The New Boss: An Office Romance

I’ll be there! Leaving soon.

She sends me a thumbs up and I drop the phone back onto my dress.

Fingers curl around my hip. “You are way too far away.”

Malcolm pulls me back against him, turning me so that we’re face to face and he can kiss me. Beneath the sheets we’re nothing but skin on skin, and after a week of barely being able to get naked, it feels like unspeakable luxury. “Just checking my phone.”

“This early?”

I laugh. “I have to go soon. My audition.”

“That’s right,” he says. “You’re going to knock them dead.”

Nerves dance in my gut. “I hope so.”

“There’s not even a question.” He runs his hand down my body. “And as much as I’d love to keep you in my bed all day and fuck you into oblivion…”

“We’ll have another day for that,” I say. “Right?”

“Damn well better be,” he mutters as he pulls away. “I’ll drive you home.”

I roll out of the bed and grab my dress. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’s going to be so much faster.”

“And like hell am I letting you take the bus at this hour in those shoes.”

I smirk at him and make sure he’s watching when I slip the dress on over my head with nothing underneath. “I guess the ‘fuck me’ shoes worked on you.”

Malcolm pins me with a stare while he pulls on a pair of pants. “If I could make a law that you only wear those shoes, I would do it.”

“God, they hurt so bad. I don’t even want to put them back on.”

He looks around. “Do you have everything?”

“Yeah.”

Malcom throws on a t-shirt—something that is an entirely different kind of mouthwatering—and slips into shoes before crossing the room and lifting me into his arms. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t want to put on the shoes, you don’t have to. I’ve got you.”

I can’t look up at him. I’m suddenly blushing. This feels more intimate than who we are. But who are we? We’re falling into each other so fast that I can’t breathe, but at the same time, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The way he’s carrying me—like it’s effortless—unlocks something in me. It’s comforting, and leaning on someone like this, even physically, isn’t something that I’ve been able to do in a long time.

He carries me all the way to his car and tucks me into the passenger seat like it’s nothing. And then he takes my hand when he starts to drive like this is something that we always do. It’s so comfortable that I can imagine that this is us after a year and not a week.

But the closer we get to my apartment, the more nervous I get. I want to be in this play. It’s gotten under my skin, and I want it so badly that I know it’s going to hurt if I don’t get it.

I start to go over the audition lines in my head, looking out the window and trying to focus on the words and my motivation.

“You all right?” Malcolm asks.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Nervous.”

It takes me a second to realize that the car is stopped and that we’re in front of my apartment. “Oh. I’m sorry.” I go for the door, and he stops me, coming around and lifting me out of the car.

Malcolm grins. “Shoes, remember? Which number are you?”

“Four.”

I can’t breathe as he carries me up the stairs and then sets me down on the welcome mat. “I suppose I have to let you go now.”

“I really wish that you didn’t.”

He kisses me harder than he should while we’re standing at my door, but I kiss him back just as hard. This entire day and night has felt magical, and I don’t want it to end.

“Call me after,” he says, “and maybe we can pick up where we’ve left off.”

“I’d like that.”

He nods toward my door. “Go get ready. Break a leg.”

I bite my lip to hide how hard I’m smiling, and I watch him all the way back to his car before I head inside. Amy is already in the middle of fixing her hair and make-up, and then I’m right there with her.

Sinking into my own head, I go over everything that I’ve prepared for this role. I touch up my southern accent, curl my hair in fifties waves, and throw on that red lipstick that worked so well on Malcolm.

He’d probably have stayed and driven us to the audition if he knew that Amy also doesn’t have a car. So when I step off the bus at the theater, I’m smiling, imagining his face.

There’s an entire crowd of women dressed up just like us. Fifties beauties ready to smile and read lines, and my heart drops into my stomach. This is the reality of Los Angeles. Every audition has a hundred people that look just like you and are probably just as talented.