Page 16 of Dear Grumpy Boss

I sigh. “And I said I’m—”

“Actively unhappy,I remember.” In the blink of an eye, he’s walking around the island, cornering me. Some emotion I’ve never seen before glimmers in his amber gaze. “I’m trying to fixthat. I’m trying to make you happy.”

“Oh.”

That gaze drifts to my mouth and stays there. There’s still at least a foot distance between us but he’s leashed me with his scent and his warmth and his look.

I lick my lips and bite into the lower one. “Why?”

“Because I want you to be happy, Mouse. Here, with me.”

Happy with me…The words knock me sideways, because that’s what I want the most in the world. And I want his happiness to be with me too.

“That simple?” I say, past the elephant-sized lump in my throat.

“It should be that simple, yes,” he says, flashing that rare, heart-thumping grin of his. I’m nearly blinded by the sheer voltage of it. “But right now,” he rubs his jaw, his gaze turning thoughtful again, “you’re the most complicated puzzle I’ve ever met.”

Igrin, a fierce thrill flooding my body. Everything inside me feels tight and loose. This is how the heroines from the romance novels I read feel. Empowered and sexy and happy to be weak at the knees. “That’s an interesting turn of events.”

A dangerous gleam enters his eyes, and he takes another step toward me. His henley stretches across his taut muscles. “You’re enjoying this.”

Another step and his chest will brush mine.

I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I feel like I’m on a free-fall ride. But I’m sick of standing on the sidelines, of living vicariously through romance novels.

This is the man I’ve wanted for so many years, and I take pride in doing whatever I do well. If I have this chance at showing Zayn that I’m not his mousy assistant, then I’ll own it.

I shoot my hand out to stop him and it lands on his abdomen. I mean, the man climbs mountains for adventure, yes, but this slab of rock-hard abdomen is something else. He’s so hard that the urge to press myself against him and see how it pushes and presses my softness rides me hard. My fingers spread, as if to cover more ground.

I’ve touched him before. A hug at Christmas—which he doles out like scrooge with his coins. Then there was the time we danced two years ago at my grandparents’ wedding anniversary.And when Adam sustained a head injury in a car accident sixteen months ago and Zayn stayed with me at the hospital for four nights.

Of course, he had me running chores for him during the day. Well aware that sitting still would drive me bonkers. When I broke down on the fifth day—for fear of losing my brother too, he pulled me into his lap and stroked my back.

All those touches left a mark on me, making me pine him for worse than before. They hollowed me out because while I had his attention, and him, it was for the wrong reasons.

But this is different. This is me touching him because I want to. Need to. And he’s allowing it. No, by the way he looks at me, he’s encouraging this.

“After five years of your gruff moods and your rude demands,” I say, pushing my fingertips into his abdomen. His muscles clench and the pulse between my thighs becomes relentless. “Yes, I’m enjoying your slightest discomfort.”

“Yeah?”

“And your requests, not orders.” Color floods my cheeks. “It’s nice to receive something else from you for a change.”

“Oh, I have many things to give you, Mouse. If only you knew to ask for them.” A sigh lifts his chest. “But first things first. Is any of this working? Toward making you happy?”

I shudder and sigh and fight the smile that wants to climb to my lips. “Thank you for—”

“You aren’t answering my question. Is it working?” Frustration rings through each word.

I shrug.

There’s something near manic in his eyes. And I know that look. It’s the one he gets when he’s hyper-focused on some problem. Usually, resulting in launching some app or tech platform that takes the world by a storm and makes him millions.

He’s never once failed after getting that look. And if he figures out why I’m quitting…it’s humiliation central.

What if he returns your feelings, Nutty Shetty? What if all this today is because he…

“I’m not playing a game, you know,” I say hurriedly. “I would never do that.”

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