Grumpy Boss

“Explain yourself,” she said, crossing her arms. “The knocking. The phone call. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t have time to find out if you’re ready,” I said, and gestured toward her building. “I know this is a little over the top, but I needed to be sure you could handle a stressful situation.”

“And how did I do?” she asked, speaking in a hard clip.

“Wonderfully,” I said, smiling huge. “Now, are you going to invite your boyfriend in for coffee?”

She studied me and I wished I could hear what she was thinking. She looked skeptical, her anger slowly draining, and I wouldn’t have been insulted if she told me to fuck off and sent me back to the office. In fact, I probably deserved it.

But again, we didn’t have time for that.

“Come on,” she said, nodding. “I don’t have anything fancy.”

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty easy to please.”

She rolled her eyes. “I truly doubt that.”

Her apartment was on the ground floor in the back of the building. It was neat and orderly, though cramped. Small kitchen, tight living room, bedroom and bathroom toward the back. Everything was decorated in shades of blue and gray, and she had a stack of lawyer books next to the couch: bar exam study guides, history of case law, and a treatise on supreme court hearings. It looked like truly riveting stuff.

She put some Folger’s in her drip machine and let it run. I sat on a stool and leaned my elbows against the counter. Her kitchen was neat and orderly, which was a good sign. If we were going to get through this, it would be best if she were organized. I figured, being a lawyer meant she likely had some skills that would transfer over to our little endeavor, but I couldn’t be sure. Seeing her apartment was part of my goal this morning: I wanted to get a better sense of how she lived.

“Nice place,” I said.

“It’s the best I can afford.”

“I meant it.” I tilted my head. “You’re going to interpret everything I say as some kind of attack, aren’t you?”

“After you’ve banged on my door and called me, just to freak me out, then yeah, probably.”

“Fair enough,” I said, as she turned to open the refrigerator. She bent down slightly, and I got a good view of her ass. Pretty on top of being smart. She was attractive enough that people would believe I’d given up my bachelorhood for her, which was a prerequisite to all this. When Lori told me she had a hot friend that could help, I was admittedly skeptical.

But Lori was right: Millie was hot as hell.

She turned back around with a tub of orange juice. She didn’t offer me any as she poured herself a glass then leaned against the counter next to the coffee makers, eyeing my warily the whole time.

“You keep staring at me,” she said.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to come out wearing so little clothing.”

She blushed, which was cute as hell. I knew I was being a dick, and a little pushy, but I had to get past all this awkwardness and try to force some intimacy.

“Not like I had a choice,” she said. “I don’t sleep in a pant suit.”

“It’s a good thing. We’re supposed to be dating, remember?”

“You’re probably going to ask to see me naked next.” She arched an eyebrow and drank her juice as the coffee machine gurgled.

“That sounds like a good idea,” I mused.

“It’s not,” she said. “And you can’t.”

“I understand your position, but think of it this way. We’re committing perjury, or at least we’re misleading investors, which is just as bad. We can get some serious prison time, if this deal ever leaks beyond me, you, and Jack. If we’re going to pull it off, we need to act like we’re actually together, and that means I need to know what you look like naked.”

“You first,” she said, nodding at me. “You want me to strip? You first.”

I shrugged, stood, and started to unbutton my shirt. I didn’t have any body taboos—I was in good shape, well endowed in the nether region, and didn’t mind showing off what I had. I’d been complimented enough in my life to know that women enjoyed looking at me.

Her face turned even redder, which I didn’t think was possible, and she put her glass down, throwing her hands up in the air and waving them. “Okay, stop, stop, stop,” she said. “I’m not stripping. Keep your clothes on.”

I stopped, disappointed. I knew she was bluffing, and calling her bullshit was fun, but still. “It would be nice if we could get this sexual tension lceared up.”

“Oh my god,” she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “There’s no sexual tension.”

“There’s tension,” I said, insisting. “Every time I mention your body, you turn so red I’m afriad you’re having a heart attack.”