Page 30 of Coming for Her Grumpy Boss

Just—exit, stage left. He can say it’s real. He can mean it tonight. But Natasha isn’t wrong about the math of our lives. He’s…he’s Ford McCall. CEO, billionaire, black AmEx in his pocket, ink, and piercings on his sexy as sin body.

I am his assistant. I’m good at my job. And I have a lot to offer. Some would argue, I have too much to offer. That I’m far too soft in the places magazines call “problem areas.”

“Can I talk to you while you’re lying there?” he asks into the darkness.

His words bring a halt to the drama my brain was spinning.

“Yes, of course.” I reach for his hand, and he threads our fingers together. “But you don’t owe me an explanation. This was supposed to be a fake relationship, remember?”

“I asked you to pretend. I was never pretending.”

“Ford,” I say.

“You said I could talk. Which means you listen.” He squeezes my hand.

“Okay, talk. But know that you’re taking advantage of my weakness. If I were feeling better, we would not be having this conversation.”

“No, we wouldn’t. Because I’d be stripping you naked and licking you again until you scream my name so loudly, Natasha can hear you in Thorne’s house.”

“And how far away is that?” I ask.

“Only two doors, but that would still be impressive.”

“Fair enough.”

“The truth is, I should’ve been honest with you sooner.” He breathes out, the kind that shakes a little. “I love you.”

The room tilts, despite the fact that I’m horizontal with my eyes closed. “What?”

“You heard me. I love you, Mia,” he says again, like he’s choosing precision over poetry. “Not the idea of you, not the novelty. You.”

He pauses for a few breaths. “I said I was obsessed. I meant it. I chose that word for a reason.” His voice moves closer as if he’s lying down next to me. His hand threads into my hair and rubs at my scalp. “As much as I hate those brightly colored page flags, I make sure your desk is always fully stocked because you love them.”

“Only to annoy you,” I admit.

“I’m aware. I love you and your color schedule. I even allow myself one day a week to match my tie to your shirt. I don’t think you’ve ever noticed, but I was trying not to be so obvious. Thorne says everyone knows how I feel about you.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I loved how every time you have a migraine, you try to keep working and take care of everyone around you.”

“You’ve made that pretty impossible now. Always whisking me away into your office for darkness and drugs.”

He chuckles. “You make it sound so seedy.”

“Keep going,” I say.

“I changed the lights in the building because your pain makes me feel useless. I went to a neurologist and used all your symptoms to get a prescription for your medication so you never run out. I have bottles stored in my car, my office, your office, my house, and obviously brought one here.”

“I think that’s illegal.”

“Obsessed,” he repeats. “I stock your drink because I’m ridiculous. I’ve been in love with you and trying to hide it.”

“Behind grumpy words and banter,” I say.

“Evidently. The moment I realized the truth, I should’ve moved you so you no longer report to me,” he says, the confession rough. “That’s on me. I’ll even make you CEO if you’d rather not have a boss. Then you won’t have to report to anyone.”

“That’s your job,” I say.