Page 13 of This is a Kissing Book

No. This. Can’t. Be. Right.

He steps close enough to confirm that the scent of his cologne is going to linger.

“It’s you,” I whisper.

His eyes glint and his lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile. “We’ll see how long you last, Juliet.”

Laughter erupts out of me. It’s a terrible habit. Purely motivated by anxiety when I receive bad news while in the presence of other people. A way to push off emotions that feel too big to manage.

His expression is granite.

Instead of backing down as he tries to assert dominance, I do the darndest thing. Lifting my chin, I say, “I dare you to try to get rid of me.”

His eyes bounce before turning lethal, but I don’t waver. I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t wake up this morning and add “get steamrolled by my new boss” to my dance card.

Does he even remember us meeting in the doorway downstairs?

As bold as my statement was—because really, I’m just a low-level assistant—my heart is in my throat. And his gaze is on it.

He licks his lips ever so slightly. “You’re dismissed.”

As I turn to leave, I catch my reflection in his window. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes bright with anger, and my thoughts would land me in HR jail. Behind me, his icy reflection watches my every move.

I’m blazing emotion. He’s nothing but frost and sharp edges.

I hate how he made me feel like I was melting under that icy stare. It can’t be good that he despises me for no reason.

However, the feeling is mutual.

I hate my new boss, too. Never mind that he’s a Clark Kent dupe.

7

LINC

I now understand the expression, “golden handcuffs.” Staring out of the upper-floor window of this glass aerie at the city below, I’d rather be anywhere than trapped up here in a bird cage. Well, almost anywhere.

As the morning circles back in my mind, I think about the conversation with my father and regret agreeing to this—even if it came with a plan to find something my mother was looking for, to complete her search. I resent his expectations for me when I have a perfectly good career doing something I love.

Then there was the interaction with my new assistant. Juliana. My mind is so scrambled, I can’t think about much more than surviving the day. This situation already has me bitter and I’m taking it out on everyone within spitting distance.

I’ll take a two-hundred thirty-pound man skating my way with a stick over this any day. But a woman that’s probably about five and a half feet tall with blonde hair streaked with a hint of summer strawberry and light freckles across her nose? I don’t stand a chance.

The fact is, I don’t want to be here. My original plan was simple: survival of the fittest. Fake it till I make it, suit up and embody the polished and demanding, self-important, condescending executive, and get through this stint without incident—all while completing my mother’s search.

But scrubbing my hand down my face now, I know that’s not happening. Channeling corporate boss energy, complete with power trips, makes me feel like a complete jerk.

Like my father.

So, Plan B: is to make my assistant’s life so miserable she complains to HR and they fire me. Never mind that I’m not technically on the payroll, so who knows if that’ll work.

But it’s too late to turn back now.

Don’t get me wrong, Frank Andresen has his good moments, but I’ve watched him work enough to know that he didn’t build a billion-dollar company by being a softy who outfits his employees’ bicycles with training wheels when they should come equipped with the ability to ride a unicycle. There is no staff game room or siesta space in this building.

Once, at a work dinner I went to as a teen, I recall Maxine Drecken, his second in command, likening Meridian’s personnel to being nothing more than disposable livestock at a cubicle farm.

Dad didn’t disagree, so I took it as assent.