Page 1 of My Bossy Valentine

1

Willow

My stomach rumbles in a way of protesting for not taking a bite of my salad only two feet away on my desk. My phone has my complete attention. As one thumb scrolls through pictures of impossibly attractive men, I bite the nail on my other thumb, my nerves tingling.

No matter how much I look through this app, no men pop out while fitting the description of who I’m looking for.

I shouldn’t have told my mother I was in a happy relationship with the man of my dreams. Even if it made her so happy to hear that there are no plans of dying alone, I shouldn’t have done it. Now my lies have finally caught up with me.

She wants me to bring this mysterious boyfriend back home to meet them. It’s been months, after all, and they haven’t seen a single picture. That, and they’re using Valentine’s Day to renew their vows. They want everyone there.

Why did I have to base my lie around Chris Fletcher? Not only a billionaire, but the CEO of the company I work at. Not just my boss, but the man I must chase after every time he leaves his office. Glued to his heel, I’m the one paid to help him run this place. His personal assistant.

He’s sexy and has the perfect appearance. Anyone would’ve wanted to use him as their design of a perfect boyfriend. I prefer picturing him as a husband. So, why did I think it was a good idea to go through with using him for my lie?

None of these men possess the piercing gaze I crave, nor the soft, wavy black hair that I long to touch. These guys are more my age, anyway. Where are the older ones with traces of silver decorating their temples? The ones who look like they’ve got some experience under their belt.

I told my mother he was a little older than me, but not that he was almost twice my age. Maybe I can get away with finding someone in their early thirties. That’s believable, right?

I groan in frustration; the sound bouncing off the stark white walls, amplifying my misery.

Mr. Fletcher is running behind from his lunch, so I have the room all to myself. For now, I can bitch and moan without disturbing him. Once he returns, I will have to soak up all my stress like a sponge.

Will I survive the rest of my shift? What if he asks me to stay late again?

I may risk melting down on him if I can’t find a single guy on here who will fly across the country with a stranger, pretend to be smitten with me, and trick my parents into thinking that I’m utterly happy and one step closer to marriage.

God, even I can see how crazy I am for asking such a thing.

I’m going to have to pay them. Money can convince someone to do something this insane. I’ve got some saved up, I could doit. Maybe if I put something on my profile, I can start getting messages.

Too busy scrolling, I don’t hear the door open or the soft sound of footsteps approaching. It’s not until I’m clicking on some smiling blond dude with a dog that I hear someone clear their throat. The hairs on the back of my neck instantly stand.

“If I may ask, Miss Turner, what are you doing?” A rich, velvety voice, the one that lingers in my dreams every night, gently asks in a slow, alluring tone.

Almost dropping my phone, I grip it tightly as my heart picks up in speed. Pounding heavily against my ribs, a small voice in the back of my head promises me that Chris Fletcher’s voice is just a figment of my imagination.

As I tilt my chin upward, I feel my breath catch upon noticing my boss hovering behind my chair. Although he isn’t usually nosy, his intense gaze at my phone is noticeable. He’s undeniably real, carrying with him a weight that pushes down my shoulders beneath its gravity.

“Um,” trying to find my tongue, I look back down and try to swipe the tab away. In the two seconds he’s inside my personal bubble, my hands have become clammy enough for my finger to fail, missing the tab completely. One little slip and now I have an ad offering to show me all the singles in my area.

The guy is shirtless, with a little too much showing down below. The warm smile I’m getting from this guy is much in contrast to the one I’m getting from my boss.

He clenches his jaw tightly, muscles tensing under the strain, while his narrowed eyes send sharp glances in my direction, filled with thoughts I can’t even begin to decipher. His brows are furrowed, lines etched deep into his forehead, hinting at the brewing storm of anger within. The air around him feels charged, heavy with the unspoken tension of the moment.

He’s going to yell at me. After an entire year of surviving under this tyrant, he’s going to finally lay into me and make me quit like the four other assistants who ran out of his office in tears with their letters of resignation.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m just on my lunch and–” I swallow thickly when I notice he’s still staring at the ad. Those steel gray eyes don’t blink, not once. “I’m not trying to hook up on the clock, I swear.”

There’s no need to tell him what’s going on in my life, yet a flick of those intense eyes in my direction, and I can’t keep my thoughts inside my head. They all spill out in a rush.

“I need a date, sir.” My tongue swells when he cocks a brow. “My mother, as lovely as she is, insists I bring my boyfriend. Well, the one she thinks I have. I thought this might be a good place to look for one.”

Saying the words out loud makes them sound so silly. He’s going to think I’m suddenly incompetent. Maybe I am.

He finally blinks before his shoulders relax. “And you don’t have a male friend to help you? Do you really feel the need to rely on an app like this?”

He’s never shown so much interest in my life before. Rather, I’m surprised he hasn’t already decided that this conversation and my problems are too much of a headache for him. By now, he should’ve pinched the bridge of his nose and made his way over to his desk. Instead, he waits patiently for my answer.

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