Boss Man Bridegroom

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Why should you have asked me?”

  “Because, this is your place, Rath. I’m sure you weren’t expecting to have an elderly tenant. There are liabilities and—”

  I place my fingers on her lips to stop her from going any further with that ridiculous thought. “I don’t care who lives here. What I care about is your grandma getting better, you not sleeping on a partially inflated air mattress, and seeing that smile on your face again.”

  She glances at her bed. “The air mattress is fine.”

  “The air mattress is unacceptable,” I say with a stern voice. “I’ll have someone bring you a bed today.”

  “No,” she says quickly. “No, please don’t. I told my grandma my room was just like hers, and she’d be devastated to know how I’ve been sleeping the past few days.”

  “Charlee, I’m devastated to see how you’ve been sleeping the past few days. You’re going through a lot, and you shouldn’t be sleeping on the goddamn floor.”

  “It’s the least of my worries.”

  “You need a bed. I’m not budging on this.”

  She sighs in resignation. “At least do it when my grandma is at an appointment. That way she doesn’t know what’s going on.”

  “Fine.” I capitulate and rest my hand on her leg. We both stare at the connection for a few heart beats and then our gazes meet. Right there, in that moment, something passes between us. I can’t quite describe it, the feelings it sprouts, but this moment, this day, it alters everything moving forward. We’ve crossed a line. I’ve crossed a line and despite my strong promise to myself, of never falling for another assistant again, I know I’ve broken it. I know there are more than friendly feelings blooming inside of me for Charlee Cox.

  What’s even more scary though, as I stare at Charlee, our eyes never wavering, I think there’s a slight possibility that she might be harboring the same feelings. Before I can tell for sure, she looks away, breaking our connection.

  Desperate for her to come back to the office, but knowing she might need more time, I say, “Take tomorrow off too. As much time as you need. I’ll be able to hold the fort down until you return.”

  She barely smiles and says, “Thank you, Rath. I really appreciate it.”

  Little does she know, I’d do anything for her at this point.

  * * *

  She doesn’t come in Friday, leaving me lonely and quite aware of how much I depend on her. I knew she wasn’t going to make it in, but still the thought of going through another workday without her smiling face popping into my office made it hard for me to concentrate.

  And that thought terrifies me, because when did I become so dependent on this girl? At what point in time did I switch from being an independent CEO to a dependent puddle of a mess?

  I miss her dancing.

  I miss her razzing.

  I miss her late-afternoon conversations where she asks weird questions to give my mind a mental break.

  Fuck . . . I miss her.

  Now that it’s Saturday, I’m tempted to ask how she’s doing, to see if she needs anything, to go to her apartment and check up on her.

  No, that would be ridiculous.

  And I’m sure as hell not going to show up with flowers either.

  Nor am I going to knock on her door holding two bags of Chinese food . . . because I’m not sure what she likes.

  And I’m sure as shit not going to have a pastry box under one arm full of lemon curd and cheese Danishes.

  Nope.

  Not going to happen.

  Who the fuck am I kidding?

  That’s exactly what I’m doing. Standing at her door, arms full, unsure of how to knock with a nervous jitter in my stomach from seeing her again.

  Lifting one knuckle to the door while juggling everything in my arms, I tap the wood loud enough to draw some attention and then step back.

  It takes her a few seconds but Charlee finally answers the door and her eyes widen with surprise when she sees me, and then they soften quickly while a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as her eyes take in everything in my arms.

  Fucking gorgeous.

  “Rath, what are you doing here?”

  “Checking on you and your grandma. I wanted to make sure you’re doing all right.” Her smile grows even bigger and my heart trips in my chest. I’m absolutely fucking screwed.

  “Come in, come in,” she says, taking the bags of food from me. “Grandma is taking a nap. She had an early lunch and decided to rest.”

  “Oh okay, I can just drop these things off then and be on my way.”

  She shakes her head. “No, eat with me. Stay, tell me all the things I missed this past week.”

  She doesn’t have to ask me twice. Quietly we put the flowers in some water, fill up some plates with food, and then we head to her room so we don’t make too much noise. I had someone deliver a bed yesterday while Charlee and her grandma were out of the apartment. I also had someone help with the boxes, because I didn’t like that she was partially moved in, as if she wasn’t going to stay long.

  With the boxes cleared out and things put away, the room is much larger than before. I wish it was bigger for her but I commend her for giving her grandma the better room so she can be more comfortable.

  I go to sit on the floor with my plate and drink when she asks, “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting.”

  “Not on the floor. Sit on my bed. It’s super comfortable.” She winks and hops up on the large bed.

  “I don’t want to get food on your blankets.”

  “That’s why washer and dryers were invented.” She pats the bed. “Sit, Rath.”

  Oh, just sit on my bed with me, it’s no problem.

  It’s a huge problem. Being on a bed with Charlee, with this attraction eating me alive, I can’t trust myself. But from the determination in her eyes, I’m not going to win, so I give in, once again.

  I took my shoes off at the door when I first got here, so I sit on the edge of her bed as far away as I can be, practically at the foot of the bed, and set my drink on one of the nightstands. I bend my leg flat on the soft mattress and rest my plate on top of it.

  “You can sit at the head of the bed so you have something to lean against. Don’t be shy, Rath.”

  Shy isn’t what I’m feeling right now. Lying on Charlee’s bed, next to her, is a bad idea but when she looks at me with those large emotive eyes, highlighted by her red glasses today, I can’t possibly deny her. I shift on the bed and lean against a puffy pillow.

  “General Tso’s is my absolute favorite chicken of all the Chinese food chickens.” She takes a bite and moans.

  Okay . . . we don’t need sound effects.

  “Yeah, mine too. Occasionally, I’ll dabble in cashew chicken as well.”

  “Gah, my second favorite.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “We are Chinese food partners, which means next late-night session, I know what we’ll be getting.”

  Next late-night session? That means . . .

  “So . . .” I swallow. “You plan on coming back to work?”

  “Of course.” She rests her hand on my thigh for a second, the touch sending a bolt of lust straight to my cock. Fuck, she has no idea what she’s doing to me, how her light touch has me launching into a tailspin of inappropriate yearning. “I love my job. I just needed a moment.”

  Deep, steady breaths.

  “I can understand that. Your grandma surprised you, and if she’s not saying anything to you about her health, I can imagine the emotional toll it’s taking on you.”

  “Yeah.” She pushes her food around and is silent for a moment. I can sense her wanting to confess something. It’s in the way she bites her bottom lip, the jittery way she can’t seem to sit still. I hold my breath, wishing and hoping she tells me what’s on her mind, so I can fix it. I always want to fix things for her . . . like she fixes things for me.

  Finally, she glances up, nibbles on that lip a few more times, and then turns toward me, settin
g her plate on the bed. She crosses her legs, places her hands in the well of her lap, and says, “Remember that time I mentioned an ex-fiancé?”

  “Vaguely,” I answer, lying, because I remember that comment as if she said it this morning, where she was joking about not having to worry about crazy boyfriends or ex-fiancés bending her over her desk and fucking her. Yeah, I remember that a whole lot.

  “Well, I said that because I have an ex-fiancé.”

  I set my food on the nightstand as well and turn my upper half to face her. “What happened?”

  “Just probably the worst possible thing ever.”

  “Did the motherfucker cheat on you?” My anger spikes immediately.

  She shakes her head. “No, he didn’t cheat on me. It was worse. He left me at the altar.”

  He left her at the altar? Who in their right fucking mind would leave Charlee at the altar? Her grief-stricken face, tearing in a white wedding dress, it cuts me deep, tensing my jaw to the point that my teeth grind on each other and I just about lose it. “What?”

  Speaking softly, she answers, “He didn’t show up, said he wasn’t in love with me, and didn’t want to go through with the marriage.”

  “So why fucking propose?” I ask, feeling like I’m having an out-of-body experience as blood pumps feverishly through my veins. Of all the ball-less things a man can do, leaving someone at the altar is high up there on the “you’re a piece of shit” list.

  “That’s the million-dollar question.” She shrugs and sadly links her fingers together and brings her knees up to her chest where she rests her chin. “It was a very miserable day for me. The third anniversary of that day was the Saturday of the office supply convention.”

  Fuck. I remember the exact hour I ran into Charlee, how I thought she was breathtaking, had joy radiating off her. I remember being an ass to her, peeing all over her parade. Knowing she was suffering inside makes me want to punch myself in the face. “Where I was a dick to you about taking a picture?” I ask, my anger boiling over.

  She softly smiles and must notice how upset I’m getting, because she reaches out and quickly squeezes my hand. It’s a small gesture, but one that surprisingly calms me. “Yes, but you know, even though it started off rough, it was as if you helped me turn a new page in my life. You turned a sad day into a happy day without knowing it.”

  “I wish I wasn’t such a dick in the first place,” I admit. “I was irritated with my temporary assistant for poorly scheduling a brief meeting at a ridiculous time. I took it out on you.”

  “It’s water under the bridge at this point,” she says with a half-smile. She takes a few seconds to gather herself and then says, “Growing up, my grandma always let me play dress up in her wedding dress. I told her one day she would see me walk down the aisle in it.”

  “Fuck.” I shake my head and lean against the headboard, unsure if I can listen to this story without my heart being torn out of my chest. “You were wearing her dress, weren’t you?”

  She nods. “We had it dry-cleaned and carefully altered. It was a simple, pretty gown, no extra pizzazz. Just a silk gown with a neckline cut low for her generation—she was always a rule breaker—and the back is lined with buttons with a moderate train. It’s stunning, and I couldn’t envision myself in anything else but that dress. When my grandma saw me in it, she lit up with tears of joy. I’ve never seen such a look on her face. It meant everything to me.”

  “And then you didn’t get to walk down the aisle.”

  She nods. “I didn’t. It was devastating to say the least. I pushed the day to the back of my mind, not really accessing those feelings until this week, when my grandma talked about how she doesn’t think she’ll get to see me walk down the aisle in her dress now. Listening to the sorrow in her voice”—Charlee’s lip quivers and tears form in her eyes—“it tore me apart.” Her voice chokes up as she wipes away her tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry in front of you.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I say, wanting to reach out to her, hold her again, rub my hand up and down her back, but I don’t move. I stay in place, knowing my boundaries. “Just hearing you talk about it hurts my heart, I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  “It hasn’t been easy. It’s like putting to rest an idea we’ve had ever since I can remember and possibly saying goodbye to that moment we’ll never cherish. The last time she saw me in her dress . . . I was sobbing uncontrollably. She believes that’s the only memory she’ll ever have.”

  “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Charlee.”

  She wipes at her eyes again. “Thank you.” She takes a deep breath and tries to smile, but it’s lackluster at best. “It’s why I just needed a little bit of time away, you know? And I’m truly sorry I left you in the lurch, Rath. It won’t happen again. Her untold sickness, her comments . . . I needed some time to grieve the idea, which might sound stupid to some people, but it was a dream, a dream that according to my grandma won’t come true.”

  Just then, there’s a knock on the door and it partly opens. Her grandma pokes her head inside and when she sees me sitting on Charlee’s bed, her face lights up. “Rath, I didn’t know you came to visit.”

  “Grandma, you should be resting,” Charlee says, unfolding herself from the bed and walking over to her.

  Her grandma waves her hand at her. “Stop fussing over me. We have company.” She gives me a smile and says, “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

  “Just eating some Chinese food. How are you feeling?” I ask, standing as well.

  “Oh fine, fine. Why don’t you bring your food out to the dining room table and we can all nibble together? I think I saw some pastries out there as well.”

  We grab our plates and drinks and walk out to the kitchen where Grandma puts together a small plate for herself.

  “Rath is a sucker for pastries,” Charlee says, so familiar with me. “Lemon curd Danish is his favorite.”

  “Oh, I do love a lemon flavor,” Grandma says, taking a seat at the table. “It’s an older flavor. I don’t see many young people loving it as much.”

  “My mom got me into loving lemon.” I shrug. “I’ll pretty much eat anything with lemon in it but Danishes are my favorite.”

  “A man who loves sweets and has a smile like yours, that’s deadly.”

  Charlee rolls her eyes and pokes her grandma. “Can you stop hitting on Rath?”

  “Don’t tell her to stop,” I say. “I like the compliments.”

  “Of course, you do.” And then she smiles her beautiful smile and forgive me for sounding like Bram—a sap—but my heart feels full. Not seeing her all week and then seeing her so sad . . . was just so wrong. But her smile . . . nothing compares.

  * * *

  “Yahtzee,” I say, tossing my hands in the air when the die rolls to a five.

  Charlee groans while Grandma tosses her pen. “How is that possible? You have four Yahtzees; that’s unheard of.”

  I blow on the tips of my fingers and say, “It’s all in the roll, ladies.”

  “You’re cheating.” Charlee points at me. “And when I find out how you’re doing it, you’re going down, Westin.”

  “Oh yeah? What are you going to do?” I ask, enjoying my very unexpected and entertaining afternoon. When I tried to leave after we ate, Grandma grabbed me by the arm and brought me to the board games where she told me to pick out a few. So far, we’ve played Life, which I won, Scattergories, which I also dominated, and now Yahtzee, which has proven to be another winner for me.

  “You know those smoothies I make for you? I’ll put extra kale in them so it’s one thick chunk of kale that you have to slurp up.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, I would,” Charlee says animatedly. “I will pile kale into that smoothie, like it’s salt, and then sprinkle some dried kale on top just for the hell of it.”

  Grandma looks between the two of us. “Wow, that’s a lot of kale.”

  “Well, I don’t have anything to
worry about, because I’m not cheating.”

  “You have trick dice, some kind of magnetic device that turns the dice at the right time, like in Ocean’s 11.”

  “Is it Ocean’s 11?” Grandma asks. “Or is it one of the other ones?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I will find you out . . . son,” Charlee says with a deep voice, causing me to laugh.

  “Pry all you want, I’m not cheating.”

  “You know”—Grandma taps her chin—“it might help if he lifts his shirt and pulls his pants down so we can examine for any kind of magnetic device. Strip down, Rath.”

  “Grandma, my God, he’s not going to—”

  I stand with no intention to strip down, but the look on Charlee’s face is priceless. I start to lift my shirt to the waistline of my jeans and Charlee closes her hand over her eyes while Grandma claps and makes a poor techno beat.

  “Take it off. Take it off.”

  “Oh my God, Grandma. Stop.”

  “Please, as if you haven’t dingled his dingy yet.”

  I pause, recount what she just said as Charlee does the same. Dingled his dingy . . . the term plays on repeat in my head until I can’t take it anymore, and I fall into my chair and burst out laughing. Charlee’s face is red with embarrassment.

  Through clenched teeth, Charlee says, “I have not even noticed he has a dingy, Grandma.”

  “You haven’t noticed the bulge in his pants? That’s hard to believe.”

  Charlee slinks in her chair, mortified.

  I keep on laughing.

  Leaning forward, Grandma whispers, “Are you circumcised, Rath? My husband wasn’t and even though I was fine with that, it still makes things difficult on my end. Are you”—she makes a scissor motion with her fingers—“snipped?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Charlee says, shaking her head.

  But just to curb Grandma’s interest, I say, “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh, you see that?” Grandma nudges Charlee with her elbow. “Easy access when doing the blowies.”

  “And . . . I’m dead.” Charlee slinks under the table, and that’s where she stays while Grandma and I continue to play Yahtzee.