Falling for Your Boss (Love Clichés, #2)

by Emma St. Clair

Crushes are supposed to die. They’re like a fire running on only lighter fluid and no good fuel. They burn bright, they burn hot, and then they fizzle into ash. At least, they’re supposed to. But the feelings I have for Gavin simply refuse to go the way of the dinosaur.

Gavin is wealthy, successful, and hotter than a flamethrower on the Fourth of July. If I could find a flaw in Gavin, I would have latched on to that thing like it was my only lifeline.

Nancy smiles at me as I approach her desk, which is just across from Gavin’s closed office door. She is a bright spot in the office with her easy smiles and grandmotherly persona. But today she seems a little too bright. Her cheeks look flushed, and her eyes are glassy. “Are you okay, Nancy?” “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Mostly. I didn’t sleep well last night. I started watching Pride and Prejudice and just couldn’t stop.” I smile. “The mini-series?” She looks down at me over her bifocals. “Like that newer one could compare. You can’t cram Jane Austen into a two-hour movie. It’s insulting. Plus, that Colin Firth is hard to beat.” “I don’t disagree with you there. But I have to say that I’m one of the people who loves Matthew MacFadyen just a little bit more. I think he pulls of the grumpy countenance better. And I do love a grumpy countenance.” Nancy clucks her tongue and opens her mouth to speak, when a voice interrupts us. A deep, rich voice that has a direct line to some primal part of me. It’s a voice that makes me think of chocolate and dark coffee and warm kisses. “What’s this about a grumpy countenance?” Oh. My. Holy. Crackers. Even my inner monologue is too thrown off to make sense. For sure, my mouth isn’t about to answer Gavin. “Just having a little debate about men,” Nancy says with a wave of her hand. No. No, she didn’t. My horrified gaze flies to Gavin, whose mouth tips up in a half smile. The kind that makes me want to press my mouth to the corner, just to see how it ...

“Not real men,” I manage to say. Which, of course, sounds even worse. Gavin’s brows shoot up. “Mr. Darcy. We’re discussing which edition of Pride and Prejudice is better.” “And what’s the verdict?” I glance at Nancy, who is chuckling. I can see mischief glittering there. Or maybe it’s fever? Because she definitely looks unwell. “Depends on which one of us you ask,” she says. “Maybe you should be our tie-breaker. Have you seen either one?” “Can’t say that I have.” “Well,” Nancy says, sliding a look my way. “Maybe you two should remedy that. Together.” Nancy definitely has to be feverish. That’s the only reason I can imagine she would say something like that. I don’t think she knows about my feelings for Gavin. She’s certainly never tried playing matchmaker before now. Suggesting we watch Pride and Prejudice together? I’m not sure I would survive with my heart intact. No, I most definitely would not.

But first, I need to survive being alone in a room with Gavin, pretending like his presence doesn’t make me want to spontaneously combust.

You know what skill I should pick up? Poker. Because Gavin clearly doesn’t see the internal battle raging behind my composed face. I look totally normal, not like a woman hanging on the precipice of a breakdown caused by the two sides of my brain having it out in an MMA deathmatch.

“I want your voice. Your thoughts. Your ideas.” I swallow. Hard. He did not say he wants you, Zoey. Your thoughts. Not your body. Not your heart. Not your utter devotion. He likes your brain, and that is all. Purely professional. That’s a start. We’ll lure him in with our brain— There is no luring. We are not luring. No. Shut it down.

If he pays me any more compliments, I’m going to pull a Tom Cruise and start jumping on this sofa.

“Point taken. A guy should be willing to cross moats and climb walls and go on quests. But, at the end, the prize is you.

Dear Dr. Love, I've found that all the book boyfriends I adore far outshine any real men I date. I am constantly disappointed, but desperately desire true, heart-soaring love. What do I do? Sincerely, I Wish I Had a Real Book Boyfriend

Ain’t that the truth! Book boyfriends can do no wrong. Except for the whole not-living-and-breathing-and-actually-kissing-you thing.

And book boyfriends are born out of reality. The reality that we’d all LIKE to see. Real men have flaws.

Don’t let fake men’s perfection (swoonworthy though they may be) stop you from having a real-life relationship. Real guys can’t hold up to that standard. Enjoy the BBs for what they are: an escape from reality, not a standard for it. Ever a Mrs. Darcy Wannabe, Dr. Love

Maybe I need to look at the bright side of this. Zoey has seen my abs. Girls love abs, right? Especially the kind that come in a six- or eight-pack. (I’ve got eight, thank you very much.)

It would be dangerous to my heart if I hadn’t already realized how out of my league he was. Being nice to his mom and two other older ladies who aren’t even blood relations? Yeah, Gavin is just too much.

And you know what? It does feel right. On paper, Gavin and I make no sense. We’re a bad idea. In reality? I feel more and more like we are a perfect fit. Not in some fantasy I’m creating in my mind, but in a very messy reality.

That doesn’t mean it’s love. I mean, come on. Can you fall in love with someone while watching them from a professional distance? Can you fall in love without being on a real, official date that didn’t end abruptly? Can you fall in love without having a conversation to define the relationship, without a kiss on the lips?

Yes. Yes, you can fall in love like this. I think I already have.

I know she’s joking about that, but my mind has swirled away, thinking about Gavin’s parents, about Zane and Abby. It seems that the old adage about opposites attracting is a real thing. While Gavin and I are perhaps too much alike.

I think, knowing even as I do that my mind has cracked. I’m a total mess of a man, brought to this state by the woman currently trying to hide the fact that she’s feeling up my back.

“I love that you’re so tall,” I say, not even embarrassed as my secrets spill out like candy from a piñata. She has broken me open, and I’m hanging by a thread, everything inside rushing out. “I love the color of your hair. Your eyes.” She giggles a little and I shush the protest that I can sense rising in her throat. “I love the way you don’t let the other women in the office walk all over you. I love the way you raise that eyebrow and shoot lasers from your eyes. I love your stunning mind. I love how you laugh with Nancy. Do you know that I watched Pride and Prejudice for you? I had to google the hand thing, and I still don’t get it, but—” “Gavin—” “Sh. Let me admire you. Please.” When she settles again with a tiny sigh, I continue to lay out my catalogue of her qualities. The ones I’ve carefully tucked away for a moment such as this, a moment I thought would only exist in my mind. The fantasy Gavin had much smoother moves than real-life Gavin. I’m making a fool of myself.

Yep, I’ve fallen hard, fast, and completely for this woman.

After so many years of seeing Gavin only in a suit, it should be strange to see him in tight jeans and a cowboy hat, but he looks just as good. Maybe even more natural than he did in his tailored suits. I’m not sure there’s a look that wouldn’t work on the man.

I realize that I’m helplessly in love.

“And how do you feel?” she asks in a whisper. “Like a man who will do anything for the woman he loves. And I do love you, Zoey. There are complications, but I’d like to think love will uncomplicate them. That is … if that love is returned?”

“Zoey, do you love me? Do you want to figure out this messy life with me? Perhaps build a messy one together, and, when I’m ready to properly ask you, be my wife?”