Bossman (Dirty Office Romance 1)

Bridget nodded.

“Well, I don’t want you to assume Chase has the same problem anymore. Since our little incident was so long ago.” I leaned over to Bridget and whispered, “They gain better control as they grow older. Usually.”

Instead of being upset, Chase looked thoroughly pleased with my story. Proud, even. In fact, the rest of the evening went on pretty much the same way. Chase told elaborate stories about our fake childhood, unafraid to embarrass himself in the process, and kept us all amused. I sometimes added to his stories when my mouth wasn’t hanging open at the crap he’d made up.

I hated to admit it, but the jerk had started to grow on me, even while telling stories about my bloody nose and the “unfortunate bra-stuffing incident.” By the end of the evening, I was ordering coffee to stall the night’s end—a far cry from our exchange in the bathroom hallway.

Outside of the restaurant, Martin, Chase, and I all handed the valet our tickets. I preferred to be in control of when a first date started and ended, so I’d met Martin at the restaurant. Of course Bridget had come in Chase’s car like a normal date. She was also practically rubbing up against his side as she clung to his arm while we waited for our cars. When my shiny red Audi pulled up first, I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye to…well…anyone. I took the keys and lingered with the door open.

“Nice car, Buttercup.” Chase smiled. “Better than that hunk of junk you drove in high school, huh?”

I chuckled. “I suppose it is.”

Martin stepped forward. “It was nice seeing you, Reese. I hope we can do this again sometime.”

Rather than wait for him to attempt to kiss me, I went in for a hug. “Thank you for a nice dinner, Martin.”

As I stepped back, Chase stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. Unlike the friendly back-pat I’d given Martin, Chase plastered me against his body. God, it felt good. Then he did the strangest thing… He wound my long hair around his hand a few times and closed it into a fist, using it to tug my head back. His eyes lingered on my lips as I looked up at him, and for a brief second, I thought he might kiss me.

Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “See you at the reunion next year?”

I nodded, feeling almost off-kilter. “Umm…sure thing.” I glanced to Bridget after he released me. “Nice to meet you, Bridget.”

Reluctantly, I folded into my car. Feeling eyes on me, I looked up while putting my seat belt on. Chase watched me intently. It looked like he wanted to say something, but after a few heartbeats, it felt strange to sit and wait any longer.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled away with one last wave, wondering why it felt like I was leaving something important behind.

Chapter 2

Reese – Four weeks later

One hundred and thirty-eight, one hundred and thirty-nine, one hundred and forty. The last ceiling tile—the one all the way in the corner of my bedroom closest to the window—had cracked. That’s new. I needed to call the super and get that replaced before it screwed up my daily count and started to cause me stress instead of helping alleviate it.

I was still lying on my bedroom floor after hanging up with Bryant, a guy I’d met at the supermarket last week (instead of the usual bar pick-up, which never seemed to pan out that great). He’d called to tell me he was stuck at work and going to be an hour late for our second date, which was fine with me because I was tired and had no desire to get up anyway. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I shut my eyes and focused on the sound of my own breathing. In and out, in and out. Eventually finding my calm, I hauled myself up off the carpet, freshened up my makeup, and poured a glass of wine before grabbing my laptop.

I browsed the New York marketing job posts on Monster.com for the sum total of five minutes before growing bored, and then I went on Facebook. As usual. Because job hunting sucks. Scrolling through my friends’ posts, I saw the same old things—pictures of food, their kids, the lives they wanted us to believe they had. I sighed. A picture of a guy I went to middle school with cradling his newborn son popped up in my feed, and my mind immediately went to the man I hadn’t gone to middle school with, Chase Parker.

I’d thought about my fake classmate more often than I cared to admit over the last month. Odd little things made him pop into my mind—Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups on the impulse-buy shelf at the grocery store checkout (I bought them), a picture of Josh Duhamel as I thumbed through People magazine in the waiting room at my dentist (Chase could easily pass for his brother—I might have torn out the page), my vibrator in my nightstand drawer (I didn’t, but I thought about it. I mean, I did have that page and all).