Page 1 of My Bossy Valentine

Chapter One

Avery

It's silly, the waymy heart picks up speed when a truck door slams outside my office. The thin walls of the Peak Construction work trailer do little to mute the saws and drills of the men working on the custom cabin nearby, or the heavy thud of my boss's boots on the metal stair treads. I know the sound of his gait by heart, and the harder stomps tell me he's not in a good mood this morning. Not that he ever is.

Spencer Sullivan is grumpy, demanding, and doesn't seem to appreciate my efforts to increase efficiency. Honestly, it's like he actually enjoys digging through two feet of paperwork for a copy of an inspection report. I've only been his secretary for a few months, but in that short time, I've come to know this man's quirks better than my own.

My hands shake as I hurry out from behind my desk and smooth out my new pencil skirt. It says “professional secretary”, right? I paired it with a vintage cream blouse and my favorite retro pumps, which gave me an extra jolt of confidence this morning. Judging from the storm cloud stomping my way, I might need it. Because despite the surly attitude and his constant frowns, IwantMr. Sullivan to notice me. I can’t help but be aware of him.

Bright morning light floods the trailer when the door flies open. I blink against the glare until my boss fills the doorway, casting a long shadow. He's nothing like the man my grandmother described when she hired me to fill in temporarily while she was on a world cruise. I expected a middle-aged man with a soft middle, thinning hair, and a kind smile. Not a gorgeous grump on the edge of forty with broad shoulders and muscles for days.

Beneath his open coat, a gray, long sleeve Henley molds to his chest, the top two buttons open to reveal the shadow of his neck. That small patch of skin should not be so sexy. Nor should the stubble on his jaw or the messy chocolate brown hair that looks like he's run his fingers through it a few times today. It's just long enough that a woman could thread her fingers through those locks, grab hold, and pull him down for a hard, hungry kiss.

Would he be a good kisser? Would he pin a woman against the wall, hold her in place, and kiss her until his name is the only name she remembers? My belly flutters and I barely stifle the moan creeping up my throat. Needing a distraction, I grab the coffee I bought for him at Perfect Brew this morning. This man may star in my fantasies, but he's not the easiest boss in the world. Grandma Dottie either straight up lied about him with a sweet let's-bake-cookies smile on her face, or Mr. Spencer really was kind to her. Maybe it's me that he doesn't like. It's a question I've asked myself nearly every day since I started working here.In the beginning, I was so grateful for the job and the change of scenery, I would have worked for Bigfoot if it meant having a place to live and money coming in. Now, I just want the man to smile. At me, preferably. I've crushed on him since day one. Tragic, right?

Spencer slams the door to block out the chilly mountain air and yanks off his jacket, hanging it on the rickety coat rack.

I put on my brightest smile and hold out the hot coffee. “Good morning, Mr. Sullivan!”

Spencer takes the coffee from me and marches into the office at the back of the trailer.

My heart sinks. But what did I expect? The man ignores me on the best of days. If he ever issued a compliment, lightning might strike him down.

Grabbing the reports off my desk, I hurry after him. “Bad morning? I brought you a special muffin. Not the raspberry one because I know you didn't care for it last time. You like blueberry though, so I bought a blueberry lemon muffin that looks delicious. I could heat it up in like thirty seconds.”

He sighs heavily. “No. I don't want anything. Lane called with another change to this project.”

“An Olympic-sized swimming pool or a gold throne to oversee his guests?” I’m rewarded with a hint of humor in his eyes. No laugh, not even a twitch of his lips. I’m not sure what’s the bigger obsession here: wanting to kiss this man or make him laugh. Is it too much to want both?

“Italian tile in the bathrooms.” He mutters the reply like a curse. Although, I suppose it is since he ordered the original tile two months ago.

I put the reports on his desk. “Here are the Nielson specs you asked for, as well as the bid on that factory land, and a reminder to call Mr. Manning back about the cabins.”

Spencer grunts and drops into his chair. I'd swear his face darkens when he sees the stack of work. Files he demanded I have ready this morning.

“Is your coffee okay? Can I get you anything else?”

“It’s fine.” His tone is clipped as he pushes the reports aside and rifles through a stack of folders on his desk. “I'll deal with all this later. Where's the Nielson specs I asked for? I told you to have it ready for me when I walked in.”

I press my lips together and take a slow breath. Why do I like this man so much? Does he really prefer the way my grandmother runs things, with piles of filing everywhere and two dozen reminders all over his desk to call clients? I pick up the report he set aside and hand it to him. “Here, sir.”

Spencer takes it from me. He glances at the stack I picked it up from and frowns. “Cancel my calls for the next hour. I need peace and quiet to go over this without being bothered by fussy clients, suppliers, and...”

Annoying secretaries who talk too much.

He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to.

“I’ll email you if I need anything else.”

Right. Because actually talking to me like a normal boss to tell me what he needs is too much for the man. Whatever. He’ll have my grandmother back as his secretary in two weeks. No more coffee and muffins and organized files. He can bury himself beneath a mound of paperwork and forget he ever had this frustrating interlude that disrupted his grumpy life.

I leave his office and close the door behind me a little more forcefully than I intended. This work trailer only has the inner and outer offices, a bathroom, and a kitchenette, but when the door between the offices is closed, it’s like the air goes out of one side, making it hard to breathe. Like the only way my lungs work properly is when there isn’t a wall and door between us.

Grandma Dottie's cruise ends in just over a week. She'll be back in Hope Peak, refreshed and ready to come back to work for Peak Construction. Mr. Sullivan will no doubt be thrilled to have her back. No more annoying temp secretary with her blue streaked hair, organized files, and silly chatter.

It's fine. I'm fine. No heartache here. I don't have time for a gorgeous, brooding man. I’ll take the new job and focus on the one thing that brings me happiness—writing romance. Maybe one day, I can even turn my writing into a full-time career, so I won’t have to disappoint any more surly bosses.

Back at my desk, I print out the resignation letter addressed to Mr. Sullivan, then send an email to accept the position I was offered last week at the Snowy Summit Retreat. The accounting work won't be exciting, but I need the money.

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