Boss I Love to Hate An Office Romance - Mia Kayla Page 0,1

office. When I sat down, his phone rang. He picked it up, and with a flick of his hand, he waved me off—again.

“Yeah, yeah. But did you get the tickets?” His boisterous laughter grated on my nerves. He swiveled in his chair and faced his floor-to-ceiling windows, his back toward me.

This guy!

I glared at him, stomped back to my desk, and was about to sit down when he called out again.

For the love of all that is holy.

My eyes fell shut, and I inhaled deeply. I took out my essential oils and rubbed one at my temples and my wrists. Lavender was supposed to alleviate stress, and I debated on dumping the whole bottle on myself to speed up the process.

Breathe. Or go postal and lose your job.

I counted backwards and walked into his office at a normal pace, purposely taking my time.

“Did you spill coffee on yourself?” He lifted a perfect eyebrow and eyed the brown stain on the front of my skirt. “That’s a first.”

Of course, it was a freaking first. I prided myself on being organized and neat, and I was—before stalking Jeff and his new girlfriend. Seeing them together and being so in love had officially screwed with my head.

Brad’s head ducked back to his computer screen where he tapped away. “Dry cleaning is on the couch. Where’re my other clothes?”

I peered over at the far corner of the room where a pile of pants, suit jackets, and shirts were stuffed into an overflowing bag.

“Last week’s dry cleaning is in your closet.” That was the first thing I had told him when I saw him this morning.

Maybe I needed to slip him some of that earwax solution, leave it on his desk with a little courtesy note.

“I’ve also made reservations at Alessi’s Restaurant for your date tonight.”

He lifted his head from the screen. “I said Carlucci.”

“You said Alessi.” My eyes widened, and I double-blinked. I’d chased this reservation down for the past few weeks and called every day to check if there was a cancellation. I’d finally snagged a reservation yesterday. Is this man serious?

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

This coming from the guy who couldn’t read his schedule. Despite that I kept it organized, yesterday, he had met with the wrong Mr. Wilson.

Boss, really quick, can I borrow your desk because it’s closer than mine so I can bang my head against it?

“Did you book the hotel?”

“Yes.” I clenched my teeth in a tight smile and ground my molars. “I also ordered flowers, and they will be delivered to your table.”

I’d basically set the plans for him to get laid tonight. Who knew what poor soul he had his sights on?

I had tried to warn off the countless interns and account officers who walked through Brisken Printing Corporation, but they still wanted him. Brad threw them one look, and they were all a forgone without-a-job conclusion.

Because canoodling between the sheets with the boss could turn the most professional women into the jealous and crazy stalker types, which usually ended up with them quitting and heading to the back of the unemployment line.

“What kind of flowers did you buy?” He leaned back on his chair and steepled his fingers by his lips.

“Roses, the kind I always order.”

“I want to change it up this time. Order me some peenees.”

My brow wrinkled, and I leaned in, clutching the iPad against my chest. “What?”

“Peenees. Remember, I told you about them the other day. The front desk had an arrangement of peenees.”

My boss loved to hear himself talk, and I was on the receiving end of that one-way dialogue, but I filtered out all things not work-related, and that didn’t require my attention.

What the hell is he even saying?

“What kind of flowers?”

“Peenees,” he drawled out the word as though elongating the E would make me understand him. He sounded like he was saying penises.

Why will I have to order that? Isn’t she going to get that later?

He almost looked annoyed, so I made him repeat it again.

“Sorry, what was that again?”

I bit my lip and schooled my features. If he was going to make my life hell, I could at least have a little laugh of my own.

“Peenees.” His voice was softer this time as though he were unsure. “Oh, for shit’s sake, come here.”

He began typing on his keyboard, and when I approached behind his desk, I expected to see a bunch of penises on his screen, but he typed peenees flowers in his search engine, and peonies came up.