Page 12 of Falling for Her Grumpy Boss

He expects something.

He’s not getting it.

I don't let other people call the shots.

The road into town feels different today, even though I’ve driven it more times than I can count. My usual turn toward the factory comes up on the left.

My foot lifts off the gas before I think about it.

The car slows just enough to feel it, that small shift forward, the engine dropping a notch as the entrance opens up beside me. I can see the long road leading in, the low building at the end of it, the side entrance where everyone actually goes in instead of the front.

For a second, I let the car roll. My hand tightens on the wheel.

I press the gas.

The car picks up again, the turn sliding past my window, gone before I can look at it twice. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, even though I can still feel it sitting there behind me, a road I chose not to take.

The buildings start to change after that.

Not all at once. Just enough that I notice. Fewer old storefronts. More glass. More space between them, like whoever built them didn’t have to work around what was already there.

I slow as I reach the address Jeremy gave me.

The building sits back from the street, set apart from the others by a stretch of pavement. The windows run wide across the front, and I catch glimpses of a reception desk, people crossing the lobby, and elevators opening and closing farther inside.

I pull into the lot and cut the engine.

The quiet settles fast, the absence of the engine louder than the sound itself had been. For a second, I stay where I am, looking at the entrance through the windshield.

I reach for my bag and push the door open, stepping out into the still air. My heels hit the pavement as I cross toward the doors, each step landing solid, the rhythm steady under me.

I push through the glass doors and step inside.

The air hits first, cooler than outside and smelling of polish and something citrusy, clean in a way that feels maintained rather than natural. My heels click against the floor, the sound sharper here, carrying farther than it did outside.

The space opens wide in front of me.

A man stands at the reception desk. He has one hand braced against the counter while he talks into his phone. His voice stays low, but I catch the edge of impatience in it, the clipped way he ends the call before the other person is finished. He doesn’t linger. Just a brief nod toward the woman behind the desk before he turns and walks away, already pulling his jacket straight as he heads for the elevators.

The receptionist tracks him for a second, then looks up at me.

Her gaze moves over me quickly, starting at my shoes before moving up along the line of my trousers, the cut of my blouse, and finally my hair. She doesn’t linger anywhere long enough to be rude, but she doesn’t miss anything either. By the time her eyes meet mine again, I can tell she’s already decided where I fit.

I stop in front of the desk and meet her eyes.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Shaw.”

She turns slightly, fingers moving over her keyboard. I watch the screen reflect faintly in her glasses, the quick scan, the small pause when she finds what she’s looking for.

“Your name?”

“Tess Ramirez.”

She nods, and her expression changes just enough for me to catch it. Her eyes flick back to the screen for a second before returning to me, and this time there’s no question in them. Whatever she needed to see is there.

“The top floor.” She angles her head toward the elevators behind me. “Mr. Shaw is expecting you.”