Page 22 of The Boss Upstairs
“Oooooh… stop it,” he pleads. “You’re making my stomach horny.”
I burst out laughing and heads turn. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
He smiles, and his gaze fixes me for a long uncomfortable beat. “You want to get out of here?”
“Uh…” What are we talking about exactly?
He laughs. “I mean… coffee shop, somewhere with good coffee and baked goods.”
I blow out a breath of relief, and remember Patricia’s advice to try to befriend someone in my group. “Uh… sure. I would love to. You know a place?”
“Just around the corner.”
“All right, sounds great, Daddy,” I tease. “Your little girl can’t wait.”
He cracks up with laughter, and once again, heads turn.
“Hey, if we don’t settle down, people are going to start talking about us,” he jokes as we wave our goodbyes and head out the door.
“Let’s give them something to talk about,” I sing as we head out, the famous song by Bonnie Raitt, and to my delight, he knows it and joins in.
We’re both sober, but we’re acting like drunk teenagers as we walk into the little place around the corner.
* * *
It’s Friday,and normally I would be ecstatic that the work week is almost over, but I find myself a little saddened. I’ve enjoyed the work so much, not to mention the daily lunches with a certain very attractive boss.
I’ve dived into the project, dedicating myself completely to the task. It’s what I tend to do when I get excited about something. There’s so much to do. Building a multi-channel campaign is no easy feat. First, there’s the branding, the logo and color theme. Then there’s the printed materials; pamphlets, business cards and the like. Then we have the website to outsource, and social media channels to launch. Thankfully, we’re skipping radio and television ads.
There’s a lot of work to do because we need to get this new charity out there, educate the supporters and the grieving souls we want to help. Thankfully, we shouldn’t have problems getting supporters, since it’s all for such a good cause.
We need to keep the message consistent. Love, support, calm, hope.
It feels wonderful to be making a difference. All my past jobs have been dedicated to help the bottom lines of various profit organizations. This is new to me, and I like it a lot.
Around one o’clock, as is the custom, Weston rounds the corner and flashes me a playful smile. I’m guessing he’s in his late thirties, but when he shoots me that excited grin, he looks about ten years old.
I smile back, giddy.
“Are you hungry, Grasshopper?”
“Yes, very.”
“I’ve ordered Japanese,” he tells me. “You mentioned that you like it.”
I sit to attention, excited. “I do.”
“It should get here any minute.” He stares down at my work. “Your desk is a mess.”
“Oh… I’m sorry.”
He smiles. “It’s okay… I understand. That’s how you creative types work. I don’t intend to spread my neuroses to you.”
I make a quick attempt to tidy up. “Rosetta says you do,” I tease.
“I do… guilty,” he admits, “but, with you, I’ll try to hold back.”
“And I’ll try to be as tidy as I can.”
