Mr. Grumpy Boss (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss #1) - Lindsey Hart Page 0,2

His eyes are this strange steel grey color, but because he’s wearing a blue shirt, they look a little more blue than grey at the moment. They’re also very wide and fringed with thick and dark black lashes. My boss has really nice eyes. Even now. Even though they’re red-rimmed, and his nostrils are flaring, his lips are parted and gaping, and he’s trying to suck at the air. Fish out of water comes to mind. It’s not pretty.

“Hey.” I fill my lungs and let it out. I do it again. “You know what this is. You are in control. It doesn’t feel like it, but you are. You’re in control of your body. Your breath. You can breathe. Don’t panic. It’s okay. You are going to be okay. Just watch me. Slow, deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. It feels like you can’t, but you can. I promise.”

I inhale deeply and let my breath out. In again. Out again. “I know this isn’t about being calm, but there’s nothing to worry about. Just focus on your breath.” I keep rubbing slow circles on his shoulder. When he leans away from the wall, I smooth my hand down his back. His shirt is soft. Damp, but still soft. Good quality. Of course, it is. The guy’s a freaking billionaire. He drives to work every day in a three hundred thousand dollar import. I know. I looked it up.

Philippe draws in an unsteady breath, but then he drags in another. Another deeper one. He lets it out. Rasps in another. His face is less red now, so I grab the box of tissues on the desk, grab a couple, and without even thinking about it because I’ve done this before, I swipe at the moisture on his cheeks and press the tissues into his palm.

I know his water bottle is on the desk—some fancy reusable thing—so I snatch it and thrust it at him. “Water?”

Now that he’s breathing better, he takes it from me, unscrews the cap, and chugs it back like he’s been walking in the desert for the past ten years, and this is the first real water he’s had in ages.

I know this isn’t the time, but I’ve known the guy for years. I book just about everything for him, including dentist appointments and suit fittings. I can’t help it. “Do you need me to book an appointment somewhere? This is happening more often. Twice this week. That’s not—that’s not healthy as far as I know. There are medications for anxiety, and whatever else is going on. I think you should talk to someone.”

Philippe doesn’t look at me. He stares at his super-expensive water bottle that probably promised the planting of new trees and fairy farts or something when he overpaid for it. “I’m fine.” He somehow manages to muster up some dignity to say that while he loosens his blue silk tie at the same time. “There was an issue with the report you sent me, and it was pointed out to me in our board meeting. Line fourteen. Could you fix it and resend it so that I don’t look like a moron?”

“A moron?” I want to laugh. He does a good job of that all on his own, tyrant-ing his very fine ass around the office all week. “If I made a mistake, you could point out that it was my fault.”

“Just fix it. Please,” he grinds, surprising me.

I sigh. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just stressed.”

As far as I know, people don’t have weekly panic attacks from stress, but then again, what do I know? Maybe they do. I know a few things about anxiety, but not much. I’m not at a level where a run or a talk with Granny or just a hot bath and a good book can’t help calm me down. People would say that’s not anxiety, so yeah. Maybe I know nothing.

“I’m worried.” I didn’t mean to let it out, but the words are there. In the air. Between us.

Philippe’s eyes widened. They’re intense today. So blue they could pierce right through me. My eyes stray to the tie that he just worked open a little. Silk. Soft. Expensive. I imagine that tie around my wrists. My eyes flutter to Philippe’s lips. He has nice lips. He’d probably be a good kisser.

Whoa. What the heck is that? Where did all that come from?

My ovaries must be going on a serious malfunction all of a sudden. Maybe this is what everyone