Page 19 of Coming for Her Grumpy Boss

“And you have? As in longer than just this moment? ”

“Since day one. Why do you think I ended things with Natasha?”

Mia opens her mouth, then closes it; her frown deepens. “I didn’t know you’d broken up. Remember?”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Because of me?”

“Yes. All because of you.” I take her arms and loop them around my neck. I want to put my hands everywhere on her. But I will not take advantage. “My intrepid assistant with your days of the week colors and giant cup collection.”

“I like my giant cups. Hydration is important.”

“Agreed.” I let my arms tighten around her body. She feels so fucking good pressed against me. Standing close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her irises.

Those pretty eyes narrow. “You know my color schedule?”

I nod. “Monday is my favorite, but only because you were wearing blue the first day we met. Admittedly, Friday is excellent as well because you wear jeans and red shirts emblazoned with my logo.”

“Company logo.”

“Same difference.”

Her eyes search my face, and I keep myself still, hoping she sees whatever she’s looking for. I’ve been hiding myself from her for so long. Maybe now she’ll see the truth.

“What color is Wednesday?” she asks.

“Yellow. Tuesday’s are cream-colored. My favorite of that group is the one with the tiny roses. Thursday’s are green and we’ve already discussed Friday.”

Her mouth rounds again in surprise.

“You are prone to migraines,” I say. “They get worse the closer you get to your cycle. But they’re also triggered by scents—no more microwave fish—and barometric pressure changes.”

She gasps. “Did you ban perfume at the office?”

“No. HR thought that could potentially end with some sexual harassment lawsuits. Instead, I got a state-of-the-art air filtration system installed.”

“It works quite well,” she says. One of her hands slides down my neck onto my chest. Her fingers curl slightly into the fabric of my Henley.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m certain any other migraine sufferers are equally appreciative,” she says.

I shrug. “Don’t care about them. Do you need any further proof that I’m obsessed with you?” I ask.

Her brows raise. “Obsessed?”

“Quite.”

“Obsessed is a pretty strong word.”

“You’ve told me, on more than one occasion, that I have a tendency to be intense. Have you not?”

“I have. I just didn’t know it extended into that aspect of your personality.”

“What aspect?” I quirk an eyebrow at her. My eyes drop to her lips, they’re full and begging for kisses. “Say it, Mia.”

“I don’t know what you would call it,” she says.