Page 4 of Kissing the Boss (Fairy Tale Quartet 2)

Seriously.

Wiggling his eyebrows, Brick only laughed. “What? I have it on very good authority he’s the one you’re currently infatuated with.”

“What? No!” Clutching my scorching cheeks, I cried, “Who told you that?”

“Oh, no one. But maybe this had something to do with it.” He yanked open the top drawer of my desk, revealing my doodle pad with my first name along with Christopher’s last name scratched all over the top sheet.

What? It got lonely down here all by myself every day, and I didn’t always have tea to make or papers to copy. So, apparently, I turned into a middle school girl who pretended I was married to her crush and wrote our names—and sometimes our future children’s names—on scratch paper. It wasn’t that big of a deal, even though I currently felt like sinking through the floor and dying of mortification.

“You went through my drawers!?” I accused, setting my hands on my hips.

Yeah, di

vert attention away from my humiliating little habit and blame everything on my wicked stepbrother. I could do that.

“Hey.” Brick shrugged unrepentantly. “You weren’t here. I got bored. I was looking for a piece of gum.”

Yeah, right. “I was gone one minute!”

No wonder why he’d been messing with my mousetrap; he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d been snooping through my things. Unbelievable.

Actually, for Brick, it was absolutely believable and sounded just like something he’d do.

But still… Rude!

“So, what do you say?” he asked, rubbing his hands together, all charm and grins again. “Go with me to the party, and I promise to get you an in with Elton.”

“I don’t want—”

“And don’t say you don’t want to meet him,” he charged, lifting my pad to wave it mockingly. “I know you do.”

I sighed, my shoulders collapsing. “I was going to say I don’t even want to go to the party. There’s a new episode of a show I wanted to watch that night, and besides, I don’t have a costume or—”

“No problem,” Brick broke in, slugging me on the back as he pushed to his feet. “I’ll take care of your costume. And you can just record the program,” he added when I opened my mouth to protest.

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head. There was no arguing with him when he had his mind set on something. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

He fist-pumped the air. “Yes. I knew you’d do it.”

“I didn’t say—”

But of course he wasn’t listening any longer. After a grateful pat on my arm, he swept toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll pick you up at a quarter’til eight, and I’ll have your costume with me. See you then. Thanks, sis. Bye.”

And the door shut behind him only for me to mumble to myself, “But the party starts at seven.”

Oh, well. Fashionably late was probably his life motto. I slumped into my chair, where my gaze caught on the scribble pad I had lying inside my still-open top desk drawer. The name Kaity Elton beamed up at me from about five different colors of ink and ten different fonts.

Blushing, I slapped the drawer closed and cleared my throat, only for my mind to wander, imagining what it’d be like if I did go to that party with Brick and he did introduce me to Christopher Elton. The idea was tempting enough to make me forget I hated social functions because I always felt socially awkward and didn’t even want to attend the stupid party.

But Christopher…

He worked in the Pants department. I’d become aware of his existence when he’d had to give a presentation on YouTube to describe a new design for some slacks he’d drafted for JFI. He’d been vibrant, and entertaining, and gorgeous.

So gorgeous.

I mean, yeah, JFI tended to hire a lot of pretty people—this was the fashion industry, after all—but Christopher Elton had seemed especially spotless, and shiny, and new. I liked. A lot. And so, my fondness had been planted. Since then, I’d been patiently watering my obsession with moony-eyed glances whenever I spotted him walking by in the halls and writing his name in every way possible.

It was pathetic. I knew this, but—

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