Page 44 of Grumpy Boss's Secret

“I need the exercise,” he said, stepping into the room and walking slowly toward me.

I looked up. We made eye contact. “No, you don’t,” I said serenely, and Ian grinned.

He started to walk around behind my desk. “Hamlet, huh?” he asked, pausing suddenly, his tone shifting. He frowned a little. I watched him, willing the wheels in his brain to spin fast enough to catch on.

“Yeah, my friend was talking about it last night,” I said. “Have you read it?”

"Oh, yeah," he said, turning away from it and to my computer screen. He seemed to have forgotten it as I talked him through the report I'd received.

Blast. I’d have to try something else. That night Kirk emailed me back.

No worries! I’ll figure it out. Sometimes I think I need to trust my heart more. I hope everything works out for you too! Men are stupid sometimes. Kirk

"Yes, Ian, they definitely are," I said, leaning back and laughing. He'd told his heart. That was a good sign.

I think it will. After talking to you, I decided to reread Hamlet. I haven't read it since high school. It's been a good read so far. Zee

"There," I thought, sending it. "Surely, that will make him at least a little suspicious. How many women started reading Hamlet in the past twenty-four hours?”

Okay, probably a lot, but he would associate it with me after this afternoon.

"Come on, Ian," I murmured. "Figure it out. Figure it out, and then let's do this."

Chapter Ninteen

The next day at work, there was a knock on my door. “Come in,” I called out, laying down my pen and looking expectantly at my door. I was so sure it was Ian that I almost added, "Dear."

Not that wouldn’t have been audacious anyway. But I could have passed it off as a joke.

I was tingling all over hoping to be with him. I felt sure I could drop enough clues that I was Zee. And then?

I mean, the man posted a picture of how I'd underlined his book online. If he wasn't dating someone else, all of his Instagram posts about love had to be about me, if they were about anybody. And they had to be about me. I was sure of it.

The door to my office opened, and Ian stepped inside. He didn’t say anything. He looked at me. He looked at the copy of Hamlet, still sitting on the edge of my desk.

"Good morning," I said, laughing at how oddly he behaved.

“Good morning,” he said, still looking at Hamlet. He seemed like he was avoiding my eyes. My heart was pounding. Had he figured it out?

“Do you need something?” I asked.

He turned his eyes to me. He winked at me. I lifted my eyebrows.

“No,” he said. “I just wanted to say good morning.”

Smiling impishly, he ducked out of my office and shut the door behind him. I stared at the doorframe for a few seconds. My mouth had popped open. Slowly, I leaned forward onto the desk and shook with giggles.

“He knows,” I whispered.

Four hours later, there was another knock on my door.

“Yes?” I asked, turning away from my computer.

Ian opened the door. “It’s not the morning anymore,” I asked coyly, “what do you need?”

He shut the door behind him, his eyes bright, locked onto mine. I sat up straighter in my chair. My skin prickled, and heat rippled through me. Was this happening again?

“Can I come to your apartment tonight?” he asked.

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