Boss I Love To Hate

by Kayla, Mia

  “After dinner?” she asked with a hopeful light in her eyes.

  He touched the tip of her nose. “After dinner, sweet Mary.”

  I was having an out-of-body experience, as though I were watching a television show. The actor in front of me was almost believable—almost. If it wasn’t for my past experiences with him—yelling obscenities about a client and observing grown women and men leaving his office, crying, I might believe the guy in front of me.

  When Brad placed a pan on the stove, I straightened, ready to talk about what I’d come here for and then leaving. He was cooking dinner, and I’d obviously overstayed my welcome.

  I’d already seen his house when I was pretty sure no one else in the office had, and soon, I’d be asking him the unthinkable—to be my date for my sorry-ass self.

  I blew out a breath. “So …”

  “Want to help me cook dinner?” Brad placed a pot of water on the stove, next to the other pan, not looking up. When I didn’t answer right away, he said, “Or you can play with the girls.”

  “Uh …” I shifted in my spot and played with the front of my shirt. Dinner would be crossing some weird line for sure. “I really have to get going.”

  “You’re at least staying for dinner.” He lifted an expectant eyebrow.

  It was a command made in the form of a request—one of Brad’s tactics. You’re going to print that out, right? You made that appointment, didn’t you? Where you said yes to all of his questions because saying no would sound bad. It was like when your parents asked you, Did you do your homework? As if I’d say no to that trick question.

  I bit my bottom lip, and though my mind screamed to get down to business, my stomach grumbled, contradicting everything my rational brain was telling me.

  “You’re staying, so come here and help me.” His confident tone was not meant to be argued with.

  Brad rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white button-down, and I couldn’t stop staring at his elbows. No idea why. Maybe ’cause I hadn’t seen his bare elbows before, and seeing him in this casual state was messing with my head.

  Sarah and Mary left the room, and I took the liberty to wash the broccoli and cut it into pieces. Brad was making chicken and broccoli pasta.

  I noticed his feet were bare and had a strange urge to snap a picture for Ava. She’d appreciate the sight of his bare feet and elbows, too.

  “So, about the deal …” My voice trailed off, nerves getting the words stuck in my throat.

  “Do you mind if we talk about this after dinner?” He flipped the chicken on the pan. “I have some stipulations.”

  “What kind of stipulations?” I asked, eyebrows shooting to my hairline.

  “After dinner.” Then, he smiled and poured the pasta into the boiling pot.

  Great. Same old BILK. He’d made a deal with me, yet he was the one with stipulations. That was what I got for making a deal with the devil.

  * * *

  Laughter filled the kitchen. I knew there was an eighteen-person dining room because I had seen it when the girls took me on a tour, but we were all seated in the intimate table for eight in the kitchen.

  “Do you cook every day?” I asked, making small talk. Over conversation with the girls and watching Brad interact with his nieces, the tension in my shoulders eased up.

  Mary chimed in, bouncing in her seat. “No, yesterday, we had McDonald’s, and the day before that, we had Taco Bell, and then we had mac and cheese yesterday, too.”

  Brad continued to cut up some more of Mary’s chicken. “Mason is the stickler when it comes to everything organic and healthy. He called, and I promised I’d cook dinner tonight.”

  Sarah laughed and then stuck some pasta in her mouth. “He’s the food Nazi. He wanted me to e-mail a breakdown of everything we had eaten over the weekend. He wanted pictures, too, for proof, but I told him we hadn’t taken any.”

  Oddly enough, I could see that in Mason, him being the finance and numbers guy. He was meticulous in the office and picky about his lunch—from what his secretary had told me.

  “I’m the cooler uncle, aren’t I?” He teasingly pushed at Mary’s side, his eyes playful.

  “Yes, you are.” Mary's cheeks puffed out, her mouth full of food.

  “He’s the one who hired the babysitter?” I asked.

  “No. Charles and Becky did.” Brad stabbed his fork into the broccoli and fed Mary. “Here, you didn’t have enough broccoli.” He slipped more onto her plate. “They didn’t think Mason and I could handle the month they’d be gone on their honeymoon.” A devious grin crept up his mouth. “Mason will be pretty pissed that I fired her. But, hell, she was irresponsible and late, and I didn’t feel the kids were safe with her. She was always nose deep in her phone, and,” he added, just above a whisper, “everything Mary says goes, which can’t be good.”

  “I heard you,” Mary said, mid-chew.

  “You’re just as guilty.” Sarah outed him. “Mary gets whatever she wants from you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brad chuckled.

  Mary reached into Brad’s pocket and plucked out a sugar packet. She opened it and poured it on top of her pasta. When Mary shrugged, the whole table laughed.

  “It’s because you’re so cute. I can’t help it, now can I?” Brad picked up a broccoli floret and stuffed another one in Mary’s mouth.

  “So, who’s going to watch them now?” I asked.

  “Charles comes back in three weeks, and Mason comes back Wednesday.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll have to deal tomorrow and then work with Mason until Charles get back.” He reached for his wineglass and tipped it back. “We have Leilah, a teen who lives down the street. She can watch the girls until we get home. I’ll have to do pickup and drop-off for a bit.” He placed his glass down on the table, his tone turning serious. “I couldn’t stand Annie watching the kids when I didn’t have peace of mind. It had to be done.”

  Knowing how much he loved his nieces and putting myself in his shoes, I would’ve done the same thing. With family, I’d rather not take chances. And, with Annie not doing her job, it was affecting Brad’s work schedule.

  I sipped my water and crunched on the ice. “I can pick up Mary from school again if you’d like.”

  I was doing this guy way too many favors, but I felt bad for him. He’d been strung out lately with the Titan deal. Picking up the girls wasn’t hard. It was a matter of principle, but I guess principle flew out the door when I’d made him make me a deal he still didn’t know about.

  His eyes locked with mine, and his look made me shift in my seat. “I’d appreciate that, Sonia. Really.”

  “Consider it done.” I tore my eyes away from his, lifting my glass to my lips, giving myself something to do.

  The niceness between us was just plain bizarre. When you were used to bantering with someone a certain way and then, all of a sudden, the mood changed, it was plain odd. More than odd. Crazy twilight-zone odd.

  Sarah and Mary were excused from the table to do their homework, and as I stood, Brad grabbed my plate and placed it on top of his.

  “I can help do dishes,” I offered, aware that it was just the two of us left in the room. Again.

  “It’s fine. We have a dishwasher.”

  He moved with grace and confidence, even to the sink. Some people were born leaders. Brad was one of these men. I could tell from how he led his meetings and talked to his staff. When Brad walked into a room, there was no way he could be ignored. When he was present, people noticed. Even how he did the dishes was powerful.

  I walked past him and grabbed the pans on the stove. “I actually love doing dishes.” I moved to the sink as he began to load the dishwasher.

  “Of course you do. With five siblings, you must have done a lot of dishes.” He chuckled.

  I held the pan up midair. “How do you know how many siblings I have? I never mentioned it.”

  “You mentioned it to Charles one day.” He shrugged as though it was no big
deal, but it was. A huge deal to me. He rarely paid attention. I never thought he cared to know about anyone else, except himself.

  Goodness, he couldn’t even get the security guard’s name correct, and he had worked for him forever. Today had been an eye-opening, period-pad-buying, almost-deal-making experience.

  “What?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “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.

  “And have you?” He placed the glass on the side table and leaned in, resting his forearms on his thighs.

  I frowned. “Have I what?”

  “Moved on.”

  “No.” I cleared my throat. “Well, yes. If you mean moved on as in starting to date other people, I haven’t … yet. But I’m over him.” Why did the words feel so hollow, not real? A tightness formed in the center of my chest every time I thought of Jeff. Did that mean I wasn’t over him?

  “So, you can already see where this is going.” I waved a hand, swatting at an invisible fly. “I need a date but not just any date. I need to one-up him, show him that I’m over him. I need you—specifically you because you’re good-looking.” I blew out a breath, happy that it was finally out on the table. “So, what do you say? Two dates.”

  “First, one and then two? Aren’t we getting a little greedy now?”

  It hadn’t been in the plan from the beginning, but now that I was continuing to do him favors, I wanted a practice run before the real day. “Rehearsal dinner and then the wedding.”

  “You think I’m good-looking?” He grinned outright, straight white teeth and all.

  Goodness, that was what he’d gotten from my rambling? I fell back against the couch. This deal with Brad was equivalent to making a deal with the devil.

  Maybe I could hire a stripper from one of those sites. I did have savings in a CD, but then again, there would be penalties if I took out the money.

  I took off my glasses and rubbed at my eyes, resting one elbow on my knee. I didn’t know what was more embarrassing: when I’d sat on ketchup and walked around half the day—to the office, to the restaurant, to run Brad’s errands and mine after work—and no one told me I had something red on my skirt, people probably thinking it was period stains or now.

  “You already know how embarrassing this is, but I’ll be more humiliated if I show up, dateless, while he has America’s Next Top Model on his arm.”

  The couch indented from the weight of him, and I lifted my head and slipp
ed on my glasses. He smiled that devilish smile that would look good on his face at the wedding.

  Then, he straightened my glasses. “He broke your heart?”

  I groaned. “Yes, okay?” I decided this was more embarrassing than the ketchup-stain incident.

  “All right then.” He shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll go.”

  Wait. What?

  I did a double take, shot upright, and held my breath. “Really?”

  His smirk only grew. “A deal is a deal. Plus, I enjoy saving the day.”

  I blinked up at him, and when he playfully bumped his shoulder against mine, I was convinced that crossing this secretary-boss line would be okay. And who knew? Maybe, after all of this was over, I’d dislike him less.

  Chapter 8

  Sonia

  “Hey, you coming with me today?” I peeked into Brad’s office.

  Over the past week, he’d been coming with me to eat lunch. Oddly enough, I had been introducing him to places that he’d never gone to before, which had surprised me because, working downtown all his adult life, he’d never been to some of the greatest places I’d ever eaten at.

  At lunch, he let loose. We were civil, and he gave me hope that we could pull off the wedding-date thing.

  “Not today. Busy.” His tone was short, curt. He didn’t peek up from his computer.

  I sighed. Just when I was starting to like him.

  Mason was back and splitting niece duty, and Brad was back to his typical, annoying self at work. Maybe he was just a hangry man, and he needed to be fed.

  “I’ll grab your regular and bring it back.”

  I turned to leave when he said, “They’re coming to pick us up at seven.”

  “What? Who?”

  “My personal shopper.” He lifted his eyes to mine while his hands tapped against his keyboard.

  I blinked once. Is he joking?

  He cocked his head. “Shopping. Personal shopper. Wedding suit shopping. Didn’t you see my note on your desk?”