Page 4 of Kissing the Boss
This is definitely not the fairy tale I signed up for.
Chapter 2 – Jonathan
She's already here when I walk into my own damn shop.
Seven-thirty in the morning, and Cassandra Green has transformed my office from organized chaos into something that looks like an actual workplace. File folders march across the desk in color-coded rows. The coffee maker gleams like new. And the woman herself sits at my desk, humming off-key to the classic rock drifting from the garage bay, completely at home in my space.
The morning light catches in her hair, turning those wild curls into a copper halo. She's wearing a soft green sweater that hugs her curves and jeans that should be illegal. When she takes a sip from her travel mug, the scent of cinnamon coffee fills the air, mixing with the usual motor oil and metal.
I should turn around. Walk back out. Pretend I have an errand to run until eight when she's officially supposed to start.
Instead, I clear my throat.
She jumps, nearly spilling her coffee, and those whiskey-brown eyes go wide. "Oh! You scared me. I came in early, I hope that's okay? The door was open, and I wanted to get oriented before—"
"It's fine." My voice comes out rougher than intended. I move past her to the coffee maker, needing something to do with my hands. "You cleaned it."
"It was growing things. Possibly sentient things." She grins, and my chest does something stupid. "I couldn't in good conscience make coffee in a biohazard."
"It wasn't that bad."
"Jonathan, there were coffee grounds in there old enough to vote."
I bite back a smile. "In multiple elections?"
"At least a couple."
I pour coffee into my usual mug, except it's not where I left it. Nothing is where I left it. "Where's my—"
"Mug cabinet, top shelf, organized by size." She holds up a finger when I start to protest. "And before you grumble about not being able to find anything, I made you a chart."
She produces a hand-drawn map of the office, complete with labeled zones and color coding. It's ridiculous. It'sadorable. And it's going to drive me insane.
"I don't need a chart to navigate my own office."
"You had invoices from 2018 mixed in with this year's receipts." She arches an eyebrow. "And what I think was a sandwich from last Tuesday filed under 'T' for Tuesday."
"That was this Tuesday."
"That doesn't make it better."
I lean against the counter, studying her over my mug. She looks good in my chair. Too good.
And that's exactly the kind of thinking that's going to get me in trouble.
"We need to talk about boundaries," I say.
Her smile falters. "Did I overstep? I'm sorry, I just thought—"
"No." The word comes out too fast, too harsh. I soften my tone. "You're fine. Good, actually. It's just... there are rules. About employers and employees."
She sets down her mug. "I'm aware of professional boundaries."
"Are you?" I don't mean it to sound like a challenge, but it does. "Because yesterday—"
"Yesterday I didn't know you were my boss." Pink climbs her neck. "Trust me, I'm very clear on that now."
The reminder stings more than it should. I turn back to the coffee maker, needing distance. "Good. That's... good."
