Falling for the Boss: A Forbidden Love Workplace Romcom, page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Other Books by C.R. Grey
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 C. R. Grey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.caitlyngrey.com.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7335575-5-9 (Paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-1-7335575-4-2 (eBook)
To all the dreamers out there. Never let anyone take away your sunshine.
Chapter One
There are three things you need to know about me.
First, I refuse to eat seafood. It may seem sacrilege, considering my father is a celebrated sushi chef who, with my help, was able to start his own private for-hire restaurant.
He’s come a long way since he first moved to the United States after my parents’ third wedding anniversary when, with no formal education or training, he could only find work at buffets. I hear his dishes are amazing, but that doesn’t change the fact that I cannot stand the taste or texture of fish. Period.
Second, there’s no better way to spend a Friday night than curled up on the couch in the pair of sweatpants I haven’t parted with since my junior year of college and watching reality TV shows. Dating shows are my kryptonite. “Paradise Pairings” and “Average Joes and Beauty Queens” are my all-time favorites. They’re horrible and utter trash TV, but the fact that Cody Edwards, the singer turned model turned rockstar who is the celebrity crush for me, hosts both may play a role in my contribution to their weekly ratings.
The third thing you need to know is that I am absolutely and, without a doubt, completely and hopelessly in love with my boss.
In my defense, it’s entirely his fault. He was the one who hired me. I didn’t seek him out as an employer. In fact, I was happily working as the Corporate Reception Coordinator at Prestige Harbor Hotels before they offered me the promotion—that I didn’t apply for, mind you—to Robbie’s executive assistant.
Since my promotion, his daily parade around the office in form-fitting suits and his self-assured smile don’t make my feelings for him any easier. While he has looks that rival Cody Edwards, his tanned skin, perfectly styled blond hair, and piercing blue eyes aren’t what made me fall in love with him. It was all the insignificant moments from the past few years of working for him.
Like when he gifted me an instant kettle weeks after I started and how he keeps a whole box of Lady Grey tea bags in his desk for those days the coffee courier delivers me a latte or bottle of iced tea instead of my requested tea with a splash of milk and a pinch of sugar.
Or how he goes out of his way to order from Arabian Delights, my favorite restaurant that’s a convenient block from my apartment—which is an inconvenient twenty minutes from the office, mind you—on the nights we have to work late rather than ordering from the steakhouse down the street like the other executives.
And you can’t forget about the time he pointed out there were apples in the stuffing Tonya brought for the office potluck and saved me from a visit to the hospital or, worse, an EpiPen injection.
It’s these seemingly unimportant moments that make it impossible to stuff my feelings away, no matter how many boxes of Cheez-It crackers or pints of ice cream I eat.
The worst part about being in love with my boss isn’t the fact that I have to see him every day or that we work together in the same office that’s only separated by a paper-thin wall and door that I’ve only seen closed a dozen times. Sure, some days are harder than others, especially when he wears that sage green shirt that seems to appear at least three times a month. But it’s the fact that these are merely insignificant moments that mean nothing.
To him, I’m just the girl who occasionally trips in her high heels, the person who gives him his phone messages, and the one who makes sure his lunch order is on his desk on time so he can eat between his meetings—something I only recently discovered that didn’t happen before I was hired.
So far, my coping mechanism of reality TV and junk food seems to bode well for me. I mean, I haven’t professed my love for him or quit yet, so I’d count that as a win.
I finish sculpting the snackcuterie board as the chorus of “Love’s Gotta Win,” my second-favorite Cody Edwards song, plays. Grabbing the handles of the board, careful not to spill a single snack, I rush the four steps from my kitchen to my living room in my pint-sized apartment. With my snacks resting on the couch cushion next to me and my blanket draped across my chest, I settle in for an amazing night.
Or so I thought.
I groan as my phone skits across the upholstery of my couch; then, I groan even louder when I see the name on the caller ID.
“Hey, Cass. What’s up?” I ask like I don’t already know why she’s calling.
“Escape. Tonight.”
My slumped posture turns ramrod straight. Intrigue mixes with fear, which mixes with curiosity. We had jokingly made that dumb ride-or-die pact back in college when we were both sick with the flu. But she’s been extra careful with her spending after getting the most amazing condo downtown. Besides, she’s been relishing her single life with no plans of dating anyone. I doubt she’d need a getaway driver for anything. Then again, it is Cassie, so you can never quite be sure.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Escape. It’s the place to be tonight. Word on the street is that some hockey players from our favorite team will be there.”
I can hear the flirtatious smile in Cassie’s voice, and I roll my eyes. Despite her adamant swearing off dating after her last boyfriend stole a few thousand and fled in the middle of the night, this is the most Cassie thing.
“I’ll pass,” I say with a laugh more out of politeness than genuine humor.
“Why?” she whines, drawing out a one-syllable word for several seconds.
“First, it’s your favorite team. Not ours,” I say, then continue before she can start a debate I’m too familiar with. “Two, I’m not into the whole big, burly man punching each other over a rubber disk. I’ll save them for you.”
“Mmm,” she says, and I know she’s picturing a certain defenseman who racked up something like 140 penalty minutes last season, according to Cassie. “But it’s the last week before preseason starts, so you know they’re going to have one last hurrah, and it’ll be amazing.”
Cassie is the type of person you’re happy to have in your life, though maybe not at first because she can come off as abrasive and opinionated. Trust me. We were roommates for three months before I came around to her. I guess being forced in a car with someone for hours while driving home for Thanksgiving break and blaring Taylor Swift and The Struts will do that to a person.
Once she’s in your life, you know nothing will ever be the same. She brings this nurturing yet chaotic energy to the group of me, my adopted sister Emmy, and, more often since his move to the city, Edwin, Cassie’s childhood best friend.
You know the type. Someone who is always down for a good time, but if you piss them off or get on their bad side, you may as well atone for whomever you wronged because your days are numbered. Not in a literal sense, of course. But Cassie will make sure you know you’re on her bad side, so it’s best to steer clear of that.
Her foes range from animal haters to those who’ve wronged her loved ones—and don’t forget anyone who still thinks furry boots are in style. Knowing I don’t check any of those boxes, I don’t feel as bad about declining the invitation to a rowdy bar. Again.
“I appreciate the invite, Cass. I really do, but I think I’ll stay in tonight.”
“But I miss you! It’s been, like, weeks since we last hung out. That’s too long in Friend World.”
I know she doesn’t mean for her words to hurt, but they still do. It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with Cassie. She’s my best friend. It’s just that I’d prefer a quiet night at home or at a low-key restaurant rather than suffering through loud music and flashing lights.
She does have a point, though. She’s reached out to make plans at least a
“I’ll tell you what,” I say, with only an ounce of hesitation in my voice. “I stay in tonight, but next week we go out.”
“Really!?”
“Really. But no clubs or anything crazy like that.”
“Nothing crazy, I promise. We’ll have a relaxing Kali-approved outing that you’ll love. And I’ll text you every day this week leading up to it, so you don’t ‘forget’ and have to stay late at work or partake in another threesome with Ben and Jerry.”
My lips quirk in an exasperated yet affectionate half-smile, a silent and unseen retort to Cassie’s never-ending playful jabs. My eyes linger on the pint of ice cream that sits partially melted on the tray. She knows me too well.
“Thanks, Cassie. Enjoy your night.”
“Tell your lovers I say hi,” she says in the flirty voice she uses whenever she mocks something romantic.
“Goodnight, Cass,” I repeat in a mirroring voice and hang up after she says goodnight.
Thankfully, we only talked through the recap of the show, which suits me just fine. If I have to endure another replay of Nikki slapping Danielle from the first week or Noah and Josh’s near fight after Noah got paired with Eloise, I’m tempted to hunt down whoever edited this footage and demand they explore an alternative career path.
I grab a handful of popcorn and wash it down with the chocolaty, marshmallow goodness of Phish Food, then make it a mission to not move for the next forty-eight hours.
There’s a law that weekends can never be long enough. There has to be. What other reason is there to explain how I spent my weekend immobile yet woke up Monday morning feeling like I hadn’t slept in a year?
When I look at the clock and see that, once again, I’ve managed to sleep through five of my eight alarms, I resort to my tried-and-true Kali Hayashi’s Ten Steps to Success:
Step one: Panic and run to do three different things for the first five minutes.
Step two: Commit to putting the pot on the kettle.
Step three: Spend too much time in the shower under the hot water.
Step four: Lazily blow dry my hair, then put it in a sleek ponytail when I realize how little time I have.
Step five: Lather my face in moisturizer from too much time under the hot water and add a dash of mascara and blush.
Step six: Throw on the outfit I laid out the night before to prepare for oversleeping.
Step seven: Stare at me in the mirror á la Mia Thermopolis style and accept this is as good as it’ll get.
Step eight: Eat my oatmeal in three bites while I try not to burn my tongue.
Step nine: Pick up Robbie’s coffee from his favorite café.
Step ten: Meet Robbie at the elevator as he walks in at quarter to eight.
It’s the same thing five days a week, but today feels different. Maybe because, for once, I didn’t trip over the bump on the sidewalk outside my apartment. Or because I sprinted up the stairs and had a full thirty seconds to catch my breath before my day started.
As the elevator doors slide open, my brain feels like it short-circuited, like it’s struggling to process the sight before me despite seeing it for 494 days previously…not that I’ve been counting. It’s as if someone pressed pause on the world. All I can do is drink in his presence and try to recalibrate my senses. It’s not easy with the invisible thread I feel tugging whenever he’s around.
It takes a few heartbeats for my brain to catch up after its momentary derailment. In those beats, I’m acutely aware of his proximity, like the universe itself has shifted to make room for him.
“Good morning, Mr. Collins,” I say as the world restarts like no time has passed at all.
I hand him his coffee and fall in step with him as we move down the hallway and toward his office.
“Kali, come on. We’ve been over this a hundred times.”
A hundred and four, but I’m still not counting.
“It’s just weird, that’s all.”
“Remind me how again.”
The pace slows, and we share a parallel glance.
For anyone else, fluorescent office lighting adds harsh shadows to the face’s features and makes the skin look dull and tiresome. Not Robbie, though. There’s something about the way the light creates an alabaster glow to his skin.
It’s the perfect contrast to the crystalline blue of his eyes and sun-kissed hair that’s trimmed on the sides. The way he styles the longer hair on top gives an air of polished professionalism. A shadow of a beard that wasn’t there on Friday adds a rugged touch and leaves my mouth dry.
“It just is,” I say, forcefully swallowing the raspiness of my voice. I plan to leave it at that and keep my nose stuck in my planner instead of the tablet administered to all assistants. Thankfully, Robbie is indifferent to my preferences. “You have a typical Monday ahead of you. Meeting with the other executives at nine. A meeting with Don in accounting at ten. And then at…”
Whatever I was going to say escapes me as I teeter on the brink of disaster. The world tilts, and for a fleeting second, it seems like gravity has a personal vendetta against my ability to remain vertical. It’s a surreal ballet of flailing limbs you’d expect from a toddler who just learned to walk and not a grown woman.
Yet, just as my pair of heels threaten to give me another swollen ankle, Robbie’s firm grip keeps me in place. His fingers cinch my waist even while he effortlessly maintains the balance of his to-go mug without a single drop of coffee spilled.
Hoping to avoid another humiliating stumble, I abandoned my planner and purse a long time ago, and now their scattered remains lie disheveled around our feet. My arms link around Robbie’s neck like I’m about to go over the edge of a cliff. When I realize this, I unhook my arms and step as far back as I can with his arm still around my waist.
“You alright?” he asks.
Other than the crease on his forehead, he looks unfazed that he’s holding me and holding me this close.
“I’m fine,” I lie. I would’ve been fine if he let me fall and break an ankle. Him holding me…I am very much not fine. “You can let me go now.”
“Not until you tell me why it’s weird to call me Robbie.”
A flicker of movement at the corner of my eye reminds me we’re not alone in the office. As much as being held by Robbie is something I dream about, I have major aspirations to climb the corporate ladder and hopefully, one day run a company of my own. The last thing I need right now is a whirlwind of gossip about Robbie and me being more than colleagues. Especially not when I’m in the running for a major promotion.
“I’ll tell you later,” I say with earnestness as I attempt to wiggle free from his grasp.
“Tell me now,” he insists, his fingers keeping their position on my waist, a touch that feels heavy despite its lightness.
His request catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. My mind races as I try to make sense of the sudden change that’s sparked between us. It’s a surprising reaction and one I didn’t anticipate.
Swallowing the slight fluster that’s risen in me, I summon a cynical smile. “If I do, will you let me go?” I quip, hoping to mask the unease brought on by his vehement request.
His nod is an unspoken agreement.
“Not everyone operates as casually around here as we do.”
His fingers linger, and I can’t help but feel a surge of something so familiar yet foreign. It’s like the stomach flips I experienced one time my family dragged me to Six Flags and made me ride The Dark Knight when they knew I hated roller coasters. At the same time, it’s as if his touch has uncovered a hidden layer of me I didn’t know existed until right now, mixed with the promise of something more.
“You can let me go now. A deal’s a deal.” No amount of masking can cover the sensations that radiate from the pressure of his hand.
He complies, his fingers sliding away and leaving a residual warmth in its place.
As he speaks, his gaze never leaves mine. “We’ll continue this discussion in my office. After you.”
I take a steadying breath, suppressing the flutter in my chest as I turn and lead the way at a quickened pace, hoping that I don’t sweat through my beige and olive blouse by the time we arrive.
