Page 14 of Dear Grumpy Boss

She’s…more. She’s everything. And she’s mine.

I can’t wait to pluck each petal, until she’s unraveled around me.

And it has to be tonight, while this new awareness between us is raw and real.

Six

Sasha

I knowthe roses that Zayn is talking about. Though it’s not his brother Nathan’s nanny, but his stepdaughter Sophie’s companion/friend Jasmine who grows them in their greenhouse.

Next to the delicate, ethereal beauty of a pink rose, those roses look positively…voluptuous and their fragrance heady. That Zayn thinks I’m like those roses…my heart leaps at the very idea and my body fizzes like a champagne bottle about to be cracked open.

Does he truly think I’m beautiful? Even desirable?

“I’ll make some coffee. Feels like it will be a long day,” I mumble and walk away.

My palms tingle and so do my lips. Kissing his cheek like that…stupid thing to do. Only I want to do it again and go for those sensuous lips this time.

Suddenly, the prospect of me—bookish, awkward me— kissing my boss seems more real and possible than ever before. Like fantasy and reality are converging.

Things are changing between Zayn and me. Like the day itself. Sunny and breezy this morning and now it’s raging thunderstorms.

If I don’t give myself something to do, there’s no telling what I might say next. I measure the coffee beans and pour them into the grinder automatically.

Something happened in the bathroom. I mean, yes, Zayn saw my boobs and probably got distracted.

While I sometimes wish they were smaller—bras would be so much cheaper for one thing—they are a great set of boobs. I don’t blame him for getting discombobulated at the sight.

But just now, in the living room, what magic did he weave to get me talking like that? Why is he suddenly interested in me when he’s ignored me for years? And to share what some of the staff call me…what has driven me?

I’m not the slightest bit embarrassed that he knows it now. But what I didn’t anticipate was how good it would feel to trust him with it. The burr of the coffee grinder can’t even match my heartbeat rushing in my ears.

He listened. Like he used to, after the summer my parents passed away. He spent hours listening to my fears and worries and dreams. Before he went away to college, and we drifted apart.

This is the Zayn that I remember. The Zayn I don’t see much of anymore, especially in the last two years.

I scoop the ground powder into the French press and grab the kettle. There’s an ache in my throat.

It’s so unfair that he’s showing me this side of him when it’s time for me to go.

But then, when has life ever been fair?

I usually dust myself off, eat a donut and move on. That’s what I’ll do now too.

I’ll take this fun, caring Zayn I’ve suddenly got through this evening as a goodbye gift.

—

We sip our coffees,black for him and a splash of vanilla syrup and cream for me. Outside the French windows, the storm seems to be getting worse. And inside…it’s no less tense.

I need to bring this conversation back to something remotely professional. “Did you have something specific to discuss?” I make a point of checking my cellphone. “I have to go over to the hotel to check on the arrangements.”

He frowns.

“Earlier, when you came looking for me,” I say, even as my cheeks warm at the mere mention of it.

He considers me over the cup, his gaze thoughtful. “What about if I buy a retirement house for your grandparents in Florida? No, even better, Hawaii.”

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