Beautiful Boss (Beautiful #9) - Christina Lauren Page 0,19
to barf.”
“Feeling a little rough this morning, I take it?” Max asked, laughing lightly.
I groaned. “You could say that.”
“And would this be from the tequila or the husband?”
“Both.”
He made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat.
Anna started to fuss and Max reached down, adjusting her blankets. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“I’m not used to being annoyed with Will. We never fight, so maybe that’s why I’m a bit . . . unsettled by it.”
“That’s understandable,” he said, moving off to the side and smiling at another man running past us. “Though if I’m being honest, what I heard last night didn’t sound much like a fight to me.”
“We get along so well and I’m absolutely not used to him being annoyed with me. My brain misfires when there’s a hiccup like that.”
“Hanna, getting married is huge. Finding a new job is huge. Moving is fucking huge. Doing them all together might make you certifiably insane. Give yourselves a break, right?”
Nodding, I kicked a rock near my shoe. “I know. It’s just weird when we don’t handle everything easily.”
Max shook his head. “I never thought I’d find a couple who fit in such an odd fucking way as Bennett and Chloe . . . but you and Will just might have them beat. Though it is possible you two could be robots. Looking into it, actually.”
“Very funny,” I said, and slugged him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe Will thinks I should take a job without any research component,” I added. “Doesn’t he know that I love the lab? Doesn’t he know it’s been my dream my whole life to run a lab?”
“Well, he’s arse over tits for you, and being in love turns even the smartest man into an idiot. No doubt you all have some scientific jargon to back that up.” He glanced over at me and barked out a laugh. “You do, don’t you?”
“I mean, there’s basic neurochemistry involved in falling in love—or lust, for that matter—and it has definitely been shown to affect brain function . . .” I realized what I was doing and gave him a guilty grin.
“You two really are bloody perfect for each other.”
I didn’t say anything and instead looked out at the path in front of us. Max was right; Will and I were perfect together. At least it felt that way, and I’d never been happier in my entire life than I had in the time we’d been together. But my career was important to me, too, and if anyone was going to understand that, I thought it would be him. The lab was important to me. My research was important to me. But so was he.
Why couldn’t I have both?
“So how are the interviews going, anyway?” Max asked, snagging my attention back into the conversation. We were nearing Columbus Circle again, and the number of people on the trails and in the park had definitely picked up.
“Good,” I told him. “I leave Wednesday for Berkeley.”
“Great campus.”
“You’ve been there?”
He nodded. “I have a few clients that live up that way. It’s gorgeous, so I try to stay an extra night or two when I can—not so much these days,” he added, smiling fondly down at the stroller.
“I’ve only been a few times on family trips. It could be nice,” I said.
“So, not your first choice, then?”
“I don’t really have one yet, to be honest.” The sound of a siren burst through the air a few blocks away, growing louder as it neared the park before fading off into the distance. Once it quieted, I glanced at Max and shrugged, adding, “Think I’m just trying to get through the interviews first. And trying to imagine where Will might want to live.”
“Trust me, your husband thinks you hung the fucking stars. You could tell him you’d chosen a school in Antarctica and he’d ask if you were ready to start packing.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “I mean, I know he loves me, of course, but the rest . . . picking where we live? It’s so huge.”
“Well, before all this happened—Will, the wedding—where did you see yourself?”
I blew out a puff of air, watching a small cloud of condensation form in front of my lips. What did I want before Will? I’d had a plan—I always had a plan—but the days before Will were a little hard to recall. I could see them, but they felt dusty and distorted somehow, dull.
“I never really set my sights on one particular