–Rick: It’s Friday! And not just any Friday, but a special one. Our six-month anniversary means something.
Over a billion emojis follow. They don’t add to his argument and make me want to fire back an equal number of angry ones.
–Me: Do people really celebrate six-month anniversaries?
–Rick: Hell yeah! It’s the thing these days.
My gut says that’s doubtful. But what do I know about stuff like that? I barely have the time to breathe, much less keep track of the latest dating trends.
–Me: Okay. I’m going to try, the operative word here being TRY, to do this trip. But no guarantees.
–Rick: Awesome! Everyone’s gonna be soooo jealous when we post about the trip!
More annoyingly bouncy and happy emojis fill my screen. I shake my head at how ahead of himself he’s getting. He’s a premature emojinator. He seems to have a certain vision about our relationship and its milestones. I’m beginning to see more and more clearly that our visions don’t align as well as he believes. Posting about what I’m up to and making everyone insanely jealous has never been on my priority list.
Still. I said I’d try, so that’s what I’m going to do. One silver lining: I can probably sleep in the car while he drives to Tahoe.
To make sure I don’t forget about this impromptu trip, I write 6MAT next to the star on the calendar. Six-month anniversary trip.
Okay, work. I open the Excel file Emmett wants. I better make it good because I don’t want to stay in the office late again. Or hear Rick’s whining because he’ll pout if I have to work late today. Right now, my tolerance for any kind of bullshit is so low that even the slightest provocation will push me over the edge.
Cracking my knuckles, I hunch over my laptop to slay another day.
Chapter Two
Amy
“Working hard?”
I start, then look up from my laptop to see Emmett standing above me. I check the time on the monitor. Only ten minutes since I pulled up the file.
He’s carrying a fresh mug of coffee and his sleeves are rolled up, which means I wasn’t the first to get here. He always rolls them up when he arrives in the office, showing off lean, muscled forearms that never fail to make me salivate.
Then there are his gorgeous eyes. They always seem to burn with hunger when he looks at me. Any other man, and I’d say he was attracted. But with Emmett, I know better. What he’s really hungering for is another opportunity to torment me.
Yet…
Despite the fact that we’ve been working together for a year and ten months, my heart still does those funny gymnastics—tumble, roll and twist. It never did that before I met him, and it’s increased over the last twenty-two months because even my belly feels weird these days, all fluttery in response to what my heart is doing. Hot shivers run through me at the most inopportune times, like when I should be focusing in meetings or paying attention to what my boyfriend’s saying during the few dates we can manage.
The only thing that makes my inopportune attraction to my boss bearable is that I also feel a furious need to slap him ninety percent of the time, especially when that murmured “I’m probably going to regret this…” pops into my head. Or when he wrecks another of my evenings or weekends with his casual sadism.
I actually thought I was at the wrong address when I came in for the final interview. It was like I’d walked into a modeling agency by accident and somehow come face to face with their top model.
At six-four, Emmett Lasker towers over most people, his shoulders impossibly wide, his hips narrow and tight. Dark, slanted eyebrows cut decisive lines above his deep-set eyes that are such a light blue they appear almost silver. His facial features are masculine and finely balanced, as though chiseled by a master sculptor. A straight blade of a nose, not too long, not too short, just perfect. High forehead and square jaw with a hint of dark stubble. The only thing soft on his face is his mouth, which is surprisingly full. One corner lifts up frequently, as though he’s sardonically amused at the world.
And maybe he is. He’s one of those rare prodigies of finance with the Midas touch. He sees things that most of us mortals can’t.
Working at GrantEm is basically the absolute best ice-cream sundae available in the world of finance. Working directly with Emmett Lasker himself? The cherry on top.
It’s too bad I’m not feeling any of the smugness or satisfaction that people must get when they work for a genius. The hot, uncomfortable knot in my belly? That’s forty percent lust over his gorgeous self, forty percent dread over what he’s going to do to ruin my day and twenty percent self-recrimination over the fact that I still think he’s an exceptionally fine specimen of masculinity. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s my boss…if we’d met under any other circumstances…I might’ve gone for a one-night stand, something I’d normally never even consider. But when you run into a guy who heats your blood just by breathing, why the hell not?
However, he is my boss. And not just any boss, but a boss who’s driven to make my life hell. Who’s hired me against his better judgment (I’m still not sure why he did that), and who’s apparently determined to show me that I don’t belong, no matter how well I perform at the firm.
But how can he look so fresh and hot this early in the morning? He seems to glow from within. The man didn’t leave the office until after I did last night. And he got here before I did this morning. How is it possible that he can look like a million bucks when I feel a need to IV three or four quarts of espresso?
He raises an eyebrow expectantly.
Does he want the Excel file now? He told me he needed it by two, and I’m not giving it to him until later. I’m entitled to the hours allotted for this task!