Page 11 of Falling for Her Grumpy Boss

Working for Dylan Shaw isn’t a step up.

It’s stepping into something that doesn’t slow down for anyone.

And for the first time since I walked into this office, something sharp flickers under the boredom that’s been sitting in my chest all morning.

Not excitement.

Something closer to challenge.

Or maybe warning.

I capture Jeremy’s gaze. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Silence settles between us again, heavier this time. I think of the files in my cabinet. The empty hours stretching ahead. The way Clara looked holding Lily, like she had stepped into something that mattered.

“I’ll do it,” I say finally. “One month. Trial.”

Jeremy nods once, like that was always the answer. “One month.”

“And if it doesn’t work⁠—”

“You come back,” he finishes. “No loss.”

I push to my feet, the decision settling into place even as a flicker of something sharper moves through me. Anticipation. Maybe.

Or maybe just the promise of not being bored out of my mind.

“Alright,” I say, smoothing my hands over my skirt again. “Let’s see if I can keep up with your friend.”

Jeremy’s mouth curves again, slower this time, like he knows something I don’t.

“I think,” he says as he pushes to his feet, “the question is whether he can keep up with you.”

CHAPTER 3

Tess

The alarm goes off before sunrise, a chime that pulls me out of sleep without mercy. I lie still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle before I push the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet meet the floor with a cool shock, and I pause there for a second, breathing in through my nose before I stand.

Today is not a day for drifting.

I move through my routine without rushing, each step deliberate. The shower runs hot, steam rising thick enough to blur the mirror, and I step under it, letting the heat slide over my shoulders and down my spine. My muscles loosen one by one, the last of yesterday’s restlessness easing out of me. By the time I reach for the towel, my breathing has settled into something slower, more controlled.

I dry off and step into the bedroom, water still clinging to my skin in small, cooling drops. The outfit I chose last night hangs on the wardrobe door, the fabric smooth, the seams still holding the shape I pressed into them.

I slide on my blouse and trousers, making sure each one sits cleanly, the lines straight, the collar resting just below my throat without pulling. When I move, nothing shifts.

I turn toward the mirror and run my hands down the front once more. My hair is still damp when I reach for it, the strands cool against my fingers as I gather it at the nape of my neck. I smooth it back slowly, working through the slight resistance until everything falls into place, then twist it and secure it into a low knot. A few shorter strands slip loose near my temples, softening the line without breaking it.

I meet my reflection again and tilt my head slightly, checking the balance. Nothing falls into my face. Nothing distracts.

That will do.

I even out my skin tone and define my eyes with a careful hand, keeping everything clean and understated. My fingers hover over the lipstick for a moment before I slide it aside. My mouth already attracts enough attention without adding color to it, and the last thing I need on my first day working for Dylan Shaw is anything that makes him look at me like another woman passing through his office. Jeremy warned me exactly what kind of reputation his friend has, and I have no intention of becoming part of it.

I meet my own gaze in the mirror and hold it. My chin lifts a fraction, not forced, just enough to square my posture.