Page 47 of Grumpy Boss's Secret

He whispered something. It sounded like "Zee."

Chapter Twenty

We drifted off to sleep. In the morning, when I awoke, we still had our arms wrapped around each other. I couldn't think of a better reason for a lifeless arm.

“Good morning,” I whispered, pulling my arm out from underneath his. It felt like it was made of rubber.

He opened his eyes and smiled. Something about waking up next to someone almost means more than sex. I got to see his face looking slightly puffy. He looked sleepy and vulnerable and perfect.

“I’m going to make us breakfast,” I said.

He made a murmuring noise and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

“Really,” I said, standing up and tracing a finger along his back. “I would have expected a billionaire to be more ‘up and at ‘em.’”

He smiled a small smile, keeping his eyes closed. I put on my bathrobe and padded into the kitchen. I started a few eggs in the frying pan and popped some bread in the toaster. While I pulled a bag of frozen fruit out of the freezer, Ian walked into the kitchen naked.

"Don't do that to me; we don't have time," I said, arching my head back as he wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my neck.

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You come to work when I tell you to.” I met his eyes, my eyebrows raised.

“We have a meeting at nine-thirty," I said.

“Damn,” he said.

I smirked. “Get the yogurt out of the refrigerator, please.”

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

I watched him as he bent over. Damn indeed.

The next day, I didn’t hear from Ian at all. I kept looking up expectantly when I heard footsteps outside my office door. However, I never got a knock, an email, a phone call, or a text. Radio silence.

The day before, we'd glanced flirtatiously at each other a few times during the morning meeting but then gone about the rest of our workdays. I’d made an excuse to go to his office, but he wasn’t there – he’d already left.

By the end of the afternoon, I’d finished my work and pace back and forth in the office. I tried to convince myself it was unreasonable to get upset–we weren’t in a relationship.

But that was what was upsetting about it. This man had my whole heart, and I'd received no promises in return. What were we to him? Were we just a secret, temporary fling?

“Can’t be,” I murmured, thinking about how he’d treated me the night before last, about how he'd held me and whispered my name.

“Maybe he’s just thinking through everything,” I muttered. “If he’s realized I'm Zee, this is a new ballgame. He's probably Hamlet-ing again.”

When I still hadn’t heard from him after I’d gone home and finished eating dinner, I’d had it. So, I emailed Kirk.

Hey! How are you? Still, Hamlet-ing? Zee

He responded almost right away.

Hey! I'm deathly ill. Just kidding. I mean about death. I'll live. I've got a raging head cold, though. I guess I am Hamlet-ing a little, too. That might be the death of me. Wish me luck. Kirk

“Ohhhhh,” I said, my tension evaporating. Then it rushed back to me. “Still could have texted me about it,” I murmured. “I want to bring you chicken soup.”

I thought it wouldn't be a bad way to formally confess that I was Zee, leaning my head back and smirking, showing up to his place with a tumbler of chicken soup. Zee knew he was sick. Did he know Jozi knew too?

"What are you Hamlet-ing about?" I grumbled. "We're perfect together. What more could you possibly want?"

I told myself to be patient. Trauma works in mysterious ways. Maybe he was just scared to invest in being in love again.

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