Boss I Love to Hate: An Office Romance(32)

“Mimosa in the morning with clients, drinks for lunch, and now, champagne in the evening. Is this something I should warn your brothers about? That you’re a borderline alcoholic?”

He lifted his glass and then leaned back against the cushion, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. “I enjoy a little drink once in a while. Maybe you should try it. It’ll loosen you up.”

I kicked off my wet gym shoes and then my socks. My toes were pruned. Definitely less suave than him. “I am loose.”

He barked out a laugh, his eyes telling me what he was thinking—me some ho.

I rolled my eyes. “All I meant was that I don’t need alcohol to have a good time.”

“I doubt that. When was the last time you …” He coughed. “… got loose?”

“Hello? Inappropriate.” I pointed the tip of my glass in his direction. “How about I ask you that question? Oh, never mind. I know since I’m the one making all your plans.” I barked out a louder, obnoxious laugh. “Lucille … Jasmine … Stella …”

The smile erased from his face, and his tone was stone-cold serious. “I don’t sleep with every girl I go out on a date with. You can’t have that kind of impression of me.”

His mouth slackened when I didn’t respond.

“You do, don’t you?” His foot dropped to the floor, and he leaned in, his wineglass between us.

I shrugged like his closeness didn’t affect me, which it didn’t. Mostly. But our thighs kissed this time, and warmth spread where we touched.

“It doesn’t even matter. It’s not like I’m your mom.”

His stare seared a hole on the side of my face, and my cheeks flushed pink.

“What?” I snapped.

“I know I give that kind of vibe, and everyone else thinks of me that way.” He inched in, and his brows furrowed. “But you?” With a slow, disbelieving shake of his head, he said, “I thought you knew me.” There was hurt behind his soft tone.

Knew him? Is he offended?

He hunched over, dropped his gaze, and stared at the wineglass in his hands.

I was about to apologize but bit my tongue instead because I knew his stories. He of all people had shared them with me.

Maybe by making his countless dinner reservations, I had assumed he took them all home, too, but I wanted to assume and not know the truth because I didn’t care. This was a job. He was my boss. Really, should an employee know this much about her boss?

I shifted in my seat, uneasy, realizing boundaries were being crossed, making me uncomfortable.

He got a little quiet, swirling the wine in his glass. “I’m going to change how you think of me.”

“Please don’t.” I sighed. Boundaries. I needed to set up the border, the wall that separated personal from professional. “What I think doesn’t even matter.”

Again, he got quiet, swirling that wine, and then he finished off the glass. “It probably shouldn’t matter.” Then, almost under his breath, he added, “But it does.”

We arrived at Saks Fifth Avenue on Michigan Avenue, which was only a short ride from the office. We could’ve walked, but there was no way high-maintenance Brad would walk in the rain. I doubted he did that.

When we entered the posh shopping area, my eyes took in five female attendants dressed in all black skirt suits and a woman in a pantsuit that hugged her figure. They were impeccable with their non-smudge red lipsticks and tall model-like figures. Compared to them, I looked like Smurfette. They didn’t look like they worked here. They looked like mannequins on display. Figured that he had an all-women team to help him pick out a suit.

The tall woman in the pantsuit with an even olive skin complexion had her black hair pulled back into a long ponytail that lay in the middle of her back. Not a strand of hair was out of place.

“Brad, it’s wonderful to see you. I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re always calling in your orders nowadays.” She pressed her cheek against his, and then she reached for me and placed her hands around one of mine. “You must be Sonia. It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Nadine.” The inflection in her tone reminded me of a serious teacher—firm, articulate, and to the point.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I replied.

She smiled, no teeth, like how the Britain royals did with an air of sophistication. “Let’s get started.”

An hour later, I found myself sitting in a fitting room large enough to rival my apartment with a wineglass in hand. Brad stood on a circular pedestal in the middle of the room as though he were the bride on the show Say Yes to the Dress. I rested against the chair—feet dead, body bone-tired, and mind drained from the long day. He’d been trying on suits for the whole hour, and they all looked the same. I almost jumped out of my seat and fist-pumped the air when he finally decided on one.

An older woman bent down to pin the hem of Brad’s Kiton suit, a designer I’d never heard of before. To me, the suit looked great, but Brad needed one hundred percent perfection, no matter the cost—and boy, did it cost.

“The hem should hit just above the heel,” he said as though the woman who worked here didn’t know that even though that was her job and she most likely had years of experience under her belt.

I noted how the navy-blue suit stretched along his broad shoulders, casing in his well-defined arms. The way his pants accented his height made my mouth water a little. I’d still never date him—my feelings and morals hadn’t changed—but I couldn’t help but admire the package. I was a woman after all.