Page 2 of Bossing My Holiday
“I’ll find your shoe. You go to the restroom,” Jasmine, the executive receptionist who just witnessed that entire event, tells me.
“Thank you. You’re amazing.”
“No sweat. That wasn’t your fault. That was all on Thomas.”
She winks at me, and I hobble to the bathroom. The ladies’ room is mercifully empty, and I go up to the counter, sucking in deep breaths when I catch my reflection.
My hands are trembling, and I unbutton my blouse to take in the skin beneath that’s a little red, but not too bad. My shirt, on the other hand… I grab a wad of napkins, wet them, and get to work, already knowing it’s hopeless. Ugh. A break. Just once in my life, I’d like a break. A little mercy. A touch of kindness.
A fucking Christmas miracle.
Is that too much to ask?!
After two minutes of washing with hand soap, blotting, and running it under the hand dryer, it’s as good as it’s going to be. I slip it back on, button myself up, run a brush through my hair, and move awkwardly down the hall to my desk to find my shoe sitting on it. A smile hits my lips, and I suck in a deep, calming breath, getting my mental shit back together.
See. Not all bad.
I plug in my phone, slip my shoe back on, grab my tablet, make his royal assholeness another cup of coffee, and walk into his office since the door is open.
He’s sitting behind his desk, eyes trained on one of his large monitors, ink-black hair perfectly coiffed without a hair out of place, and red tie—his attempt at appearing seasonable—straight and tight, though I do note he’s changed jackets.
I set his coffee down on his desk and step back, wanting distance from him after face-planting in his chest and him getting an eyeful of the inside of my purse. And my ass. He might have seen that too.
“Did you use the spray?”
“Pardon?”
“The asshole repellent spray?” He points to his mug. “Did you use it in my coffee?”
I hold in my smirk. “Not this morning.”
He glares as he leans back and gives me a long once-over,noting the remnants of coffee still clinging to my blouse and how it’s also a bit wet in spots before his hard gaze lands on my face. He has two settings: annoyed and taciturn. I wonder if he’s ever smiled a true, genuine smile in his life.
“Why were you late, and better yet, why didn’t you tell me you were going to be?”
I clear my throat and straighten my spine. “My building lost power overnight, and my phone died, taking my alarm with it. I couldn’t call or text, because again, my phone was dead and I couldn’t charge it.”
His elbows rest on the arms of his chair, and his hands hang loosely over his lean stomach. “That feels like a weak excuse.”
I shrug. “I’m sorry. It’s the truth and the best one I’ve got.”
“You are aware that we?—”
“Are in the middle of acquiring Smithfield Pharmaceuticals? Yes, I’m aware. I’m not even two hours late and plan to stay an additional two hours this evening to make up for it.”
He sighs and stands before he paces over to the window. “Did you burn yourself?”
“Nothing I won’t recover from.”
He stares out the window at the Boston skyline, his back to me. “Do you need to go to the hospital or urgent care for it?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He turns and leans back against the window, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes are on my face, but I know he’s surveying my clothes with new light. Normally he doesn’t care as long as I’m presentable. “Great, except your tardiness ruined my jacket and your blouse and burned you.”
“I’ll pay for your jacket to be cleaned,” I grit out. And eat nothing but ramen for a week.
“I don’t care about the jacket.”
