Page 5 of Dear Grumpy Boss

Might cause too much emotion.

Frozen heart might jump-start.

Rough handling and jostling might break object of desire.

“You do know that declaring things in that grumpy voice doesn’t make it all just fall into place, right?” she demands.

As if she could read my mind, or my body language or both. Not a surprise after five years of working for me. As assistants go, she’s perfect—loyal, dependable and cool in a crisis. And she knows me inside out, knows my near-manic need for structure and order.

“Who turned your head? For how much?”

Her thick lashes blink. The movement, exaggerated by her glasses, makes her look like a large bug. A pretty bug, but one nonetheless. “What?”

“My competitor who stole you, who is it? And what’s he offering? Is there a big sign-on bonus?” Suddenly, her wide smile two months ago when some skinny app-writer came in to meet Nathan flashes in my head. “Or is there another reason you’re leaving me?”

“I’m not…No one’s…” Her mouth falls open, pulling my attention to the drops of sweat over the bow-like curve of her upper lip. “Are you asking me if I’m leaving the company because someone else offered me a higher-paying job?” Her chest rises as she says this. As if this is an outrageous concept.

For her, it is, I remind myself.

She is a Shetty through and through. They put stock in things like loyalty and family and love.

A flicker of tenderness streaks through me and I try to crush it like a pesky bug.Try and fail.

“Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

Her thick brows tie into a scowl. “I don’t have anything lined up,” she says in a small voice.

Anger sidles in and shoves tenderness to the side. Really, it’s a cocktail of feelings inside me now.

Then, there’s that deafening roar in my head, like I used to get when I was a child. When the reality of my parents became too much for me. Somehow, I blink and shove the roar aside. Although, it’s easier to do so with her large eyes staring at me with concern.

And this too, I notice, is not new. Just previously unacknowledged. All these realizations—I wasn’t made to feel this much emotion—make my words unflinchingly sharp. “You’re quitting a cushy job with great benefits without anything lined up. And there’s Adam thinking his little sister’s finally learned practicality. Clearly, you still exist in your own fantasyland, Mouse.”

She opens her mouth and closes it, breaths coming through those lips like rough pants. “Don’t bring Adam into this. And don’t…”

“What?” I ask, my entire fucking universe waiting for the answer.

“Nothing.”

“Sasha—”

“The HR handbook doesn’t require me to give you a reason for quitting.” The words are stiff and stilted. “Neither does it require your acceptance.”

Now she’s spewing my own handbook at me?

I tether my temper just in time. But still, the mocking words slip out. Apparently, there’s no filter on my mouth today. “So, it’s not a guy you’re leaving me for.”

Why my brain is choosing to hyper-focus on this now is beyond me.

I’ve been called a supercomputer but suddenly, my best friend’s little sister, my adolescent champion, my assistant of five years, my sturdy little anchor in a shifting world, is beyond my understanding.

“What? A guy?” She slides her glasses up on the bridge of her nose in that adorable way of hers. Then, something clicks in that her brain.

A rush of pink fills her golden cheeks and she swallows.

I watch, fascinated, my brain falling over itself to create a thousand new pathways to understand this woman. Apparently, I made a huge mistake in assuming I know her.

“No, I’m not leaving you over a guy,” she says, and I hear the truth. But it’s not the whole truth.

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