Page 38 of Our Little Cliche
“Fine. A do over, then?”
“You’re not firing me after all… that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve only just met you. Anyway. Hi, I’m Cyrus, I’ll be your cook tonight. What would you like?”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.Come on, keep up.“I’m not hungry.”
“Come on, I’m a great cook. Try me.”
“Cook whatever you like, it’syourhouse, so.” Her tone is cold, but I don’t take it to heart. She’s got a lot on her plate, and I don’t want to make it worse.
“Not right now it’s not.” I retreat, giving her space. Sure it might bemyhouse, butmi casa su casa, or whatever it is they say. She can have the house. I’ll stay in my office if it means she will be comfortable.
A very faint, almost non-existent grin lifts the very corner of her lip, and it has me wondering… is being snowed in with the woman who acts like she can’t stand me, yet looks at me like she wants to do all things unholy with me going to be a disaster, or a miracle?
A disaster.
Chapter Nineteen
HOLLY
I feellike I’ve asked myselfcan it get any worseso many times since this whole treacherous mess began three weeks ago. On that dreadful Sunday morning. But what’s actually worse? Finding out you’re moving countries in a few hours? Getting caught staring at your boss as if he couldn’t see you—who knows you have the hots for him? Or getting freakingsnowed inwith him?
I swear my life is turning into a book. This is everything that happens in the novels I read. Like actually, what are the odds? So, to answer my own question… yes. Yes it can get worse. And it starts by feeling the hot water from my shower vanishing.
“Oh, fuck me dead!” The pipes must be freezing over, or something. It used to happen as a kid, the air would be so cold it would turn everything to frost. Australia isn’t designed for winters, but you would have thought Canada would be.
Damn this weather.
In a flash I get dry, and curl up under a million layers of duvets. I wonder if this is the room I was going to be given to live in? Trying to ignore the sounds of my belly growling, I wallowin my own self pity and shame for what seems like hours, still naked, and on the back end of overheating from all the blankets.
My phone dings. It’s Cyrus… my prison buddy.
Duh, dick head. Who else would it be?
Being stuck in his house due to a snow storm—and not by requirement for my job—wasn’t exactly on my bucket list for 2024, nor was it a New Year’s resolution, but here I am. Trapped. It could be worse, I guess.
How? How could it be worse than him hearing that I want to date him?
With a sigh, I rub my third eye and hesitantly open my phone.
Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss:
Sorry to bother, just checking in to see if you’re alright?
Me:
No.
That sounds too cold.
Me:
But thanks for checking.
Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss:
I understand, I’m sorry. I’ve got something for you in the living room if you’d like to see it? I know I said I’d stay away, but this might help you feel a little more… normal.
