Page 28 of Boss's Baby: A Fake Fiance Romance

“There, doesn’t it feel good to be honest with yourself?”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right.”

She gave me a beaming smile in response. “Now, I think you know my next question.”

I did. “You’re going to ask what would be so bad if we did end up hooking up again.”

“Bingo.”

“Well, that I can answer a lot more easily. First of all, he’s my new boss!”

“Technically, not until next year.”

“That doesn’t matter! Even if he hasn’t officially started, it’s still what’s going on.”

“Remember what I said about workplace romances? How hot they can be?”

“Maybe it’s different when you’re working at a bar—”

“Wait—what’s that supposed to mean? That your work’s way more important than mine?”

“Not what I meant,” I quickly replied. “But you have to kind of see what I mean.”

“Nah, I get it, I get it. You’re pulling down six figures, and that’s not something to take lightly.”

“Yeah, not to mention I’ve been with that place since graduation. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not exactly known for your consistency in workplaces.”

And I was right—I’d lost track of the amount of bars Katie’d worked in since she’d moved to New York. If she kept moving around at the pace she had been, she’d run through them all eventually.

“Fair enough. But I’m still right about screwing at work. Hell, it’d probably be even hotter with more at stake.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I drove, knowing there was likely a shred of truth to what she was saying. No chance in hell I’d ever go for it, but still.

“Why don’t we drop that line of thinking? Since it’s never going to happen again.”

“Fine, fine—be boring about it. But I still think you’re worrying over nothing. And the idea of you holed up in the house over the entire break because you’re scared to see him—”

“Not ‘scared.’ I just don’t want to deal with it.”

“I mean, whatever you want to call it, it’s a dumb move. You’re really going to let him sway you like that?”

I slumped down as I drove, having a bit of a realization. “I still feel kind of stupid about it, is all. I did what I did with a guy who treated me like crap in high school. Not exactly proud of that.”

She waved her hand through the air. “Like I said before, don’t worry about it. These things happen, and any moment you waste worrying about what you should’ve done is a moment you’re not actually living. At least, that’s how I look at it.”

I couldn’t help but admire that attitude. Katie was sunny and positive and saw the bright side of things. I’d tried to be that way, but overthinking seemed to be cooked into my DNA. Made sense that someone like me couldn’t even have a simple one-time fling without tossing it around in my head nonstop for weeks on end.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before a word could come out, a wave of nausea burst through me. The cool drain of the color escaping from my face was sudden and intense, and my hand shot out to the window for balance, as if I might fall over while driving. But my hand stayed on the wheel and kept the car steady.

“Whoa!” said Katie. “You all right over there?”

I allowed myself a moment or two to let the feeling pass. When it did, I shook my head and focused back on the road.

“Fine. Think I got a little bit of carsickness.”

“I don’t think carsickness is supposed to happen to the driver.” She cocked her head to the side. “You’re still feeling off, right?”

“It’s nothing. Probably stress from the holidays or something.”

“You need to get it checked out, whatever it is.”

“It’s nothing, like I said. I’m not bedridden or anything, and I haven’t even had to take a day off from work.”

“Yeah, because you’re the type who’d come to the office with a hole in your head if no one stopped you.”

She had a point, but I still didn’t think my weird symptoms were a big deal. “It’s nothing—don’t worry about it.”

“You’re my sister, and it’s my job to worry about it. And besides, I want you having fun while we’re back home. If you let this get out of control and you have to spend Christmas in bed eating soup, I’m not going to be very happy about it.”

“In bed eating soup actually sounds kind of nice.”

“Will you at least make an appointment with Dr. Shaw? He’s been seeing us since we were kids, and I bet he’d squeeze you in.”

I wanted to protest, but I knew it’d do me no good. “Fine. But I’m telling you, it’s nothing.”

“Let the professionals be the judge of that.” She raised a finger in mock accusation. “And if you don’t, I’ll tell Mom, and you know she won’t let this slide.”

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