Baby for the Bosshole

I’ve been on beaches at sunset before, but this feels different. The vibe is more easygoing. And I’m holding Emmett’s hand, our fingers threaded and linked. The breeze tousles our hair, and I can’t recall the last time I was this happy. Or had this strong of a need humming through my veins.

I tilt my head. Emmett turns at the same moment and our eyes meet. And then our mouths do.

He kisses me tenderly, sweetly, like we have all the time in the world. I soak in his flavor, his texture. I love the way he carries me off to another universe where it’s just me and him and our desire for each other.

More than sex, more than sex, a voice in my head sings.

Part of me wonders if he feels it too. Or maybe this is how he treats all his girls, and I’m trying to read something that doesn’t exist because none of my ex-boyfriends did anything this nice. After all, all that “diamonds or pearls” or “rubies or sapphires” or “beach or mountain cabin” stuff must’ve been for some woman or other. Just because he’s amazing now doesn’t mean he’s going to stay that way forever.

The thought leaves me bereft, like an abandoned child.

I pull back under the darkening sky before I do anything stupid. “We should get back.”

“We have to go get dinner first,” he says, his eyes unreadable.

He drives us to an upscale seafood and steak restaurant and gives the smiling hostess his name. She checks her system and nods. “Yes, we have you right here. Your table’s ready.”

“When did you make the reservation?” I ask in surprise.

“Friday before we left. I thought you’d like it here.”

I smile with appreciation at his thorough planning. He’s making me feel special, like this is more than just sex. Like I matter.

Don’t get too comfortable, girlfriend. There’s a deadline on this thing. One you set.

But that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t melt. I’m not a robot.

The hostess takes us to a table set in the balcony overlooking the beach. She leaves us with our menu and water.

“Wow, it’s so pretty,” I say, looking out at the view.

“It’s got its own charm at night. The moon’s out, too.”

I tilt my head. Sure enough, a full moon is sitting low in the velvety black sky, the silver light dancing over the rolling ocean.

Suddenly, something jars the table. The water in our glasses sloshes over, leaving wet spots on the table cloth.

As I turn to see what’s going on, a brunette in a red dress pushes herself from our table. A strong smell of alcohol wafts from her, and she’s barely standing straight.

“Are you okay?” I look around to see if she has a friend or date or someone. And sure enough, a man is hurrying over—

Marion Blaire? Oh shit!

What’s he doing in San Diego? He lives in Virginia, five freakin’ flight hours away!

“Sorry,” he says, putting his arms around her.

Should I look away and pretend I have no idea who he is? Yeah, that’s going to go over real well, when he’s going to be my next boss. Not to mention, I can’t pull that off gracefully anyway.

Before I can decide on what to do, he pulls back a little. “Amy?” A grin splits his face. “Hey, how are you?”

“Hi,” I squeak.

“Sorry. This is my fiancée, Brandie. She’s been out in the sun for too long and had one drink too many on an empty stomach.” He gives me a sheepish what-can-you-do? smile.

“You two know each other?” Emmett says. His voice is glass smooth.

Damn it! That’s the tone he gets when he’s upset. He’s only talked like that in the office, about deliverables. But I guess it also applies to non-office settings too.