Falling for His Boss

by Rosie Praks

  And before he could tweet out his answer, she was already yapping away again with her own hypothesis. “Plus, you like to be controlled. You masochist. That’s your nature.”

  What the hell is Macy getting at? What kind of hypothesis was that? “You make me gag, Macy. I’d rather bite my own tongue than ever say I have the hots for her.”

  “I only say what I see. And I see all the tension brewing between the two of you. All that tension building up inside you. You must find her so attractive. You, Darcy darling, definitely have the hots for the witch. I wonder how you manage to get any work done around her.”

  “Get out of here.” Darcy had enough of their stupid conversation.

  There was no way he could fall for that witch. She was old. He had one rule he abided by like his life depended on it. Golden rule number one: Never, ever date a woman older than you.

  Talking about older women, Darcy remembered a certain event in his past. That last time he went on a date through youandme.co.nz, they’d paired him up with a woman who was in her thirties. The woman looked so young, but once he saw her age on her driver’s license, it made his throat run dry. He just couldn’t muster the courage to date her after that, so he’d run out of the restaurant after slamming his fifty-dollar note on the table.

  Darcy snickered.

  And here Macy was saying he had the hots for his boss. He shook his head and burst out laughing. That witch was a prune, a wrinkled prune, whereas his ideal lover would be a young, ripe plum. Lord, he couldn’t even bear the thought.

  “Stop laughing now, Darcy. I have the eye of the future. I know you have the hots for your boss. You just mark my words,” Macy said, jumping off from his desk.

  Finally!

  “Yeah, Macy, just keep believing that.” He shooed her out the door.

  “You just mark my words, little ducky.” She eyed him from the hallway, meaning business.

  “Yeah, yeah, Macy, you can go now.” He shook his head just as the door closed.

  He looked at the pile of mess on his desk once she had left his office. He began tidying it all up. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t get Macy’s suggestion out of his mind. You have the hots for your boss.

  Darcy tried imagining his boss wearing seductive clothing. Maybe some lingerie he saw in those glossy magazines his past girlfriends used to show him. The ones they bugged him to buy before their birthdays. And when he refused, they’d make a fuss, leading to another of his many famous breakups, which all included wine, either red or white, being splashed on his face with something along the lines of, “You stingy bastard,” being lashed out at him. Yep, that type of lingerie, with the strap falling just off her shoulder, revealing her pale, creamy, milky skin, her black hair tousled down her back, with her eyes seductively shaded by those black strands and long lashes.

  Beautiful. Hot. Sexy. Darcy shivered at the thought. Yeah right, Darcy. You have the hots for your boss. Probably in your next lifetime.

  Chapter 3

  “I do not have the hots for Darcy,” Whitney said, sitting in front of her laptop, a grouchy mask on her face, reviewing the materials for the interview she would be conducting via Skype with one of the major American billionaires, Preston Ballantine, later that morning.

  Apparently, this job was passed on to her from the top because none of her staff were gutsy enough to talk to this young billionaire. They were in awe of him, and since they’d heard he was a cold bastard too, figuratively speaking of course, everyone ran out like cold turkeys. And since she was their boss, she had to arrange everything. Sometimes, she felt she was the only one running the whole place.

  While she was busy scanning the documents, her two best friends, Clarice and Elise, who before were busy conversing about men in general, had somehow turned their attention to her and her hapless puppy of an assistant, Darcy, who’d started working at E Enterprises six months prior.

  How wonderful.

  And if that wasn’t enough of a headache, add in little Conrad’s goo-goo ga-ga, too. What a terrific atmosphere she was in. If only she were happy. But these factors only aided in accelerating the headache she was trying to keep at bay.

  “Are you sure?” Clarice probed her further. “The last time we came to visit you and Elise spilled the hot cocoa onto the carpet, he was very obedient when cleaning up the mess.”

  “Of course he’s obedient. He’s my assistant. He’s supposed to listen to everything I say,” she said, her attention still focused on her screen.

  “Really now?” Clarice teased her. “What he did goes beyond his job description, though.”

  “Stop jabbing at me.” She flicked her eyes to her friends in annoyance. “I thought you asked me to come because it was an emergency. And here we are in Mrs. Brie’s bridal store to try on your wedding gown.”

  “It is an emergency.” Clarice pouted. “I need you to try on your bridesmaid gown. The wedding isn’t far away. Only a month to be exact.”

  “Yes, Clarice. Your emergency usually means me getting out of work at short notice to attend to your needs. Like sending us text messages in the middle of the night to tell us to meet you in front of BabyLand at 6:00 a.m. sharp so you can stock up on Conrad’s nappies before he was even born.”

  “Hey, that was an emergency. The whole store was on sale. Plus, I was pregnant. I needed both of you to help me. Conrad, tell your godmother you need all those napp—Don’t chew on that toy, darling,” Clarice said to her son, Conrad, who was crawling around her feet with a stuffed toy in his mouth.

  “Clarice, it wasn’t just the two of us.” Whitney drew Clarice’s attention back to her. “You brought that rascal Max and Fern with you.”

  “The more the merrier.” Clarice smiled, taking the toy out of her son’s mouth.

  Conrad, disheartened, crawled to Elise’s side and played around her legs.

  Clarice resumed her position in her chair again and picked at her scone she was eating. “Now Conrad doesn’t need any more stuff. He’s got all his clothing and toys to last him until he’s ten years old.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. With the amount of nappies in your closet, you should be set through your fifth baby.”

  “Hey, Hunter and I haven’t gotten round to making any more babies yet.” Clarice blushed red.

  “But you will after your honeymoon,” Whitney jeered.

  “Whitney!” Clarice puffed out.

  “Yes, Clarice?” Whitney teased.

  “All right, you two.” Elise intervened, getting up and grabbing a hot drink from the refreshment table. “Enough bickering and back to less sensitive topics.”

  “All right, then.” Clarice jumped up on the spot before Whitney had a chance to shoot her down again. “We’ll talk about Darcy, then. Don’t you think he looks hot, Elise? Don’t you think he and Whitney are like boiling hot lava, so hot they could meld together?”

  “Clarice.” Irritation laced through Whitney’s voice, and her headache was just at the brink of explosion. “I seriously have work to do. If you’re here to make jokes, then I’m really off. I need to head back before twelve. I have a Skype meeting with one of our American guests for our summer issue.”

  Thump! Elise caved onto the floor. Both Whitney and Clarice hurried over to their friend’s sides.

  “Elise, dear heavens, what’s wrong?” Clarice asked in concern.

  “What just happened, Elise? All I mentioned was an American guest and you fell.” Whitney led her friend to the couch.

  “Sorry, weak knees.” Elise smiled sheepishly at Whitney and Clarice, then picked up Conrad to sit on her lap. “I’ll just sit here and hold Conrad, then. No more walking around clumsily.”

  “All right, you be careful. You’re always swooning in unlikely places.” Clarice went back to her seat and resumed eating. “Next time, if you want to swoon, make sure it’s in front of a man,” she pointed out.

  “Not likely to happen.” Elise smiled solemnly, her arms hugging Conrad for comfort. “Now back to you
r other topic please.”

  “No, Elise, we’re talking about you.” Whitney jumped up, glad that embarrassing discussion was finished. Except it wasn’t.

  “Let’s just conclude that Whitney, our witch, has the hots for Darcy.” Clarice smiled cheekily, getting back at her friend for making her blush, especially talking about Hunter and her making babies.

  Damn that woman, Whitney thought. She just wanted to bonk her head. Whitney turned to her other friend sitting there smiling quietly. A smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  What is wrong with Elise? she wondered. She wanted to ask when she heard giggling fits coming from Clarice’s direction.

  “Clarice, what are you laughing at now?” She frowned.

  What was wrong with her two friends today? Clarice was beyond happy, teasing her at every turn, whereas Elise just kept quiet, like she was unhappy about something. But then Elise started giggling too when she saw Clarice laughing. And that got her mind going in a blender again, because now she couldn’t fathom where their weird behavior had steamed from.

  She attempted to give them both her sour look, the one she liked to use with her staff in the office just to scare them, but her sour face only resulted in both friends giggling even more.

  Whitney could only shake her head and reprimand the girls. “Elise, that giggly fit of yours doesn’t suit your character, so stop. And Clarice, you’re the mother of a baby boy and a fiancé to an ex-Casanova. Now stop making fun of other people and keep a good leash on that partner of yours.”

  Clarice immediately stopped her laughter and bit down on her scone, still hiding a playful smile behind her straight face. Coughing and clearing her throat, she got down to business. “All right. All right. I’m sorry, Madam Witch. Enough teasing about you and your loyal puppy assistant, then.” And then she sighed. “Dear heavens, I keep on forgetting you hate to have your personal life and professional life mixed up. Maybe it’s time for you to try on that bridesmaid gown. Mrs. Brie is here waiting for you.”

  Whitney eyed her friend, just to make sure she wouldn’t broach that subject again. She then went to Mrs. Brie, allowing the woman to do as she wished with her body while she stood like a mannequin.

  After tugging, nipping, and snipping excess material, she was fully dressed in a pale-blue gown with lace trimmings on her short sleeves. Her long black hair, which was usually tied up in a tight bun for her professional work, was now in loose tendrils around her oval face. With her pink rosy lips, she was a picture of perfection, nothing like that serious businesslike witch façade she liked to display. Even Elise and Clarice couldn’t stop marveling at her.

  “You look beautiful, Whitney,” Elise commented in astonishment.

  “Somehow I keep forgetting underneath all that cool ice façade you put on is a beautiful woman,” Clarice added.

  “Are you a poet now, Clarice?” Whitney smiled at her friend, softening a bit now that they no longer talked about Darcy.

  Whitney didn’t like to mesh her personal life with her professional one. There was a big black line defining her two lives. When she was at work, she was the strict tyrant boss. When she was with friends, she was her normal soft self. Which meant there would be no relationship, no romantic liaison, and definitely no love crossing over her two lives. In simpler terms, no romantic relationship between colleagues. She’d learned her lesson once. She was not going to get burned twice.

  “No, you really are beautiful. Your skin is so fair,” Clarice commented, breaking her thoughts.

  And Clarice was right. Yes, she knew she was beautiful. She had the skill, she had the brains, and she had the beauty. There was nothing she couldn’t achieve and there was nothing she didn’t have. At the age of thirty-one, she was at the top of her game.

  She was confident in herself. She didn’t need a man to make her life complete, unlike Clarice, who needed a companion. Not that she blamed her. Clarice was just wired differently.

  Whitney marveled at herself in the mirror. She was really fair. Maybe pale was a better word to describe her complexion. Still, she couldn’t understand why she was so pallid, though. Her mother was a Kiwi and her father was also a Kiwi, but maybe he was part Scandinavian somewhere along the line. Not that it was of any importance to her. She stopped caring about him after she turned twenty-one.

  Ah, twenty-one. That awful age when she realized the people she loved most betrayed her. Her father betrayed her mother, and because her mother was so stupidly in love with him, she’d died of a broPreston heart. Well, it was actually cancer. But even before dying, on her last breaths were words of her beloved husband, even when said husband had run away with her best friend. How foolish!

  And then there was her ex-boyfriend Jonathan, a work colleague, who she found out had cheated on her while they were dating. Straight sex with his best friend’s sister. Now if they’d loved each other so much, why did he even ask her to get involved with him in the first place? How stupid!

  And lastly, there was her ex-boss. He too had harassed her when she was just a little working bee.

  Of course, that one small incident was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. No more playing Miss Nice Girl. She should have listened to her three spinster aunts and worked her way up to the top of her career instead of dillydallying with said boyfriend. Now, though, she’d slaved day and night and had achieved a high position in the company. Through that experience, she had learned to toughen up and transformed into a strict woman who people now dubbed Madam Witch.

  Straying away from those painful memories, which were best forgotten, she turned to her friends. They were still sitting in their chairs, munching away on theirs scones.

  She asked Clarice, “Why am I the only one trying this dress on? Why are you two not dressed?”

  “Elise already had her fitting,” Clarice said between chewing. “She’s only here to accompany me and look after Conrad. You, Whitney, neglected your duty.”

  “And you said this was an emergency.” Whitney rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror, gazing at her reflection again.

  Her hair was really too long. Maybe she should cut it into a bob. Wasn’t that what Aunt Jacinta had said? The bob was in. She scrunched her hair up and tried putting it in a bun, then inspected herself from different angles.

  “I was busy, if you must know,” she said to her friends’ reflection. “You just can’t keep calling me up at the last minute like this.”

  “You’re always busy.” Clarice dusted the last crumbs off her lap and walked to where Whitney stood. She surveyed her friend’s hair, then started holding different accessories to it. When she found a flower clip, she put that in, then nodded in approval. “I think we should wear flowers in our hair.” She decided. “It would look nice. Don’t you think, Elise?”

  “I don’t want to wear flowers in my hair. Take it off.” Whitney began to remove the hair accessory, but Clarice was having none of it. The woman slapped her hand. “Ow. What was that for?” she yelped.

  “Don’t take it off. It looks nice on you.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she said. And when she saw her friend pouting, she laughed. “Are you pouting now, Clarice?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Don’t deny it. I don’t know what’s wrong with you these days. First it’s the teasing and then the slapping, and now you’re pouting. What did Hunter do to you? Ever since you’ve been with him, you’ve gone a bit loopy. Is your head all right?” She tapped Clarice’s forehead for emphasis.

  “My head is perfectly fine.” Clarice swatted Whitney’s hand away again.

  “Then what’s wrong with you? Elise, what’s wrong with her?” Whitney asked Elise instead.

  “Maybe she’s in love,” Elise replied, smiling at the pair bickering again.

  “Ahh.” Whitney laughed, shaking her head.

  “Maybe I am.” Clarice pouted again. And then she went to clasp Whitney’s hand. “Maybe you should go a bit loopy, too. It’s a wonderful feeling.�
�� Clarice smiled passionately, like her mind was away in fairyland.

  God, my friend is such a romantic, Whitney thought. “No, thank you,” she said firmly, unclasping Clarice’s hand.

  Oh, she remembered all those feelings all right, that silly feeling Clarice described. That butterflies swarming in the stomach, the constant shortness of breath. All those symptoms that put you in the category of love sickness. Yes, it happened to her once. But it wasn’t likely to happen again, though. Even though sometimes she wondered if it would all be different if she were to fall in love again.

  Then feeling ridiculous about this whole love notion, she turned her attention to more immediate matters. Like her short skirt. “This skirt is too short. I don’t like it. Can we choose another dress?”

  “You have lovely legs, Whitney. Long and slim. It suits you. Elise, what do you think?” Clarice asked Elise for her opinion again.

  “I think it looks beautiful,” Elise commented. “Does Godmother Whitney look beautiful, Conrad?” she asked, and Conrad replied with a coo in her ear. “See, even Conrad agrees.”

  “See, Elise agrees. Conrad agrees. And I agree. Three against one. We win,” Clarice announced.

  “Conrad’s cooing doesn’t necessarily mean he agrees.” Whitney defended her case.

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s still two against one.” Clarice grinned.

  Whitney shrugged her shoulders and went to pick up her top-notch designer glasses, the ones she liked to wear for work, the ones she’d overheard her staff call her “coke bottle glasses.”

  Didn’t they understand these glasses were worth a fortune? They were a designer brand, vintage style. And her black dress was also vintage, not an old hag’s clothing.

  Anyway, why should she care what people thought of her? She stopped caring ages ago. She wasn’t dressing up to please them. She only did it to intimidate them. Just to keep them in line. She knew if she didn’t act or dress like this, no one would respect her. She was just too young to become the editor-in-chief of the well-established company, E Enterprises.