Page 93 of My Favorite Boss

And I was fucked.

By lunchtime, I was in a foul mood. My meeting this morning had been unsatisfactory and frustrating. The client was adamant about his desires, and the fact was, his ideas were horrible and would never work. Anderson almost lost it when he expressed his “tweaks” to the already approved design, and it took everything in me to remain calm when he discussed his vision for the maze to the side of his office building. Along with his Zen garden in the middle and the types of trees he wanted. None of which would grow in this region of Canada. Plus the fact that he didn’t have the space for a maze or a Zen garden. I tried to explain the cost of upkeep alone since one of his desired choices for the plants he wanted would need constant watering, but he refused to listen. The meeting ended with neither side happy and me with an impossible task on my hands. Give him what he wanted without giving him what he wanted. It was a challenge that was going to drain me.

Then the three of us met, going over budgets, staff, office problems, and every other headache running a business entailed. When I got back to my office, I discovered Myers wasn’t at her desk. My sandwich was waiting, a fairly warm cup of coffee beside it, so I knew she hadn’t been gone long. I hated the fact that I hated she wasn’t there to give me one of her smiles or her funny greetings. When she came back, I was busy on the phone with a client, adjusting a budget for them. Myers brought in a fresh cup of coffee, slid a cookie onto the desk beside it, and shut my door, leaving me the silence I needed to think the problem through. A short while later, I flung open my door, throwing a pile of folders on her desk. “Myers, I need numbers,” I snapped.

She looked up, not at all perturbed by my tone. It occurred to me she was no longer scared of me. That wasn’t good. Everyone was frightened of me, and I needed her to be—at least at the office. I wondered if I could get her back in line, but I had a feeling it was too late.

The corner of her desk contained the usual Monday flowers. Today, they were magnolias, the scent heavy in the air. When they had arrived, I’d rolled my eyes, annoyed.

“Your secret admirer is cheesy. Sending you magnolias?”

She touched a petal softly. “They’re beautiful.”

“I think Ty is touched in the head. You find out anything new on him?”

“No. The florist is stubborn. I even tried to bribe the delivery guy to find out, but he says the tips are too good and to stop worrying and enjoy them.”

I had huffed. “Such sage advice.”

She had waved me off. I had a feeling when I turned my back, she flipped me off as well, but I ignored her.

She pushed the files away. “As soon as I finish this email.”

“Now,” I added with a glare. “Give me numbers, now.”

She picked up her pen.

“One pen!” she said in a strange voice. “One! Wah-ha-ha!”

Next came the file folders.

“Three file folders!” she screeched, again in the odd voice. “Three! Wah-ha-ha!”

She fisted something on her desk and opened her hand, paper clips raining down and dancing on the top.

“Who the hell knows?” she warbled. “Twenty-three, give or take. Twenty-three paper clips! Wah-ha-ha!”

I stepped back in alarm.

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” I asked. “What the hell?” I leaned over her, caging her against her desk. Why was she imitating Count von Count from Sesame Street—badly, I might add? “Are you taking some sort of hallucinogenic drugs?”

“Not the right numbers?” she asked, seemingly confused. “Hmm. You really need to be more detailed when demanding things, boss.”

“I need a specific set of numbers, Myers.”

“Oh.” She paused, a frown wrinkling her forehead. Then she grinned, her eyes dancing. “Sixty-nine.”

“What?”

“That’s your favorite number, isn’t it?” She grinned. “Sixty-nine lashings of your ton⁠—”

I covered her mouth. “Finish that, and you’re fired.”

She licked my palm, and I had no choice. I gave up, leaning closer and kissing her. “It never takes sixty-nine, does it, Myers? God knows my cock barely lasts six point nine minutes in your mouth,” I murmured before kissing her again—hard and fast. That shut her up.

Then I stood. “Crunch the numbers in the files. Get them to me fast.”

I slammed my door and leaned against it. Then I buried my face into the sleeve of my jacket and laughed until I could barely stand. She had totally changed my mood with a few silly lines and some teasing.