Arrogant Boss

“Romantically. And I didn’t tell you at first because I wasn’t sure what it was between us. If it was serious or not.”

“Alright… okay. Did you read the HR policy handbook we were given when we started? Because while there is no mention of non-fraternization, there is talk of inappropriate relationships on page eighteen. But the phrasing isn’t exactly clear.”

In spite of myself, I almost smiled. “I have. There is nothing explicitly forbidding it.”

“Good.” He frowned. “Is this your first relationship since James?”

I nodded.”I’m glad.”

“You are?” It felt as if a weight had lifted from my shoulders. I’d had no idea how he would respond when I eventually told him, and my scenarios had ranged from the outraged to the disappointed. He’s your boss, Emily.

Turner shrugged. “Yes. Julian Hunt is clever. You could do worse. I’ve seen some of his coding work, and the other engineers seem to worship at his feet.” He frowned suddenly, a thought striking him. “You don’t, do you? He’s not infallible, Emily. Nobody is.”

“No. No, I don’t. Although in all honesty, I might have ruined it all. We had a big fight a few nights ago.”

Turner rose from the couch and gave me a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. Without another word, he began sorting through the shelves again. “Was he in the wrong?”

I sighed and admitted the truth. “No, I think I was.”

Turner frowned at a bottle of window cleaner. “Do you want him in your life? Does he spark joy?”

I thought of Julian’s crooked smile and amused gaze, the way his body curved around mine. The soft sigh he made in his sleep when I nestled closer against him. The pain in his eyes when I admitted that I hadn’t expected us to last.

“Yes,” I said. “He really, really does.”

“Then it’s easy. Say you’re sorry.”

I looked over at him, his easy confidence and airy manner. My brother, who had always had a foot in a higher plane with his mind racing a mile a minute. I’d been so proud of him as a child. My little brother can solve one of those colored cubes, I remembered bragging in class. He’s six. Todd in my third-grade class had once called Turner weird and I had shoved him during recess. Best detention I ever had.

“What if he doesn’t accept my apology?”

Turner looked over at me as if the idea hadn’t even struck him. “Well,” he said slowly, “then he doesn’t really care about you. You always forgive the people you care about.”

I snuck up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, breathing in the familiar peppermint smell of the mints he always chewed. A little awkwardly, Turner’s hand came up to pat my arm.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Anytime.”

My hand danced with nervous energy across the steering wheel as I stared at Julian’s front gate. A stalker. That’s what I had become, a creepy lurker with a box of cookies on the passenger seat and a wildly beating heart.

We hadn’t spoken for three days. No texts, no calls. Judging by the expression in his eyes on Friday, I hadn’t really expected him to reach out, but every day we didn’t talk still hurt.

So quickly, he’d become a fixture in my life. Someone who saw me for me, someone who made me laugh and who I could share my innermost thoughts with. Only when I saw the disappointment in his eyes did I realize how much I had come to value his opinion of me-how much his high regard meant.

So I’d showed up, heart in my hand, to apologize. I’d circled the block twice before I parked the car. Inside, my nerves were playing bongo drums, making me queasy.

What if he’d already moved on? I would knock on the door and he’d ask who are you, like a scene from one of those bad soap operas where main characters kept getting amnesia.

An even worst thought struck me. What if he was in there right this second, making jokes with some other woman as she flipped omelets for their morning-after breakfast? I hoped she burned them. I hoped she stuffed them full of cilantro. He hated cilantro.

Denise had texted me a perky good luck! and asked me to call her after to let her know how it went. That had been thirty minutes ago, and I refused to text and tell her I was too chicken. And if I sat here any longer, I’d likely have the neighborhood watch arrest me for loitering.

Grabbing the package of cookies, I repeated my brother’s calm instructions to myself. It’s easy. Just say you’re sorry.

I got out of the car with more resolve than I felt and smoothed a hand over the navy blue sundress I’d put on. It ended in a row of ruffles and the bodice was covered in little white polka dots. With my matching suede boots, I felt cute and summery. Dressed to impress.

The walk up to his giant oak door felt unreasonably far. I’d always appreciated the fact that he lived in a normal residential area, albeit Palo Alto’s absolute finest, despite his wealth. There were no fingerprinted gates or retina scanners to prevent drop-ins.

I took another deep breath and I rang his doorbell, clutching the box of cookies tightly. Bringing them felt silly all of a sudden, a childish gesture, and I glanced around wildly for somewhere to discard them. My heart was beating like a jackhammer.

But then the door opened, and there he stood.

Julian regarded me coolly with a phone pressed to his ear. “No, I’d like you to email the documents,” he said to someone on the other line. “If we can move fast on this deal, we should.”

“Hi,” I mouthed and gave a little wave.

Julian narrowed his eyes and stepped aside, allowing me to enter. Alright then. Not exactly a warm welcome, but perhaps I didn’t deserve one.

He was wearing his normal slacks and worn loafers, but the casual shirt he’d thrown on stretched taut across wide shoulders and thick biceps. The urge to touch him was instant. Three days without feeling his arms around me or his lips at my temple-I was burning.

He walked through the large foyer, on through the living room and out onto the patio. I followed awkwardly. The familiar iron-wrought chairs and table greeted me. There was a giant bottle of ice water next to his open laptop.

Not an omelet-making bimbo in sight.

“Yes, I’ll sign, but only if that concludes the matter. This can’t come back to haunt us at a later date.”

I sank down into the chair opposite Julian and studied him as he listened to the person on the other end. His face was as strong and handsome as ever, but there were faint circles under his eyes and his jaw was clenched tight. He looked every inch the CEO and a very pissed one at that.

I put the box of cookies on the table and crossed my legs, making sure my hem rode up a bit. It was a dirty trick, but I had to ensure he listened to me. Reminding him of how good we’d been together in every way possible wouldn’t hurt.

Julian nodded at whatever his conversation partner said. “That’s reasonable. Make sure it’s iron-clad, but handle everyone involved well. This will bear Hunt’s name.”This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

There was a brief pause and I glanced down at where his fingers danced across his knee. Perhaps he was nervous, too, or at least anxious to get this over with. It made me feel a tiny bit more confident, but then he barked a harsh talk to you later and put his phone down on the table with more force than I think a thousand-dollar smartphone would have preferred.

I shot him a smile.

Julian didn’t return it. He only leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, making it crystal clear that I was going to be doing the talking.

“Hi,” I said softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

“I was home.”

“I brought you some cookies. I know they’re not homemade, but I really can’t bake. Like, at all. Honestly, I’m doing you a favor here by not exposing you to my non-existent skills.”

Julian barely afforded the pretty white packet a glance, his eyes entirely focused on me. “Why didn’t you try to contact me?”

“Right after we… argued?”