One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

The few people in earshot burst out laughing.

Wonderful. This insufferable woman twists my balls so tight I’m accidentally giving the entire office gossip machine plenty of grease for the next year.

“Okay, everyone, let’s hear some updates on the wedding line. Let’s start with you, Martha,” Anna says, pointing her pen at the easygoing brunette in the corner.

I try not to glare at the slender blond next to me. I should be avoiding Nevermore, not sparring with her out in the open.

One by one, the team checks in, and they’re all making progress. Several people have completed new ad sequences with samples for us to review on the screen.

The designs are mostly promising.

Jimbo’s comes up somewhere in the middle. It’s a passable image, but the man can’t write his way out of a paper bag. I haven’t seen sales copy so bland since I bothered to read Chicago Transit billboards at the airport.

Dakota even corrects his grammar twice.

When it’s my turn, I offer the best feedback—the blunt kind.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m far from done, but I wait while a couple others pass around my comments. I’m not expecting two tiny fingers pinching my arm. My head whips toward Dakota.

“Will you stop?” she whispers.

“What? He’s my employee. He has to produce content I’m happy with. This is shit.”

“You only gave one or two bits of advice to everyone else. You’re singling him out,” she whispers.

“Hardly. If he wants to write, he needs to learn.”

“And you need to learn a little patience with the people you hire, Burns,” she says harshly.

I kick back in the seat, rolling over her words in my head.

“Come to think of it, he came in here on an internship. You’re offered a job by default at the end if you don’t fuck up. I don’t even remember interviewing this guy,” I say.

Fine.

Maybe I am being overly critical because I didn’t like the way he undressed my woman—my assistant and best copywriter—with his beady little eyes. Or maybe he just feels like a waste of resources.

“When I’m done playing EA, I’ll review his writing and work on coaching him up to snuff,” she says politely.

I shake my head like I’ve just been kneed in the stomach.

“That’s Anna’s job. I’ll mention it to her after the meeting,” I bite off, staring her down.

When I look at the front again, there’s someone else’s work on the projector now.

The image shows a glowing bride with her well-dressed groom holding her hand. They’re besotted with each other. Everything about the shot bleeds luxury through rosy filters and fine-tuned colors.

“...here, I think you’ll agree this is a lovely mockup. Perhaps we should outline the words in a brighter hue so your copy shows up clearly, Dakota,” Anna says.

That’s what I catch, anyway. I’m sure the rest of whatever she said went right out the window, blurred into a Charlie Brown grown-up monologue of toots and whistles.

Fuck me. Where is my mind?

I’m afraid to answer that when one glance at Nevermore tells me.

When Anna stops speaking, everyone looks at me.

Shit.

“I agree wholeheartedly, Miss Patel,” I say, like my brain isn’t grounded on Nevermore and the way her dress is riding up every time my eyes flick to my side.

Her muffled laugh pulls my eyes right back to her as Anna plows on.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” she asks.

“I didn’t care to elaborate. Key difference,” I whisper back.

“Is that everything?” Anna clears her throat loudly as she watches us across the long table. “Does anyone else have any parting questions or concerns?”

There’s a low chorus of 'noes' and 'what’s for lunch?' comments flying around.

Anna’s face pulls tight, her lips flattened in a straight line.

I’ve worked with her long enough to know she’s not happy, and I hate to think I’m halfway responsible. She seemed content with everyone’s progress this week.

No sense in bottling it up.

“Something wrong, Miss Patel?” I call loudly.

She hesitates, glances down, and then back at me with worried eyes.

“No,” she mouths, and it’s not the people beginning to stir and file out with their own conversations that’s drowning her out.

It’s quiet and not convincing.

“Are you sure?” I press.

She taps her pen off the conference table. “I know everyone is working hard. The ads are coming together nicely, but there’s a segment of the market I still think we’re missing. I just want a little more oomph behind the ads for A/B testing—”

“How about a personal endorsement from our fearless leader? That’s enough oomph to be oof,” Dakota suggests with a laugh.

I lash her with a cutting look.

“What?” I’m never involved in the ad campaigns. I certainly don’t put myself in front of cameras willingly. Not even cameras I control.

She shrugs like she’s serious.

“C’mon, boss. You have the looks. I bet you’d sell this new line to women who are already married if you just asked nicely enough. You have the whole lady-killer vibe,” she says matter-of-factly.