Page 1 of Grumpy Boss's Secret

Chapter One

“It’s…it’s nice…”

I stood in the doorway to my new apartment, looking at the furniture and the walls. I held my phone to my ear, answering Mom's question. "How's your new place?"

Gray and hunter green. Grey furniture, grey walls, grey and green checkered rug, green couch cushions. The colour scheme looked left over from a 1990s lounge for colorblind businessmen.

She didn’t know it was my first time walking inside. I’d spent my morning procrastinating, putting off going there. I’d just wandered the streets of Seattle, gazing up at the buildings and looking out across the water. I liked it here. I liked it a lot.

I liked my apartment a little less.

“That sounds like you hate it,” Mom said.

I grinned, shutting the door behind me and turning the deadbolt. I leaned my rolling suitcase against the wall.

“You know me well, Mom.”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked.

"Oh, I can't complain," I said. "And I'm only here for a month until I get an actual apartment."

“That’s not an actual apartment?”

I laughed. “Come on, Jozi, what’s wrong with it?”

"I'm just being fussy," I said, wandering into the open kitchen next to the living room space. "It's got a lot of dark greys and stuff. I feel like I'm living in the living room of a man who only thinks about computers."

Mom laughed. “What will fix it?” she asked.

I looked around, smiling a little. That was Mom's catchphrase: "What will fix it?" It was an excellent motto to live by.

“I think some whites and burnt yellows,” I said. “I’ll go thrifting tomorrow and see what I can find.”

Not that I couldn’t afford to just buy some new things. But buying new things I wouldn’t want in my next apartment felt wasteful. And besides, I wasn’t used to having money yet. As the new publicist of the billion-dollar airline company Huntington Skies, I was about to receiving a pretty hefty paycheck every month. I was used to living cheaply and saving most of my paychecks to pay off my student loans. It had been worth it–four years after graduating; I had them almost entirely paid off.

"Won't thrift stores be closed when you get off work tomorrow?" Mom asked. "First day, you don't want to duck out of there early."

"Wow, Mom, why must you be logical like that?" I said, leaning against the counter and smiling. "Fine, I'll go on Saturday."

“Or on your lunch break day the after tomorrow,” she suggested.

“Now you’re talking,” I said.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

"Great," I lied. I was in a twisted knot of uncertainty. "I've got my outfit all picked out. I know I'm going to kill this job."

“I read an article that said that Ian Huntington is hard to work with,” she noted.

"You're just a little rain cloud today, aren't you?" I reflected. I'd read that article too. That's why I was nervous. I'm strong-willed. I irritate men a lot.

"But I also looked at his pictures, and he's charming," Mom said.

“Mom, he’s my boss,” I laughed. “That’s gross.”

I’d also looked at pictures of him. She was absolutely right. He was built like the cover of a romance novel–you could see his broad chest and sense his rippling muscles even through a sleek business suit.

“Yeah, but you still get to look at him,” Mom assured.

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