Boss Rules: A Knocked Up Romance

by Jenna Gunn

  With the determination of a terrier on a scent, she hurries her cameraman closer. Narrowing her eyes, she reads the name embroidered on Bryce’s wide chest. When she’s ready, she gives a thumbs up to the camera. “Abby Roper from Channel 6 here in the Ocean County Marina, following up with the heroes of the day following a dramatic boat rescue of four terrified people.” She beams a bleached smile, about five hundred teeth wide, at my boss. “Captain Archer of the Dynamic Rescue Sweethearts, please tell us about how you two saved all those lives and still look like movie stars.”

  A grin threatens my composure. Rescue sweethearts? Movie stars? Lord, this is California, it seems.

  In Texas, this would not be happening.

  Rescue sweethearts…

  Bet that burns Bryce up. But you’d never know. With a face like a stone statue, he says word-for-word the same answer he told the other woman.

  Impressive. Memory of an elephant, anyone?

  I would never be able to do that.

  She flicks her attention to me, and her mouth opens—I’m filled with alarm because god only knows what’s about to spill out—when a sudden ear-splitting tone erupts from the radio on Bryce’s hip.

  The woman and I both flinch.

  A scratchy, equally loud voice follows the loud tone, “Boat One, respond to a possible kayak in trouble offshore from Tower 2.”

  Raising the radio to his mouth, Bryce responds, “10-4, leaving the marina now.”

  Talk about timely.

  I’m practically snatched off my feet when Bryce yanks my arm.

  Oh jeez! My feet barely hit the ground, sole side down, as he hustles us off toward the boat.

  “Don’t look back,” Bryce grunts as he drops the grip on my arm.

  My eyes focus ahead, but I feel the cameras pointed at our backs. The boat is untied in record time, and we are soon pulling away.

  I don’t even cut my eyes toward Bryce. Not until we are far, far out of camera range.

  All of a sudden, the radio squawks again, “Boat One, did you survive the party in the marina?” I recognize that it’s Bryce’s brother, Bishop. He’s laughing.

  Chuckling, Bryce keys up the mic and says, “Shit, barely.”

  “You owe me.”

  “I think we’re even now.”

  “Whatever, this is way bigger. So you owe me more.”

  “Get back to work,” grumbles Bryce.

  “Have fun out there.”

  Bryce hangs up the mic and slumps back onto the seat.

  He looks way too relaxed. Eyeing him suspiciously, I ask, “Wait, aren’t we responding to a call?”

  “Fake call.”

  “What?!”

  “That’s why I owe Bishop. He faked a call to get us out of there.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Is that what the text message was about?”

  Bryce nods.

  “What? Tired of being a Media Sweetheart so soon?”

  He doesn’t laugh out loud, but I see the shake of his chest. Then he flatly comments, “We do make a pretty hot rescue couple.”

  I have to agree, but I would NEVER admit it.

  This little drama could spell disaster for us both. “I’m worried about that photo, the one the newspaper guy got. I can just imagine this whole thing being spun into all kinds of TV drama.”

  “It’s not over, that’s for sure.”

  12

  Chapter 12

  There’s another TV crew waiting at the dock when we park the boat.

  It’s been a long fucking day. It’s going to be pretty damn hard to plaster on a nice face and whip up something to say for the dog and pony show.

  “I was afraid of this,” Raven says in a low voice as she ties the final dock line. She glances at me, and when she sees the scowl on my face, she flinches. If I look like how I feel, then I’m about as nice to look at as a grizzly bear that’s too close.

  “Um, maybe I should handle this one.” Raven hops off the boat and makes a beeline for the reporter. I sigh in relief as I see that Raven manages a friendly smile and a pleasant handshake with the reporter—a far cry better than a snarl they’d have gotten from me.

  Okay, so that earns her some major brownie points.

  Of course, she did a fine job today at a lot of other things too. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

  Maybe it’s the pretty face or the sexy curves that might seduce someone into thinking she’s just all show.

  Stupid, I know.

  Sexist, I admit.

  But it is what it is. I’m obviously a stereotyping bastard. But Raven’s earned a lot more respect from me today, which is both good and bad.

  The downside is I think it made me want her more.

  Miraculously, I manage to dodge the interview and sit in the truck while Raven finishes up. Some of the edge wears off me, and I even finish the paperwork she started. When she climbs in the cab, I look at her expectantly. “So?”

  “So, I think it went well. They only called us a couple once. Other than that, it was standard interview stuff.”

  My head lolls back onto the headrest. I groan. That’s all I can manage.

  Couple.

  It is the last fucking thing I need. I’m already considered the manwhore of the Archer family, and now, being in the spotlight on national news looking like I’ve got a thing with the new hire will prove to lots of people that I’m the slimeball they think I am.

  Anger flares in my gut.

  I feel Raven pull back. I’m sure my hot emotion is written all over my face.

  “Couple? We’re not a fucking couple.”

  “I’m just as mad as you are,” she snaps.

  It takes me a second to hear her over the pounding blood in my ears. “You’re what?”

  “Furious. Sure it’s a stupid media stunt, not of our doing, but do you have any idea what this could do to my professional reputation? To my chances of getting this job and any other ones for that matter?”

  Her eyes are bright, her face flushed with fire shooting out of her pores. I’ve never seen her keyed up like this. She’s like a tiny fire breathing dragon.

  If I weren’t so tired and so mad, it would be a turn on.

  I sigh. She does have a point.

  Snapping her eyes away from me, she glares out the window. “I’ve worked my ass off. And now I look like a joke.”

  “Joke?”

  “You have no idea, so just…” She’s about to tell me to shut up or fuck off. And it pisses me off even more. On top of everything, we are now caught in a circling toilet bowl of drama because of some stupid TV interview.

  This isn’t just about her. This stupid situation is the last thing I want to have hanging over my head. “It’s my fucking job too. My reputation,” I growl. “I’ve got a whole fucking string of Archer men and the County administrators looking at me with a magnifying glass. I’m no good-boy, and they always look at me like I’m skating on thin ice, just waiting for me to step on a weak spot or slide right off the edge.”

  The air crackles in the space between us—a thunderstorm in the making.

  “Well, I guess we’re just screwed together,” she says with a bite hard enough to feel.

  I laugh then—at the absurdity of the moment. And it’s totally inappropriate.

  It’s the kind of laugh that gets you kicked out of class in high school—a laugh that’s completely out of line, but you just can’t stop it. And the more I try to stop it, the more it comes. Deep belly laughter. It hurts to breathe.

  What just happened?

  How did my day go from that to this?

  She huffs in pure exasperation, rips at the door handle, and flies from the truck. My eyes are full of laugh tears, and I can barely see her through the wavy screen over my vision, but I know she’s stomping her way across the parking lot, her ponytail whipping wildly behind her.

  When I catch my breath, I drive the truck up alongside her. She doesn’t even bother looking at me. She just continues her
march toward the station house. I speed a little ahead, put the truck in park, and slide out, aiming to intersect her path.

  Daggers. Those eyes have firepower. Her chin is set in an angry tilt. Oh, she’s hot, alright. Even hotter now that she’s full of fire.

  I catch her arm, tugging her to a stop. She gives one violent tug, trying to free her elbow from my grip. But I don’t let go.

  “Hey.”

  “Let go, you jerk.”

  “Jerk? What are we…in middle school?”

  She huffs. I loosen my grip. She could pull away for sure, but she just glares at me instead.

  “I’m sorry. I said all the wrong things back there.”

  She shifts her weight between her feet. I feel her hatred for me, sharp as the quills of a porcupine. “I didn’t mean it in a disrespectful way.”

  I soften my face on purpose, relax my brows, and de-escalate the situation. I let out a slow breath.

  Finally, Raven relaxes just a bit, glances down, and lowers her dark lashes over her cheeks for a second. She still doesn’t speak. I see her throat work like there are words stuck in there.

  “This could affect us both negatively,” I concede. “We can try to diffuse it or minimize it, but us being mad at each other is probably not the best way to do that.”

  She makes a little sound. A grunt or a grumble, I’m not sure. But her eyes have gone from throwing daggers to a mere arctic glare, so I guess I’m making progress.

  “I know you’ve worked hard to get here. I have, too. Both of us want these jobs, and we both have the right to have them. So we just stay the course, do our work, and make it known that we are professionals.”

  I feel the second her energy shifts, the crackling and prickly energy between us morphs into something more akin to acceptance. I realize I’m still holding her arm, so I drop my hand away. “I hope you’ll accept my apology for anything I said that might seem like I don’t respect you. It’s been a long day.”

  She swallows and glances off in the distance. “It has. Thank you for apologizing.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, let’s get back in the truck before someone snaps a picture of us having our first lover’s quarrel.”

  It takes her a beat, but she shakes her head. A grin tips up her mouth. Then she laughs. And we both look around to see if anyone was watching.

  13

  Chapter 13

  The clock reads 8:55 when I fall into bed, exhaustion dragging me down for the count.

  But sadly, I might not be able to sleep. How is it possible to feel like half of you took a bath in caffeine while the other half just ran the Boston Marathon twice, back to back?

  I feel beat up, strung out, and altogether not like myself. Damn. What a day.

  At least my roommate is not home, so I’m not subjected to her assortment of offenses.

  God, I envision the day I’ll be able to be roommate free forever. Because if it isn’t the sucky choice of Amber’s music or the loud phone talking, it’s the headboard banging screwfests she and her boyfriend always have around the time I try to fall asleep.

  Soon, I’ll have the money to get my own place. My debt is almost gone, and with the new job…

  A groan escapes me. The job.

  Flopping over on my stomach, I bury my face in the pillow. Why does it have to be so complicated?

  Why did I have to meet him on that train?

  Bryce’s words seep back into my mind. We will mitigate it together. I sure hope he’s right because I feel like this is my one shot. The job I want. The town I want to live in. My chance at financial security. Finally.

  Determined to hold onto the dream, I close my eyes and focus on drifting away. Far away from the day.

  Blam!

  The sound of our front door crashing open jolts me like I’ve been hit by lightning.

  My heart races, and cold sweat slicks my hands.

  Silence draws out in the darkness.

  What should I do?

  Was that a faint scuff of a shoe?

  Then I hear an annoyingly familiar sound. A little whisper of words. A low chuckle, a murmur, and Jacob’s voice. Amber’s sleazy boyfriend. There’s a bump and a scrape as they navigate the hallway past my door.

  “Shhh…remember, we have to be quiet,” Amber giggles.

  “Oh yeah, baby, you’re gonna be real quiet in about five minutes when you’re screaming my name.”

  Ack!

  Yanking the door open, I glare at the two of them and snarl, “A little respect would be nice. I’d like to get some sleep.”

  Amber, disheveled with lipstick smeared around, has startled eyes. “Sorry, Raven. Um, we’ll do our best not to keep you awake.”

  Jeez. I can’t wait to get my own place. The ad on Craigslist said, “Quiet, mature female looking for a similar roommate.” Quiet and mature, my ass. More like drunk, loud, and immature.

  “I’ll just look for another place tomorrow. Don’t mind me.” My voice is cool and uncaring even though moving is not what I want to be doing right now, but nearly a week of her B.S. is more than enough for me.

  I’m twenty-eight. I shouldn’t have to live with a roommate that’s the equivalent of a college co-ed.

  Spinning on my heel, I shut the door a little too hard. Rummaging through my backpack, I find my noise-canceling headphones. When I flop back onto the bed, I turn on something soothing even though it’s like trying to scrub away rust with a cotton ball.

  “What’s got you down, girl?”

  Hm. Where should I start?

  My body is craving Bryce like a drug.

  My roommate is a nightmare.

  I might lose my job for sleeping with the boss.

  “Just didn’t rest well last night. My new roommate isn’t working out.” I confess to Jeremy.

  Eyes startled, he scrunches up his nose. “Didn’t you just move in there?”

  Pushing up the overhead door, I let sunlight flood the workspace in Tower 3. “Needless to say, the ad didn’t match reality.”

  He stretches and yawns. “Gonna move?”

  Slipping off my green Ocean Rescue windbreaker, I contemplate his question and wish it were as simple as finding another place. “Eventually. But I need to save some money first.”

  He flashes a grin, and his bright smile makes his lite-coco skin even more attractive. “Your new job should help. I remember when I got my promotion from recruit to full time. That first paycheck…wow, was I happy.”

  My mood flounders. Lack of sleep doesn’t help. Grousing, I comment, “No guarantees on that. I still have more than three weeks to go.” I half expect him to fire me just so he can attempt to continue to screw me.

  “Shoot, you’re already winning the bossman’s heart.”

  My eyes widen, and a knot twists in my stomach. “Huh?”

  “I haven’t even heard him yell at you yet.”

  Eep!

  He just doesn’t know about our parking lot drama, and I won’t be telling anyone about that spat any time soon.

  Jeremy twists around in some yoga-like move and yawns again. “We’re gonna have a busy day. Sunny, warm water. All the college girls are gonna come out. Got lots of patrolling to do, yes I do.”

  “Rip currents might be bad today,” I add with a chuckle. “You’ll be busy dragging them out of the water.”

  “Meh, I prefer not to have to do that. They get all teary-eyed, and I just can’t take it. I hate to see a woman cry.”

  He pulls up a Captain’s Chair to the window and kicks back, extending his long dark brown legs up to plant his feet on the window. The beach is still empty. The college girls are probably still in bed with messy ponytails and neglected mascara rimming their eyes.

  The need to get some space urges me outside. “Hey, I think I might go for a stroll since no one’s about yet.”

  “Sure, no problem. Might help you shake off that funk.”

  “If only,” I murmur as I pick up the red rescue buoy I carry when I’m on foot. Clipping my r
adio to my hip, I head for the sand.

  Being a lifeguard on the beach is always interesting. And I love nothing more than being barefoot in the sand. It’s all really just perfect for me, the outside time, the action, the demands.

  My heart suddenly feels heavy when I think about losing it all.

  Sure, there are other Ocean Rescue jobs out there, but this is the creme de la crème, in what feels like the perfect little oceanside town with a highly respected group of rescuers.

  Taking a moment to look over the water, I breathe in the salt air—time for a pep talk. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Nothin’ bad has happened yet. Stay the course. Do your job.

  “Ms. Lifeguard, um…” a tiny voice calls from behind me. I turn around and see a little girl with braided pigtails in a little blue swim shirt and ruffled skirt. She’s smiling shyly.

  “Well, hi there.” I kneel down—her mom waves from a few feet away.

  “Can you fwim?”

  A grin crinkles my eyes when I answer her. “Why, yes, I can swim. Can you?”

  “I go to school to fwim. The teacher says me do good fwimmer.”

  She’s adorable. “I bet you are a good swimmer. And practice makes you even better.”

  “Are you gonna save a people today?”

  Chuckling, I reply, “I might save a people today. Are you going to make a sandcastle?”

  She bobs her head and grins at me, stars in her eyes. “She loves lifeguards,” her mom says as she approaches and takes the little one’s hand. “Tell her your name, babe.”

  “I’m Hanna!” All proud, the little girl twists around.

  “I’m Raven.”

  The mom draws in a quick breath before she practically squeals, “It’s you! I saw you on television last night.”

  I’m sure my eyes look like saucers. Shoot. The news story aired last night. I forgot all about it.

  Or maybe my subconscious did that on purpose. Regardless, I couldn’t have made myself watch it. Cringing, I mutter, “Oh yes, I haven’t seen that yet.”