Page 18 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "What's up, Boss Lady?"

A slight flush colors her cheeks at the nickname, but she maintains her composure. "Close the door."

I raise an eyebrow but comply, deliberately taking my time. "Planning on firing me?"

"Don't tempt me," she mutters, shuffling some papers on her desk. "We need to discuss your recent... attitude toward my position with the band."

"My attitude?" I push off the door, taking slow steps toward her desk. The way she shifts in her chair tells me my approach affects her, even if she's trying to hide it. "What about my attitude?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Her eyes narrow. "The constant challenges, the eye-rolling during meetings, the way you deliberately do the opposite of what I suggest—"

"Maybe I just don't like being told what to do." I stop in front of her desk, hands in my pockets.

"Well, that's too bad," she snaps, standing up. "Because, like it or not, I'm in charge of managing this band now."

"Yeah, you keep reminding everyone of that."

Her eyes flash dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means maybe you're trying too hard to prove yourself." I lean forward, palms flat on her desk. "Always so proper, so professional. So... controlled."

"Someone has to be." She comes around the desk, those heels clicking against the floor. Bad move on her part. Because now there's nothing between us but tension. "The band needs structure, organization—"

"The band needs authenticity," I counter, straightening to my full height. "Not some corporate puppet show."

"Puppet show?" She jabs a finger at my chest. "I’m willing to work my ass off to help this band succeed—"

"Nobody's questioning your work ethic, Emily." I catch her wrist gently, and her words stop. The air crackles between us. "Just your motivation."

"My motivation?" She tries to pull her hand away, but I hold firm. "What exactly are you implying?"

"I think you're hiding behind all these rules and schedules because you're scared."

"Scared?" She scoffs, but I notice she's not trying to pull away anymore. "Of what?"

"Of losing control." I step closer, backing her against the desk. "Of admitting that maybe there's more going on here than just business."

"You're being ridiculous." Her voice wavers slightly. "This is strictly professional—"

"Is it?" I release her wrist but don't step back. "Then why does your breath catch every time I get close?"

"It does not—" she starts to protest, but I lean in closer, and sure enough, her breath hitches.

"See?" I murmur, close enough now that I can smell her perfume. "Just like that."

"Sam..." It comes out as a warning, but her eyes drop to my lips.

"Tell me to back off," I challenge softly. "Tell me you don't feel this."

"I..." She grips the edge of the desk behind her. "This isn't appropriate."

"Appropriate?" I laugh low in my throat. "Nothing about the way I feel is appropriate, Boss Lady."

Her eyes darken at the nickname. "We can't—"

“Can’t what?”

She tries to pull away, put some distance between us. "Back to why I called you here. Your… ah… resistance to my suggestions isn't helping anyone."

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