s right behind me. He leans over, right next to my ear.

“This isn’t a game.”

“I’m aware. Games are fun, and this sucks.”

“I’m serious. Give this up, now.”

I turn around. “Or else what?”

Now, his face is hard. His eyes narrow on mine. “Even if I wanted to be sympathetic to your cause, which I am, I have an obligation to my shareholders. I’m legally bound to do what’s best for them, or I get replaced, at my own company. This is going to get really messy, really fast if you don’t knock it off.” He sighs. “Give me a little more time, and I’ll try to see what I can do, but you can’t throw a tantrum three days after speaking to me. Even I can’t make things move that fast. There’s a lot of red tape and other considerations that you aren’t privy to, that affect these things.”

I don’t know what’s worse: what he’s saying, or how good he smells. Never in my life have I been so overcome with the urge to lean in and sniff somebody’s neck, but here I am.

I take a step back, putting a little bit of space between us. “I don’t care what’s best or convenient for you. This has been slowly happening over years.”

“This isn’t the way to get what you want.”

“What else would you suggest? Talking straight to the CEO? Tried that. Got stalked and laughed at.”

His jaw tightens, muscles jumping, and I don’t know whether he’s trying to come up with a joke or what the hell he’s doing.

He stands there for a long few seconds, staring right at me. “Come have a drink with me.”

Wait what?

That was unexpected.

Of all the possibilities, I didn’t see that coming.

“Did you just hit on me?” I glance around like surely this didn’t just happen. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He stiffens up a little. “I’m trying to be diplomatic, and this is not the place to discuss this.”

“Absolutely not.” I haven’t always made the smartest choices, but this one’s not even worth considering. “I wouldn’t have a drink with you, even if you weren’t my boss.”

“This could be settled easier if you could be a little flexible.”

I swear it can’t be true, but I’m pretty sure there was a little devious spark in his eye when he told me to be “flexible.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“Fine. I tried.”

All of a sudden, I remember how devastating he was on the football field—at least, that’s what Dad always says, having watched every single one of Paxton’s games during his college days.

In one, lightning-fast motion, he sweeps the copies out of the tray before I know what’s happening, and he’s marching them to the counter.

“How much for these?”

I finally come out of shock, and take off directly behind him, almost too stunned to speak. I try to yank my copies out of his hand. “What are you doing?”

He looks down at my feeble attempt and laughs. “Good luck, I haven’t fumbled since ninety-two.”

I raise my voice and still try to get them once more. “What are you doing?”

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