Boss I Love to Hate: An Office Romance(29)

“Nothing.” I turned on the faucet and began to suds up the pans while he rinsed off the dishes and then placed them in the dishwasher.

“This is being domestic,” he said.

I felt a strange wave of déjà vu as we stood there, side by side. We looked exactly like my mother and father, cleaning up after our large family dinners.

I choked on my own saliva. And coughed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah”—cough—“I’m”—cough—“okay.”

“Do you need some water or something?”

I shook my head.

What? Where the hell did that come from?

Getting my mind off of it, I scrubbed the pots and pans hard enough to turn my hands pink from the pressure. I needed to leave—and, like, ASAP before I went crazy. All this domestication and seeing Brad in this element were throwing me for a loop.

“So, did you want to discuss the deal?” I had to steer this course back to the straight path and stay in my lane.

He wiped his hands on the towel next to him. “Sure, but with a glass of wine. After this exhaustive day with Sarah and work, I need a drink. Let’s head to the living room.”

Wine? Wine was not good. I still had to drive home. My heartbeat picked up in tempo, and I rubbed my sweaty palms against my skirt.

“You just had a glass.” I glanced at the wine bottle still set on the table.

“I need another one. I’ll open a bottle of Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon. Trust me. You’ll like it.”

We sat in their living room, which had a bar area comparable to what I’d seen in small restaurants. We talked about his upcoming meeting with Thomas and how he’d bring up my points on keeping his employees employed as one of the main reasons he should consider selling. We talked about his nieces, and for a little bit, Brad asked me about my family, all my siblings, and my parents.

Oddly, it felt nice, as though I were talking to an old friend, as though I were talking to Ava, which was weird because Brad was not Ava. And because this was the guy I’d pictured torturing in different, excruciating ways.

Time had flown by, and by the time I looked at my watch, it was past nine in the evening.

Mary and Sarah said their good nights, and after Brad tucked them in, we continued our conversation.

After downing my first and only glass of red wine liquid courage, I straightened. This was it. No way to chicken out now. “So …” I swallowed. “… one of my best friends is getting married at the end of the month, and I …” I twisted my fingers around the slim neck of the wineglass, staring at the way the glass flared into an elongated tulip-like bowl. “And …” I swallowed again. “… I kind of need a date.” I dared to peer up at the amused look on his face.

Great.

His smirk was devilish, and there was that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “So, that’s all the mystery?” He took a long sip of his wine, never breaking eye contact. “Why me?”

I blew out a breath and looked at anywhere but him. “Well, I can’t just bring anybody to this wedding. I need a …” It was getting hot in here. I adjusted the neck of my purple silk shirt, feeling the heat rise up my cheeks and to the tips of my ears. “I need a good-looking date.”

His smirk widened. “Is that so?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you going to make this more difficult than it is?” With Brad, it was better to get to the point. “My ex-boyfriend is going to be there.”

“Okay, so you’re using me to get him back.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I mean, I don’t know.” My voice wavered, and I pushed a hand through my hair, frustrated. “He has a girlfriend already, a very pretty one, and … and I don’t want to look like a loser, okay?” I leaned back on my chair, already feeling defeated. “You already know I’m desperate if I have to ask you.” I hated that I was in this situation, yet here I was, begging the boss I disliked to be my date.

For a beat, the room was silent, and my cheeks burned. I couldn’t believe I had to degrade myself to this. If I had the money, I would just hire a date. I’d hit an ultimate low this time.

I poured myself another glass of wine because it was needed. Then, I chugged a big gulp back. I was past the sipping-wine stage at this point.

When I glanced up at him, I watched him sip his glass, and then he tipped his chin.

“Does this date entail after-wedding activities?” There was that smirk again—the mischievous, I’m up to no good, little-boy smirk.

I coughed, wine spilling on my shirt, and half-laughed. This was the Brad I could handle—the cocky bastard who thought every woman wanted him.

I wiped my lips with the back of my hand. “I don’t want to sleep with you.” I made a face. “Like, ever. I just need a date. You’re not even my type.”

He poured himself another glass, watching me with unconvinced eyes. “I’m everyone’s type,” he said.

I cringed and wiggled my whole body as though there were a spider on me. “Sorry, I don’t want what everyone else has already had.”

“For someone who’s asking me for a favor, you’re being awfully mean.” There was no bite behind his voice like he was unaffected.

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry, all right?” I drained the last drop of wine, and I was tempted to ask for my third glass. “The man who broke my heart is taking Barbie to this wedding I’m in, and I don’t want to look like an absolute loser, going stag. I want to show him that I’ve moved on, too.” My fingers pressed against the neck of the glass. With any more pressure, I could break it. Fragile, just like a woman-in-love’s heart.