Page 79 of Married to My Grumpy Minotaur Boss

The thought of interviews just makes me think of Justine all over again. I imagine her luscious curves in my hands.

In a late-night moment of weakness, I break my resolution not to find out the specifics of the job my people found for her. Before I can stop myself, I send the message:

Ronan: I need a contact for that employee you transferred for me a few weeks back. Justine Delany

It’s a testament to the irregular hours I’m used to keeping that my head of HR gets back to me before 6 am.

Chester: we’ve got her over in Bullseye Press. Did you want a phone number

Ronan: thanks. No. Not necessary

It only takes twenty minutes before I crack.

Ronan: on second thought, send me that number

Chester sends it through in the next second and I lay on my bed staring at it, caught in indecision. I shouldn’t call her. I promised myself I’d stay away.

If we’re seen together once the show starts airing, there will be all sorts of speculation. That we already knew each other (true). That the whole show was staged (also true). Most damning of all, that we ended up together. God, why does that one sound so fucking tempting?

Still, there’s a window.

Unable to decide what to do, I fetch my laptop and switch on the bedside lamp. Then I trawl through the footage production sent me to review after the first round of editing.

My cursor hovers over the exit interview they recorded with her right after she wrote no. I haven’t watched it yet. Do I dare? Do I really want to know the real reason she wrote no? I told myself it was because she was doing the sensible thing. Just being pragmatic.

That’s not her, though, is it?

I’ve stomped on her dream as well as treating her like she was expendable.

I double click and my heart lurches when her face appears on the screen. She looks sad. I hate how sad she looks.

I clench my hands into fists when she lets out a long sigh and begins talking. “I’m not sure anything could have been what I always pictured. It’s just a fact that reality never lives up to the fantasy.”

God damn it!

She wanted the fantasy. She wanted romance. And I went and crushed her dreams like a fucking bull in a china shop.

Unacceptable.

I open the text, determination drawing my brows into a frown as I type.

Ronan: It’s Ronan. I know I said I wouldn’t contact you after the show, but there’s something I need to fix.

I’m not letting this go that easily.

When she hasn’t texted back within ten minutes, I toss my phone onto the bed with a huff.

By 6:45 am, I’m pacing.

She’s not a morning person. She’s probably not awake yet.

I try to get ready for work. I must check my phone every five minutes.

At lunch time, an awful sinking feeling is settling into my guts.

By the time I leave for home, I’m mad. This isn’t like her. This isn’t like me! I’m not used to being denied something I want this badly.

I’m not going to let her leave it like this. A minotaur is nothing if not stubborn as hell.

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