Page 11 of Kissing the Boss
The morning crawls by. I throw myself into work, but my awareness of her never fades. She hums while she types, off-key little snippets that drift from the office. Occasionally she laughs at something on the phone, the sound wrapping around me like a physical touch. Twice she brings me paperwork to sign, standing just close enough that I can smell her perfume, just far enough that I can't feel her warmth.
Around eleven, I'm deep in the guts of Mrs. Williamson's ancient Buick when Dale appears at my side.
"Uh, boss? There's a situation."
Something in his tone makes me straighten immediately. "What kind of situation?"
"Office. Guy asking for Cassandra." Dale shifts uncomfortably. "Seems... intense."
I'm moving before he finishes speaking, grabbing a shop rag to wipe my hands as I stride toward the office. Through the window, I can see a man leaning over the desk, palms flat on the surface, face inches from Cassandra's. Her shoulders are hunched.
Every protective instinct I've ever had roars to life. I push through the door, letting it bang against the wall. The man straightens and turns.
"Private conversation here, buddy," he says dismissively.
I ignore him, focusing on Cassandra. Her face is pale, her hands trembling slightly where they rest on the desk.
"Everything okay?" I ask her directly.
"It's fine," she says, but her voice wavers. "This is... Ryan. He's—"
"Her boyfriend," the man cuts in with a smirk. "Ex-boyfriend, technically, but we're working on that. Right, Cass?"
The nickname sounds wrong in his mouth. Possessive. Belittling. Cassandra flinches slightly.
"You need to leave." The words come out calm, measured, despite the rage building under my skin. "Now."
Ryan laughs, a sharp, ugly sound. "Who the hell are you?"
"Jonathan Cox. I own this garage." I step further into the room. "And Cassandra works for me."
"Yeah? Well, Cassandra and I have history, so why don't you go back to your grease monkey business and let us finish our conversation?"
I don't move. "Cassandra? Do you want to talk to him?"
She hesitates, then shakes her head. It's small, almost imperceptible, but it's enough.
"You heard her." I set my shoulders, an old stance from my military days. Not aggressive, just immovable. "Time for you to go."
"This is ridiculous." Ryan turns back to Cassandra. "Baby, come on. I drove all the way from Boston to find you. The least you can do is hear me out."
"I've heard enough," she says quietly. "Please leave, Ryan."
"Not until you agree to come home." His voice hardens. "This little small-town adventure is cute, but it's time to stop running."
"She's not running." My voice drops lower, dangerous. "She's home."
Ryan turns on me, finally sensing the threat. He draws himself up, trying to use his height, though he still has to look up to meet my eyes.
"Listen, grease—"
"No, you listen." I step between him and the desk, forcing him back without touching him. "Cassandra asked you to leave. That means you walk out that door, get in whatever overpriced car you drove here, and head back to Boston. You don't come to this garage again. You don't approach her anywhere in Whitetail Falls."
"Or what? You'll beat me up?" He sneers. "Real tough guy, threatening someone half your size."
I don't take the bait. "I won't have to do anything. See, Whitetail Falls takes care of its own. If word gets around that you're bothering one of ours, you'll find this town gets real inhospitable, real fast."
Something in my tone must finally get through to him. His eyes flicker, and he takes another step back.
