One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

How is it that something so outlandish makes me feel so jealous?

I stand up, glancing around at the growing audience we’ve collected with worry. I hate being the center of attention almost as much as I like being smiled at by a pack of coworkers who feel like wild coyotes right now.

“Meeting dismissed. This time for real. You can all go eat and stop gawking,” he grumbles.

Thank God.

My cheeks haven’t felt this hot since he read my poetry about bedding his grumpy face. And he’s referred to the thing that should never be mentioned like the top-notch asshat he is several times during this joke of a meeting.

Why is this my life?

But I’m painfully aware I brought some of it on myself. I should’ve kept my mouth shut about Lincoln modeling the groom’s line.

People walk out of the room around us. Anna starts to leave, but Lincoln says, “Not you, Miss Patel. Stay.”

I study his face.

He’s all simmering emotion, this strange frustration and amusement etched in the shadows of his face.

Naturally, it only makes him hotter, which is the last thing I need.

I hope he isn’t too harsh with her. It was a fascinating idea, even if it is a little out there. I just didn’t want to be involved with it beyond stringing words together.

“Thanks again, Anna. It’s a cool idea, but Mr. Burns is right. Using actors or models would probably make more sense if you guys move forward to avoid any drama.” I head for the door, eager to get the hell out of here before I’m roped into whatever’s coming next.

“It was a whole year before Mr. Burns would even crack a joke with me,” she tells me quietly. “Nothing like the way he does with you. I don’t think he’d open up enough with an actress for the sham to be believable. I know you’re just coworkers, but you two look like a couple. Seriously. You play well off of each other.”

I nod like I’m swallowing a frog and double my pace out the door.

It’s a huge relief when I reach my desk—for all of four seconds.

My phone vibrates before I lay it down. A new message from an unknown number. Frowning, I tap the screen.

Dakota, can we talk?

I’m going to be sick.

Who is this? I send back, though I’m sure I have a good guess.

Who do you think? the stranger replies.

I’m so not in the mood for this. That’s probably the only reason I respond.

Didn’t I block your number, dickhead? What, are you on burner phone level stalking now?

I frown so hard it hurts, waiting for his pitiful reply, which needles my hand when it buzzes a few seconds later.

Jay: I hardly think you can call me a stalker. I didn’t talk to you for months.

See? Pitiful.

Pinching my jaw tight, I reply and hit Send so hard I have to shake my hand out.

LOL. Right. And then you pop up like I owe you something. Bye, Jay. Don’t waste our time trying this BS again.

New number, blocked.

My phone makes it clear it isn’t done tormenting me for the day when it vibrates again. Damn how many numbers can one guy have?

But this time, I’m in luck. It’s a slightly less annoying, fairly less cruel man.

Lincoln: Dakota, you can take off early today? I’m not a big enough tyrant to make you hang out for our four o’clock after the way that meeting went. Also, I need you to pick up a package for me while I have a late call. Take the company car. I’ll send you an address where I’ll need you to drop it to this evening.

Beautiful.

How gracious of you to give me the evening off.

But since I’m working two full-time jobs, his permission really doesn’t matter unless someone else wants to manage Lucy’s inbox, follow up on the contracts, do the filing, or approve a new round of Facebooger ad copy for a wedding line that’s only going to be moderately successful because we don’t embark on marketing techniques from the asylum like sham engagements.

Argh.

Stop me from screaming.

He’s right about one thing, though. That meeting was beyond mortifying when weddings mesh with my life like an acid bath.

...so, filing it is. Then I’ll follow up on the contracts and hope the copy is passable enough to give it a quick thumbs-up.

Actually, since I have the CEO’s permission, copy can wait until tomorrow. I may need to hunt down Eliza, if she’s back from her trip to make me a stiff espresso shot or five before I can dredge up the nerve to deal with tomorrow.

I spend an hour rifling around in the files, and when I come back, I start following up on contracts I haven’t received signed copies of and forwarding Lincoln proposals to review.

He passes my desk on the way to his office and pauses. “You’re still here?”