Page 3 of Dear Grumpy Boss

“Oh,” he says, and I see the flash of disappointment before he covers it up.

How could I forget that Zayn has attended nearly every annual family dinner at our house, including celebrating our grandparents’ wedding anniversary, for almost fifteen years? From that first year since Adam brought him home.

Because all I could think of in the last week was my decision. Even factoring in that I would have an empty house to wallow in, in my unemployed state and unrequited love.

“Don’t worry,” I say, instantly wanting to soothe the dark shadows in his eyes. “I told Adam we should—”

“The arrangements for tonight’s party?” he says, switching gears.

“Everything’s been double- and triple-checked,” I say, confidence and excitement filling my voice.

The annual company party is my baby through and through, and I love organizing it. Despite Mira trying to hone in on it in the past couple of years. “Music, food, gifts. There will be three childminders for the eight kids. I ordered pizza, a bunch of coloring books & crayons, and there will be cookie decorating with Miriam from accounting. I even got one of those balloon guys into the budget. You know the ones who make balloons in fun shapes—”

“Mira said you canceled the DJ she recommended?” He’s skimming through whatever is on his laptop.

“I…” Words lock in my throat. I fidget with the octopus shaped squishy I got him as a gag gift for his birthday last year. Not that he used it much.

He looks up, and just for a second, I feel his gaze snag on my breasts filling out the pink cardigan.

Not a chance he’s ogling my rack.My excitement fizzes like bubbles out of a soda can. He’s clearly looking at the yogurt stain near my left boob.

“Yes?” he says, raising that imperious eyebrow.

“He charges an exorbitant amount for two hours. Plus, he expected us to rent all the equipment he needs. The one I found, she’s an up-and-coming artist who’s open to requests and brings her equipment in.”

“Your choice has nothing to do with the fact that she’s your best friend from middle school? I’m running a business here, Sasha. Not a charity co-op.”

Anger rises through me as I hear Mira’s words reverberate in his. Ever since she started eighteen months ago as his second assistant, I had this sense of being pushed aside.

Zayn even looks at me less, if that’s possible.

Luckily for me, the anger contains the stupid tears. “Did you know that I actually had her come in and audition in front of Nathaniel?” I say, mentioning Zayn’s half brother, who knows his music.

Nathaniel is older, co-owns the Grayson empire,and is generally a lot more approachable. Really, the brothers complement each other perfectly. The only similarity they share, with different fathers and coloring, is that they are both entirely too good-looking and have the world arranged to cater to their every whim.

Every time they visit the premises together—which only happens a handful of times each year, thank God—the entire office goes into a hormonal, swoony frenzy.

Zayn leans back and considers me. “Why?”

“Why what?” I say belligerently. The act of writing that email and sending it off has filled me with a certain recklessness that seeps into my tone now.

Something flashes across those catlike eyes. “Why did you have her audition with Nathaniel?”

“I wanted the best DJ within our budget and Nathan’s opinion of her would be objective and weighty. Also, because you’ve trained me, and all your staff, to seek a second opinion when one’s not the subject expert.”

A sudden smile spreads those lips wider. The sheer sparkle of his smile strikes me deep in my chest as if it’s Cupid’s arrow. My heart thuds, as if it has been shocked by one of the defibrillator things I keep seeing in medical dramas. “Feeling grumpy today, are we?” he says, that smile carving a dimple in his left cheek.

“I take offense at your comment that I abused the little power I have in my position and also your belief in Mira’s spurious claim.”

That smile still lingers, but something else touches its edges. Something…hot. I want to both smack it off his lips and lick it for myself. But as urgent and all-consuming as the urge is, I refuse to hide myself away like I used to.

“Little power, Mouse?” he says. “I didn’t know you wanted more.”

Shock, both his and mine, fills the room. I loathe the pet name my brother coined for me when I was four and terrified of cats. That Zayn uses it warms me and provokes me to no end.

“We both know that ever since you hired Mira, without telling me where I have fallen short in my duties, she’s been trying to take over more and more of my work. But don’t worry,” I say, tears coating my throat. “I’m mature enough to make this easier on both of us.”

The handle to his door turns in my hand just as he says, “Why the hell are you sending me a resignation email?”

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