Page 15 of Dear Grumpy Boss

“What…do you mean?”

“As an incentive for you to stay.”

I almost choke on the coffee. It spills over my fingers. The mug shakes as I put it down on the table and grab a napkin to wipe them.

Why am I surprised that he hasn’t given up on changing my mind?

Zayn is ruthlessly single-minded. And while this…talking and spending time together makes the ache in my heart bearable, I have to remember that this is his campaign to make me stay.

Although, a part of me does wonder why he needs me to stay so badly.

Yes, I’m a damn good assistant. I know his moods and quirks, and a little something about his background. But I’m not indispensable. No one is, in the corporate world.

Is it just a point of pride for him to not lose me? Or is he attached to me because I’m a link to Adam and my grandparents? The thought makes my chest hurt.

“You’re serious,” I say. My boss doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

“You’ll never have to worry about them living in a house that requires constant repairs. If you prefer, I’ll buy something in a retirement community so they have company.”

God, the man is a master strategistandhe knows me well.

The thought of my grandparents escaping the relentless rain in some balmy Florida town tempts me to my very soul.

“They won’t accept it,” I say, before I’m tempted to think of ways to make them accept. I can be as diabolical as the man looking at me as if I’m a complex problem he intends to conquer.

His mouth flattens. “Because I’m not family?”

“That’s not true,” I rush to assure him. “You know that, Zayn. They wouldn’t accept it from Adam or me either.”

He nods absently, but I can see his gears turning at sonic speed in his eyes. The thought of him applying that super genius brain toward pleasing me…is stupidly flattering.

“What if I double your salary and get you a company car?”

“No,” I say, laughing. It’s fun to be on the receiving end of his requests than demands.

“What if I—”

“You can’t buy me, Zayn.”

His brows lock in a ferocious scowl. “I’m not trying to.” When I stand up, his fingers chain my wrist. “Give me a little credit here, Mouse.” His thumb pad taps against my pulse. “I know you.”

“Do you, actually?” The question bursts out of me before I can stop it.

Pulling away, I pick up his untouched cup and mine and take them to the sink.

He follows me. My spine tingles because I feel his gaze drift down to my ass.

Or is it wishful thinking? God, I’m going to lose my mind by the end of this day.

I rinse the cups and pile them into the dishwasher. Only then do I look up.

With his forearms on the white quartz island, he leans down, dwarfing the kitchen. In my chest, my heart sputters because it feels like he’s reaching for me.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes and I think, for one crazy second, maybe I’m not that far off in imagining something changing between us.

I fight my body’s instinctive need to bow toward him. “Why all these questions? What are you trying to do?” I clarify because I’m a chicken.

“I want you to stay.”

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