My (Mostly) Secret Baby: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy(29)

I stared out the window of the conference room. Manhattan sprawled out as far as I could see, cutting clear, geometric shapes against blue skies.

And there was a young guy in his mid-twenties washing the window on a scaffold attached to pulleys. Most of my senior administration staff was sitting around the long conference table and debating about how we should handle a contract dispute between one of our athletes and their biggest sponsor.

I was uncharacteristically distracted, though, because the window washer was making a heart shaped pattern every time he wiped his cleaning fluid off the window. When I followed his stupid gaze and equally stupid grin, it appeared to be aimed at none other than fucking Tinkerbell, who was sitting to my right and facing the window.

I tapped her leg under the table and shot her a look.

She frowned down at the table, then up at me. “Footsie? Really, Damon?” she whispered. “You’re lucky I wore clean socks today.” She added with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Try paying attention, Tinkerbell.”

“You first.”

I sat back in my chair. Why did her attitude always seem to stir up the wrong emotions in me? I should’ve wanted to fire her on the spot, but instead I found myself wondering which hand I’d fist her hair with while she bobbed her head up and down on my cock.

Pathetic. Apparently, this was what staying celibate for too long caused. I could barely keep it in my pants around her, and I had no idea what about her drove me so wild.

I found myself studying her, from the pixie-like features to the curvy shape I could remember having to myself five years ago. I thought about the way she’d felt so damn tight and warm around me, and how good it had felt to hear the way she hadn’t been able to stop the moans from slipping free when she came on my cock.

Chelsea raised an eyebrow. I realized then she was watching me watch her. “Are you that jealous of the window washer? Should I go see if he’ll give me a kiss to go with those hearts?”

I looked at the window washer, who was craning his neck to see if Chelsea was paying attention to his antics. I got up suddenly, then yanked the blinds closed. Everyone else looked up at me.

“The sun was in my eyes.” I grumbled, sitting down.

“Those windows face the West, Mr. Rose,” Chelsea said in an obnoxiously flat tone. “It’s ten in the morning.”

I noticed everyone trying very hard to look anywhere but my direction.

“If I need your input, I’ll ask for it, Miss Cross. Please focus on taking notes. And do your best to write more legibly. Those notes look like you scribbled them while sitting on one of those vibrating hotel beds.”

Chelsea bit back a grin. “Do you have a lot of experience with vibrating hotel beds, Mr. Rose?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or is it that you can’t help imagining me on one of them?”

Was she serious? Apparently, my dick thought so, because it immediately stiffened.

“Keep figuring out our fucking problem,” I commanded the rest of the room. I started scribbling something on my notepad, just to avoid having to look at Chelsea for a moment.

When I hired her, I’d intended to drive her out of the office with the slow torture of my proximity. Instead, it felt like she was the one with the upper hand, and I needed to find a way to fix that, and soon. Really damn soon.

I looked down at what I’d written, then grinned with mirth.

Don’t be stupid was scratched into the legal pad about ten times.





18





Chelsea





“Mommy, how long do I have to stay under your desk?”

“Shh!” I grinned stupidly. I was still positioned directly in the center of the office. I had no cubicle walls and no form of privacy. I also had a daughter with a school holiday and no brother to watch her while I worked today.

Maybe the slightly more reasonable thing to do would’ve been to ask my bosshole for the day off. Instead, I’d come in early enough that I knew only maintenance staff might see that I was accompanied by an adorable little package of curly cuddles.

It also gave me time to position my bag and whatever else I could find to sort of block off the bottom of my desk. Luna was currently down there with my phone to watch and a pair of headphones. We were going on three hours, which was like three years in little kid time.

The office was buzzing with activity by now. Smartly dressed men and women zipped around the room like there were literal fires to put out on their keyboards.

And me? I was muttering answers to a little girl hiding under my desk.

“Do not move, okay?” I said.

Luna froze where she was, which caused her small frame to tip over sideways while she acted like she’d just been blasted with ice.

I grinned, then got up. It was Friday, and I’d promised myself I was going to confront Daria before the end of the week. Maybe I saved it for the absolute last minute, but I was a woman of my word, either way.

I found her at her desk in the corner of the room, which was partitioned off like everyone else’s, except mine. She turned in her chair to regard me when I walked up. I noticed her desk and partition walls were decorated with little skeletons, voodoo heads I hoped were fake, and posters for bands I didn’t recognize.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, it’s me. The one you told to wear yellow to impress Damon.”