Crazy About Her Impossible Boss

by Ally Blake

  Her voice was only a little husky when she said, “Does ‘none of your business’ mean anything to you?”

  “Can’t say that it does.”

  “I have plans.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  Come on, Lucinda. This is not a big deal. Stop prevaricating and tell him!

  “Just...plans.”

  “Plans!” a voice boomed from the direction of Angus’s main office doorway. Lucinda spun to find Fitz Beckett and Charlie Pullman, Angus’s business partners in the Big Picture Group, amble on in.

  “I love plans,” said Fitz—broad, dashing, a total cad, the Big Picture Group’s partner in charge of Recruitment, and Angus’s cousin—as he hustled over to Lucinda, took hold of her and twirled her into a Hollywood dip. “Plans are my favourite. What are these plans of which you speak?”

  Charlie—tall, lovely, an utter genius and the Big Picture partner in charge of Client Finance—followed in Fitz’s wake, giving Lucinda a shy smile before heading over to Angus’s desk and launching straight into a story about financial irregularities in one of their client’s accounts.

  The three of them in one room was a formidable thing. The three of them in one company made for one-stop business branding, recruitment and financial strategy.

  From her upside-down vantage point she saw Angus raise a finger to his mouth to ask Charlie to shush.

  “Lucinda was just telling me about this weekend’s plans,” said Angus, his voice a deep rumble.

  “Exciting plans?” Fitz asked as Lucinda slapped him on the arm until he brought her back upright.

  “Do any of you men know the meaning of the word ‘boundaries’?”

  Fitz shrugged. Charlie blinked. While Angus’s intense hazel gaze remained locked onto her.

  When Fitz cleared his throat, Lucinda realised the room had gone quiet. How long had she been staring back?

  In a panic, she covered herself by crossing her eyes. When she uncrossed them, she found the corner of Angus’s mouth had kicked into a half-smile.

  Her heart fluttered like a baby bird in her chest.

  “Look it up,” said Lucinda, not giving them even an inch. “If I don’t see you before I head off, have a good night.”

  Fitz shot her a grin. “Count on it.”

  Charlie lifted his hand in a wave.

  Angus motioned the others over to the couches by the bookshelves and just like that he’d moved on to business. His one true love.

  Lucinda turned and walked out of her boss’s office, shutting the door behind her with a snick. She moved back to her desk where she sat and waited for the tremors in her hands to subside.

  Why hadn’t she just told him? Told all of them?

  “Told them what, exactly?” she muttered as she put her notebook in her bag, deciding to type it up later that night, and closed up her desk for the day. “That you’ve been seeing a really fabulous man but you didn’t tell anyone as you didn’t want to jinx it? That, although he’s absolutely perfect on paper, you know you’ve been holding back because of this hopeless crush you have on your unsuspecting boss that has kept you in an emotional wasteland for the past several years? So now, even though you haven’t managed to light any real spark with Mr Perfect-on-Paper yet you’ve planned a dirty weekend with the guy because you’re not getting any younger.”

  Yeah. She could just imagine their reaction.

  Boundaries. Boundaries were a good thing. Angus did not need to know every minor detail of her life.

  Lucinda slipped into her jacket, whipped her scarf around her neck, grabbed her bag and strode down the hall towards the bank of lifts, lifting a hand to wave to any stragglers still at their desks.

  Lucinda pressed the Down button and waited, recalling another “minor detail” she’d kept to herself; the phone call she’d received just that day with a job offer most executive assistants would kill for.

  What was the point? It was hardly news. Recruiters attempted to headhunt her all the time.

  But, whatever challenging conditions came with their working relationship, she’d never leave Angus. Their connection was rare. The repartee, the respect, the shorthand, the success they shared. Every other assistant she commiserated with over then phone made her realise how lucky she was.

  While without her he’d fall apart.

  Being the best assistant Angus Wolfe could ever ask for meant she’d come to know the man better than she knew herself—literally.

  His favourite colour? Charcoal grey.

  Hers? Who knew? Bluish? Periwinkle? Was that more purple? She did like her yellow kettle a great deal.

  She also knew he was even more hopeless when it came to romance than she was.

  Though he’d say otherwise. He called himself a dedicated bachelor. A strident holdout when it came to romantic entanglements. Too busy. Too set in his ways. That not imposing those constraints on any one woman was a public service.

  All of which meant that even if by some strange twist of fate Angus ever saw Lucinda in the same light in which she saw him, he would still not be the man for her.

  For Lucinda liked entanglements. She yearned for constraints.

  So, she, Lucinda Starling, planned to put an end to her self-imposed emotional wasteland.

  None of which Angus ever needed to know.

  * * *

  “Honey, I’m home!”

  Voice echoing down the hallway of her small cottage in suburban Abbotsford, Lucinda took off her jacket and scarf, not bothering to disentangle either from the handle of her bag as she dumped the lot in a heap on the hall table.

  “In the kitchen!” called Catriona, Lucinda’s big sister, housemate and godsend.

  Lucinda sniffed the air in the hope there might be a little leftover dinner she could snaffle and caught a whiff of chicken and potato wedges—the good ones she’d found on sale. She hoped Cat had added a little chopped carrot for colour and health. Maybe some baby spinach leaves.

  Then she sighed as she kicked off her heels and padded down the hall.

  Cat was in the kitchen, one foot tucked up against the other knee, chomping down on a piece of buttery toast.

  Her sister had inherited their dad’s lanky genes. Lucinda was shorter and curvier, like their mum. She grabbed a carrot stick in lieu of the toast.

  Thinking of her parents gave Lucinda a sad little clutch behind her sternum, as it always did, even though it was over ten years since the crash that had taken them.

  Then she looked past her sister to the small room beyond. Her heart swelled, her lungs tightened and her head cleared of any and all things that had seemed so important only a moment before.

  For there sat Sonny. Her beautiful boy. Hunched over a book at the tiny round table tucked into the nook beside the small kitchen, distractedly polishing off the last potato wedge. His plate was wiped clean bar a few spinach stems. Go Cat!

  “Hey, sweet pea!” Lucinda called.

  Sonny looked up from the adventures of Captain Underpants, hair the same dark brown as Lucinda’s hanging into his eyes. A blink later, his face broke into a smile filled with gappy baby teeth, one wobbly. “Hey, Mum!”

  She edged around the bench and pressed back Sonny’s hair to give him a kiss on the forehead, making a mental note to book in a haircut. She caught scents of sweat and sunshine. “Good day?”

  “Yup.”

  “What’s the newsy news?” she asked as she headed into the kitchen.

  Cat tilted her head towards the microwave, where a plate sat covered in a little mound of cheap, easy goodness. Lucinda nodded her thanks then plonked onto a chair tucked under the kitchen bench.

  Sonny looked off to the side, searching his data banks for whatever snippet he’d tucked away, knowing she’d ask. “Mr Fish, the fighting fish that lives in the library, is missing.”

  “Missi
ng, you say? That is news.”

  Sonny nodded. “Jacob K and I went to the library at lunchtime and saw the tank was empty. Jacob K asked if it was dead. Mrs Seedsman said, ‘Many believe they know what happens when a creature is no longer with us, but nobody knows for sure’.”

  “Did she, now?” Lucinda looked to Cat who was biting back a laugh. “Quite the progressive, Mrs Seedsman.”

  “I like her hair. It has purple bits on the ends.”

  “Then I like Mrs Seedsman’s hair too.”

  Happy with that, Sonny gave her another flash of his gorgeous smile before easing back into his book.

  Lucinda turned to Cat. “Jacob K?”

  “New kid,” said Cat. “Sonny was put in charge of him.”

  “Of course he was. He’s the best. Anything else?”

  Cat finished rinsing the plates and popping them in the dishwasher, before reaching for a glass of wine she’d clearly had airing in wait for Lucinda to get home and take over Sonny duties.

  “All good. Came home chatty. Didn’t touch his sandwich again.”

  Lucinda sighed. Once he was down, she’d be online searching for lunchbox ideas for kids who refused to eat sandwiches, as heaven forbid Sonny eat something she could prepare and freeze in advance.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Bath time, kiddo.”

  “Okay,” said Sonny, not moving from his book.

  Lucinda considered that her five-minute warning, knowing by now she’d have to ask at least three more times before he actually moved. It gave her time to unwind and settle into the different pace and sounds at home compared to the office.

  Time to shed her work persona—proactive, sophisticated, tough, respected—put on her Mum skin—reactive, threadbare, fingers crossed she was making all the right choices, and a massive soft touch when it came to her boy—and remember that, whatever worries she dealt with at work, they always came second to this.

  And always would.

  * * *

  A half-hour later, Sonny was bathed and dressed, his hair a little wet from being washed, his pyjamas soft from the two nights they’d already been worn. She could get another night out of them. He only had one other pair that fit. The joys of owning a growing boy.

  Once he’d given Cat a goodnight hug, Sonny ran back into his room.

  Lucinda carried him the last few metres, just because she could. It might not be an option for much longer. At eight years of age, the kid’s feet were nearly dragging on the floor.

  Once Sonny was settled, Lucinda tucked herself up on his bed, making sure not to block his bedside lamp so he had enough light to read. They took turns reading and listening. When she dozed off for the second time, Lucinda gently closed the book and went through the rest of the night-time routine: butterfly kiss, nose-tip kiss and kiss on both cheeks, followed by a seven-second cuddle.

  Special toys were found and tucked into their respective nightly positions—Dashy the Dog behind Sonny’s neck, Punky the Penguin behind his knees. Blankets were moved up to the chin, star-shaped night-light put on low.

  This was the time of day when she felt so lucky to have this all to herself—this routine, this sweetness, this boy. Her heart filled her chest. She loved the kid so much.

  Though give it ten more minutes and if he called her name needing a drink, or a trip to the toilet, she’d wish with all that same heart that she had a partner to shoulder the load.

  Such were the swings and roundabouts of single motherhood.

  Lucinda made it to the door before turning to blow one last kiss. “Goodnight, little man.”

  “Night, Mum.”

  “Love you.”

  Yawn. Then, “Love you more.”

  She went to close the door before she was stopped by a, “Hey, Mum?”

  “Yeah, buddy.”

  “Did Angus ring you today?”

  Lucinda narrowed her eyes. “We work about three metres from one another all day long. We can wave from where we sit. So why would he...? The ringtone!”

  Sonny tucked his sheet up to his nose to smother his laughter.

  “Did you have a hand in that, little man?”

  “Angus messaged last night to ask me how. Cat had let me use the tablet to research planets for homework,” he added quickly. “Not playing games.”

  “Hmm. You are a rascal.”

  Sonny grinned. The sweetest, most good-natured kid in the world, he was the least rascally kid ever. He made better choices than she ever would.

  She was working on improving that score.

  “Goodnight, little man.”

  “Goodnight, Mum.”

  She closed the door then notched it open just a sliver before padding back to the kitchen to stare inside the fridge in hope of healthy inspiration.

  All the while thinking about Sonny. And Angus.

  She knew they not so secretly messaged one another. She’d been the one to set up the private account when Sonny had worn her down with begging. And only after Angus had insisted it was fine with him so long as Lucinda had full access to the conversations.

  Not that she checked much these days. It was mostly links to “try not to laugh” videos. But it had all started after a less innocent incident a few years back.

  Sonny had woken up feeling sick one day, and none of Lucinda’s usual methods of cajoling, encouraging and downright bribery had convinced him to get ready for kindergarten. So, with a huge, unwieldy backlist of things to do waiting for her at work, she’d taken Sonny to the office with her for the first time.

  Angus—completely up to date on every small thing—had shocked the living heck out of Lucinda when he’d offered to let Sonny hang with him in his office. After a good two and a half seconds of consideration she’d handed over Sonny’s tablet—a necessary evil of modern parenting—and left the men to their own devices.

  Less than an hour in, over a mid-morning fruit snack, Angus had wangled from Sonny the real reason behind the “sore tummy”. The kindy group had spent time that week making Father’s Day cards.

  Sonny—being Sonny—had put up his hand to ask his teacher what to do if he didn’t have a father to give a card to.

  Lucinda had made it her life’s mission to make sure Sonny understood that, whether a child had a mum and a dad, or two mums or two dads, grandparents, siblings or a mum and a super-cool aunt, every type of family could be as rich with love as any other.

  Unfortunately, other kids had pretty set opinions on what a “family” ought to look like and had made it their mission that day to make sure Sonny knew it too.

  When Angus had pulled her aside that afternoon, while Sonny had been learning how to use the photocopier with one of the guys in accounts, Lucinda had felt sideswiped. Not only that Sonny had gone through such an ordeal but that he’d spilled to Angus. And not her.

  Angus had taken her by both hands—something he’d never done before that day—had sat her down, made sure she was looking him in the eye and explained that he’d told Sonny how he’d grown up without a dad too.

  She’d learned more about his childhood and his motivations for why he worked so hard in that one conversation than she had in all the time they’d known one another. And, when Angus had assured her that his imperfect mother’s love had been his north star, the guiding light that had kept him on the right path, she’d been hard pressed not to sob.

  Things had changed between them that day.

  In trusting Angus with her son, she’d given him the impetus to step out from behind the figurative wall from behind which he engaged with the world, leading to a moment between them that had been honest, raw and real. And the tiny, innocent glint of a crush she’d happily harboured had erupted, splintering off into a thousand replicas, spiralling uncontrollably into all directions like fireworks, too much, too many for her to have a hope of reining back in.
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  While Angus, with his vintage chess set and killer AFL handball skills, fast became Sonny’s hero. The strongest—maybe the only—male influence in his young life.

  She’d never told Angus that Sonny had come home from kindy that week with a card made out to him. It was another of those “minor details” she figured best to keep to herself.

  She heard the water cooler talk. She wasn’t alone in her crush. Every girl in the office was right there with her. Only, they talked about how infamously uncatchable he was. That he dated widely. And never for long. They called him the Lone Wolfe. If he knew how quickly Sonny had become attached to him it would have sent him back behind that wall.

  As things stood, their friendship had grown. Evolved. Stretched. Become something important to them both. It was good. Just as it was.

  Lucinda realised she was still holding open the fridge door. She let the door close, but not before taking out a small tub of chocolate custard.

  Tossing the lid of the custard into the bin, Lucinda nabbed a spoon from the drying rack by the sink and went to find Cat in her usual spot, watching Netflix while typing away madly at the laptop balanced on a cushion on her lap.

  A freelance journalist, Cat’s life was a case of produce or starve. But it also meant that when Lucinda’s husband had left, deciding marriage and parenthood was all too hard—while Lucinda had been cooking dinner and holding their toddler in her arms, no less—Cat had moved in the next day, more than filling the space Joe had left behind. Making Lucinda realise how little she’d asked of him. How little space she’d taken up herself.

  Sonny had been thirteen months old. Earlier that day he’d walked for the first time.

  That was nearly seven years ago now.

  And it had taken that long for the regular routine, the comfort of home and the warm hum of work success to make room for other hopes and dreams that had begun to flicker at the corner of her mind’s eye.

  With a sigh, Lucinda sank into the lounge room chair.