Arrogant Boss

Julian’s eyes darkened. “Then I’m happy I came. I’ll be the one in the back, waving a giant homemade sign saying ‘pick me, pick me.'”

I burst out laughing. He was being silly, but my insides warmed at the thought. Doubt had crept back during the days he’d been gone. Was I making a stupid decision? Jeopardizing my career for mere attraction? A fling? How long would I have until his attention waned?

“No. I’m here because Denise practically dragged me along. She’s dating the Michelin-star chef who’s catering the event.”

“Michelin-star, huh?””Yes.”

“That just accompanies his name? Necessary to include in the description?”

I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Yes, it is. When your best friend starts dating a hotshot you have to brag a little bit. Don’t worry. You’ll get there someday.”

“Will I?” He raised an eyebrow. “And what might a woman say about me, someday?”

I pretended to consider it. “That’s tricky. I mean, billionaire is ruled out-we’ve already established that. Software developer? Sounds too nerdy. Entrepreneur, I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound too good.”

I shook my head sadly. “I’m not liking your odds, buddy. But hang in there.”

He leaned his head back against the seat with a dramatic sigh. “What’s a poor man to do? I’ll just have to rely on my dazzling good looks, brilliant wit and piles of cash.”

I reached out and patted his thigh. It was meant to be a playful gesture, a commiserative touch in the game we were playing, but his hand caught mine. Our fingers threaded, his skin warm and rough against mine.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Or I’ll kiss you right here right now, and I don’t care if your friend sees.”

Heat raced through me. I wanted that kiss. I wanted him, this crazy fling and all the crazy consequences that it might lead to.

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But I hadn’t let my guard down in so, so long. And no one had ever made me feel like him. Ever.

I stood up and tugged at his hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

I kept my hand in his and steered course for the bar. “We’re going to have a drink, and then we’re going to dance.”

A very loud and very annoying sound cut through my sleep. The blasting sound refused to stop, completely without mercy.

I blinked my eyes open.

Daylight. I was in my own bed. There was no one else in it with me.

I closed my eyes again at the blinding headache that followed the establishment of those three little facts. With eyes still closed, I reached out and grabbed my obnoxiously loud phone. How was it still ringing? Didn’t phones have mood sensors these days? If not, they should. My mood was loud and clear: make another sound and I’ll throw you in the toilet bowl.

It took me two attempts to read the name on the screen.

Denise.

I rolled over and pressed answer, burying my face under the comforter.

“Mgghnnagh,” I said.

Her pealing laughter came through the phone. “I take it you’re feeling super perky and happy?”

“Ugh, Denise, I swear-”

“I’ve been up since six. Made pancakes, did the laundry. Even managed to clear out my closet while I was taking a break. Then I did my taxes for this year, the next year, and the coming decade.”

“I hate you.”

“I know you do.”

“Honestly, you’re not sparking any joy for me right now.”

She laughed again and the sound cut through my head like a knife. I rolled over and forced my eyes open. The world waited for no one, it seemed. “Did little birds help you dress in the morning too?”

“Funny you should ask, because yes, yes they did.”

“I hope they all flew into your window on their way out,” I mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I just wanted to check that you’re okay, Em. You were pretty… indisposed when we left the club.”

I swallowed at the flood of hazy memories. “God.”

“Yes, you could say that,” she laughed. “Honestly, you were hilarious.”

“God! Why did I behave like I was an eighteen-year-old with a stolen ID?”

“It happens. Don’t feel bad, Emily.”

“I do. How can I show my face at work?”

“No one knows but Julian. You’re making this into a bigger deal than it was, honest.”

I clasped a hand to my mouth as an awful thought struck me. “I didn’t throw up?”

“Nope. Your record is still clean from freshman year.”

“Does Michael hate me? I’m sure he does. If he tells you that I’m a bad influence and you should stop being friends with me, you shouldn’t listen.”

Denise laughed again. “He doesn’t. No one does. We had all had a bit to drink.”

“Alright,” I said slowly. “I’m going to ponder my awful existence and think through everything that happened last night. If I need help confirming something I’ll text you.”