Page 43 of Grumpy Boss's Secret

"Blast," I murmured, leaning back against the couch.

I put on a documentary about birds and lay on my side, hugging a pillow, waiting for my pizza to be done. Potato meowed and brushed up against the front of the couch, her tail swiping close to my face.

“You’re like Ian,” I told her. “I want you to love me, but I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

I could ask Kirk, though. I sat up, my bloodstream racing over the idea. Obviously, I didn't want to come out and ask him what he thought of me, Jozi, and his intentions. But if I asked a leading question, maybe I could get at least a hint of his feelings. Was he as swoon and star-struck as I was right now?

"He's probably typing away like a mad genius," I thought, smirking fondly. "His head bent over a plate of pasta slurping up unceremoniously, a glass of brandy at his side."

Kirk once told me he ate dinner like that when inspired to write. I bet he'd been inspired by this morning. I pulled out my phone and started an email to Kirk. Ian.

Dear Kirk, how was your day? Mine was good. Is anything interesting on your side of the world? Zee

I hit send, feeling as gleefully guilty as a teenager playing a prank. I sashayed into the kitchen and cut up my pizza. Kirk had responded by the time I returned to the couch with three slices and a hastily-made salad smushed on one side of the plate. I left my forgotten plate of food on the coffee table and picked up my phone eagerly.

Dear Zee, My day was beyond fascinating. I'm all tangled up in analysis now. Do you ever get swept up in your own feelings, and then, once everything has slowed down, turn into Hamlet and just turn over every problem, making it more than it is? Would you be able to give me advice about not overthinking something? Or maybe I'm not overthinking it. Perhaps I'm right to feel like I shouldn't do what I want to do right now. Kirk

I blinked a few times, leaning in close to the phone screen. I pressed my lips together. There was a lot there. First and more importantly, I was sure he was talking about us. I didn't know whether he meant us as a hookup or a potential relationship. Did he suspect I was Zee? I didn't see how he could know that unless he had magnificent intuition.

“So, he wants advice, huh?” I thought. The side of my mouth curved up in a smile. The man was like putty in my hands. I could tell him to stop overthinking and go for it. He might end up in my apartment half an hour later.

But if he didn't know I was Zee, what if he launched into details about how he felt he wasn't ready to share with Jozi yet? That didn't seem fair. I knew he was Ian. It wasn't fair to manipulate him into sharing his thoughts about us before he was ready to.

“I need to hint that I’m Zee,” I thought. “I want him to know.”

I wiggled my feet, wanting to respond and urge him to throw caution to the wind. But maybe he was right. Perhaps we should be more careful. He was my boss, after all. Maybe he knew things I didn't.

Sighing, I put my phone to the side. I watched birds perform various ludicrous mating dances while I munched on pizza. They were funny. I wished luring in a potential partner was as easy for humans as for exotic birds. Then again, sometimes they got rejected, too. I guess love is hard on everybody.

When I’d finished eating, I picked up my phone again and slowly, painstakingly, wrote out a response to Kirk, forcing myself to not follow my emotional impulses and hint that he should follow whatever emotions he had – all the way to me.

Hmm. I can't say I have much experience overthinking, like Hamlet. I think analyzing situations is important, but I don't think I can help you with this one. I've got a lot to think about myself. I got involved with someone this morning and don't know where it will go. I can't know unless he tells me, and I don't think he knows yet. Zee

I read it over a few times, then hit send. I returned to the birds, checking my phone every ten minutes. No email from Kirk and nothing from Ian.

"Does he know it's me?" I murmured as I stood up, turning off my TV. I shuffled into the bathroom to brush my teeth. "Was that enough for him to suspect? Or is he just not replying because he's tangled up in Hamlet's musings?"

I flossed and brushed my teeth, leaving my phone on the bathroom counter in full view as if I could will it to show me a notification.

"I sound pretty selfish if he doesn't get the hint," I thought, grimacing a little. "No, sorry, I don't have any time for you; I'm much too preoccupied with myself."

I finished getting ready for bed and crawled under my covers, my head spinning with schemes.

“Ian needs to know I’m Zee,” I decided. “We’re so much more than an unexpected work romance. We’ve been close to each other for years. Whatever he’s worried about, I bet knowing that I’m Zee can nudge him in my direction.”

All the way in my direction. I fell asleep, imagining that he was in bed next to me, holding me as I fell asleep.

The next day at work, I brought in a copy of Hamlet. I had to stop at the library to get it. I owned a Complete Works of Shakespeare, but it wasn't exactly purse material. Besides, if Ian came to my office, I wanted him to be able to get a good look at the title. I placed it in a prominent place at the end of my desk, with the tag facing the door. It wasn't the most significant hint in the world but a start. As I'd been hoping he would – on several levels – Ian stopped by my office that afternoon.

“What, no dried flowers today?” I teased, as his head appeared in the doorway.

“I thought we’d upgraded,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering if he was here to re-enact our previous morning. My desk needed to be bigger for that.

“I can’t stay,” he said, his lips curving upwards into a sly smile as if he could guess my thoughts. “I’m here to check on those statistics from the billboard campaign.”

“Didn’t want to just email, huh?” I said coyly, turning to my computer with a smirk.

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