Boss I Love to Hate: An Office Romance(27)

“I’d love to.”

She reached for my hand and dragged me down the hall. “It’s in our game room.”

“Game room?” I could only imagine how massive this game room would be.

I took in a deep breath. Was I overwhelmed? Yeah, just a little.





Time flew by as we played Chutes and Ladders, Sorry!, Life, and a long game of Monopoly where Sarah and Mary were on one team.

A sound of a chime echoed in the room.

“Uncle Brad is home!” Mary jolted up from the floor and ran down the hall like a puppy waiting for her master to come home.

I strolled leisurely with Sarah next to me, and when I entered the kitchen, I nearly fell over at the cutest sight.

Brad had grocery bags in each hand, and Mary had her little hands wrapped around his neck and was kissing his cheek senseless.

“Can I have ice cream? Please. Please. Please.” Each please was accented with a kiss.

Brad’s laughter was free and natural, unlike his forced smile at the boardroom meetings. He dropped his bags on the floor and wrapped his arms around Mary. “Of course you can.” He rubbed his nose against hers and then bent down until her feet touched the ground. “But, first, you have to eat dinner.”

I felt like I was in The Twilight Zone. Where is the stuck-up, stick-in-his-ass Brad? I was used to Brad the Brute, unmoving, unsmiling, all serious and cocky. This guy was a totally different person.

“Thanks for picking Mary up.” His voice was genuine, without its usual annoyance. His eyes made their way to mine.

“You’re welcome.” I teetered back and forth in my gym shoes that I had changed into in the car. The rest of my professional outfit stayed intact from earlier—purple silk top, plaid mid-ankle pencil skirt.

Brad reached into the bag and emptied the contents on the enormous island—chicken, broccoli, pasta, milk, eggs, ice cream, and cones.

Mary’s eyes widened as she grabbed the tub of ice cream and clutched it to her chest.

“Mary, put it in the freezer, so it doesn’t melt.”

A pout formed on Mary’s face, but she didn’t complain. She simply did as she had been told.

“After dinner?” she asked with a hopeful light in her eyes.

He touched the tip of her nose. “After dinner, sweet Mary.”

I was having an out-of-body experience, as though I were watching a television show. The actor in front of me was almost believable—almost. If it wasn’t for my past experiences with him—yelling obscenities about a client and observing grown women and men leaving his office, crying, I might believe the guy in front of me.

When Brad placed a pan on the stove, I straightened, ready to talk about what I’d come here for and then leaving. He was cooking dinner, and I’d obviously overstayed my welcome.

I’d already seen his house when I was pretty sure no one else in the office had, and soon, I’d be asking him the unthinkable—to be my date for my sorry-ass self.

I blew out a breath. “So …”

“Want to help me cook dinner?” Brad placed a pot of water on the stove, next to the other pan, not looking up. When I didn’t answer right away, he said, “Or you can play with the girls.”

“Uh …” I shifted in my spot and played with the front of my shirt. Dinner would be crossing some weird line for sure. “I really have to get going.”

“You’re at least staying for dinner.” He lifted an expectant eyebrow.

It was a command made in the form of a request—one of Brad’s tactics. You’re going to print that out, right? You made that appointment, didn’t you? Where you said yes to all of his questions because saying no would sound bad. It was like when your parents asked you, Did you do your homework? As if I’d say no to that trick question.

I bit my bottom lip, and though my mind screamed to get down to business, my stomach grumbled, contradicting everything my rational brain was telling me.

“You’re staying, so come here and help me.” His confident tone was not meant to be argued with.

Brad rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white button-down, and I couldn’t stop staring at his elbows. No idea why. Maybe ’cause I hadn’t seen his bare elbows before, and seeing him in this casual state was messing with my head.

Sarah and Mary left the room, and I took the liberty to wash the broccoli and cut it into pieces. Brad was making chicken and broccoli pasta.

I noticed his feet were bare and had a strange urge to snap a picture for Ava. She’d appreciate the sight of his bare feet and elbows, too.

“So, about the deal …” My voice trailed off, nerves getting the words stuck in my throat.

“Do you mind if we talk about this after dinner?” He flipped the chicken on the pan. “I have some stipulations.”

“What kind of stipulations?” I asked, eyebrows shooting to my hairline.

“After dinner.” Then, he smiled and poured the pasta into the boiling pot.

Great. Same old BILK. He’d made a deal with me, yet he was the one with stipulations. That was what I got for making a deal with the devil.





Laughter filled the kitchen. I knew there was an eighteen-person dining room because I had seen it when the girls took me on a tour, but we were all seated in the intimate table for eight in the kitchen.