Page 45 of Grumpy Boss's Secret

I felt as if a swirl of relief spiraled blissfully down the length of my body. “Yes,” I said.

“I remember where you live,” he said. “I’ll be there at nine.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I can’t get there earlier,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“I’ll bring wine,” he said.

“I have cookies,” I said.

Ian threw his head back, laughing. He stood there a few seconds longer, gazing at me, then turned and walked out of the room. I covered my mouth with my hands. I pressed my palms against my lips and leaned forward, suppressing a squeal.

“Okay, he knows,” I said, taking my hands from my mouth. “He knows. Right? He’s got to. He definitely knows.”

I was useless for the rest of the afternoon. I got home that night, made dinner, ate it, and tidied up the house.

“We have a man coming over, Potato!” I said. She meowed.

“No, sorry, not for you,” I said, reaching under the couch for a napkin I’d lost mid-dinner about a week ago. “For me!”

I knelt there, my eyes on the couch cushions and my mind on a future with Ian. What would that look like? Would we travel? Where would we live?

“Next time, I want to be at his place,” I murmured. “I bet it’s amazing. I don't think it's that place where I saw his sister; I bet that was an Airbnb or something.”

I closed my eyes, imagining us living somewhere together. Maybe having kids. Starting a life together.

“Huh,” I murmured.

I’d never wanted kids before. Suddenly, the thought of making babies with Ian made my heart twist in a good way. Like an ache after finding out your heart was so much bigger than you knew it was.

After the house was all-embarrassing-stuff-proofed, I cleaned up myself. I took a shower, shaved, and slathered myself in rose-scented lotion. Then I scampered into my bedroom wrapped in a towel, wondering what to put on.

I could just open the door naked. I smirked. I decided to wear something, though. I didn’t want to accidentally flash any passing old ladies in the hallway. I put on my sexiest pair of pyjamas – short shorts and a lacy bralette made of black silk. A matching black lace bathrobe went with it; it was a mini-skirt length.

“Well,” I said, turning back and forth in front of the mirror and admiring myself, “if he isn’t coming over here for sex, he’s going to change his mind when he sees me.”

What else would he be coming for? A conversation?

“Hey, Jozi, you’re Zee, right?”

I pressed my lips together until I couldn’t help smiling. A grin broke over my face. I rose up and down on my toes, then sashayed into the kitchen to check the clock. 8:45. I groaned. I sat on the couch and looked at my phone. No new emails from Kirk. No recent posts from Ian. It didn't matter. I had the man himself coming here. Finally, at 9:01 exactly, there was a knock on my apartment door.

Startled, I hurried over, feeling my cheeks flush pink. He'd come all the way upstairs to the door? How'd he get into the building? This was just like my dream. Except I was expecting him this time. I tore open the door, and Ian stood there, holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet of red roses.

“Don’t throw these in the trash, please,” he said.

“Get in here,” I said.

Smirking, he stepped inside, and I shut the door behind him. “You look amazing,” he said. He looked me up and down, his gaze slightly dazed-looking.

I tilted my shoulders flirtatiously. “I agree,” I said.

He laughed. He just stood there, holding the wine and the flowers, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Let me tell you, having that much power over a man, it goes to your head like a shot of whiskey. I stepped up to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. I lifted my lips to his and kissed him sensuously. He grunted, wanting to touch me but unable to. The thorns of the roses brushed against my arm, tickling me.

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