Page 2 of Dear Grumpy Boss

A sudden hush falls over the office and I realize it’s been like that for a few minutes now. My spine goes rigid as I realize the universe has answered my question.

Not only can it get worse, it just has.

Standing right in front of me, watching me suck my finger like my life depends on it, is none other than my grumpy billionaire boss, Zayn Grayson.

I wait for that twitch of his mouth that says “Oh Mouse! You’ve made another mess,” without actually saying it.

Instead, he simply strides past me, leaving me staring after him.

Still sucking my fingertip.

The freeze-stateI’m thrown into at his sudden arrival lasts a whole minute.

“Sasha!” Zayn calls out, the door to his office half open.

I flinch, nearly choke on the donut. After a couple of croaking attempts, I manage to keep it down. At the sink, I fill my glass and take a quick sip as he bellows again.

“In my office. Now!”

It rings around the open layout, creeping into every nook and corner. This is as much a ritual as the call I make to him every evening at six, no matter what time zone he’s in.

But now, the way he summons me grates on me.

In the background, the radio station is belting out classic love songs, continuing its theme for Valentine’s Day, oblivious to my misery.

Heads turn toward me as if I’m a car-crash they can’t look away from. There are even a couple of gleeful smiles. “What’d you do, Ugly Shetty?” someone whispers.

I’m shy, not stupid.

Through the years, I’ve sensed a certain… envy toward me in the office. My alleged relationship with Zayn being the source. Thanks to my brother Adam dropping in whenever he likes to shoot shit with Zayn and then doing something silly like ruffling my hair or teasing me in front of Zayn, the staff thinks I have a certain leeway with him.

If anything, I have only ever worked harder than anyone else to prove, to myself and to him, that I deserve this job. Though fair-minded, Zayn is notorious for his exacting standards and grouchy demeanor.

Knees quaking, I wipe my mouth, check my teeth in the chrome face of the coffeemaker, and start the trek to his office.

“Close the door,” he barks as I drag myself in.

And yet, there’s that current pulsing through me, coalescing in the place I shouldn’t think about at work. It’s the deep timbre of his voice and the strange, feverish vibrations it always sends through me.

I can’t bear to look at him. Not when his room, with three walls made of glass from floor to ceiling, is drenched in sunlight and everything in my eyes could be seen.

Presenting my back to him, I close the door and count down from ten, forcing myself to breathe in between each number.

“If you’re done hyperventilating, maybe turn around and face me?”

He’s really bringing the grump and the snark this evening. Usually, I at least get a chin nod.

I turn around and am instantly pinned to the spot by his catlike eyes. He glowers at me from under devilish eyebrows. His short hair is and ruffled, the kind of thickness that really makes you want to sink your fingers in.

Really, how is it fair that he gets the best of everything from his Arab mother and Italian American father?

The thought brings instant shame to coil in my chest. For all that he has inherited beautiful genes from his parents, it’s not like he had a happy childhood with them.

“Hello, Zayn,” I finally say, straightening my shoulders to match my stiff tone. “Mira said you weren’t returning until the end of the month.” Mira’s his second assistant, responsible for scheduling his trips and overseas meetings.

“And miss your grandparents’ anniversary dinner tomorrow?” he says, raising a brow.

Worry coils through me and I rub my hands over my thighs. For as long as I remember, we celebrated my grandparents’wedding anniversary dinner grandly. After our parents passed away, Adam and I continued the tradition. And Zayn was always a part of any family celebration. “Didn’t Adam tell you that they’re traveling? Grandpa found a cheap fare like two days ago, and they finally decided to go on that cruise.”

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