Boss I Love to Hate An Office Romance - Mia Kayla Page 0,29
to this wedding—wouldn’t change the dynamic between us.
Ten minutes later, Brad strolled into the restaurant. Two women sitting in the booth next to us dropped their tacos midair, and their eyes followed Brad, in his crisp navy-blue Armani suit. A suit I’d specifically picked up at the cleaners three days ago.
He swaggered toward us, tie neatly in place, suit jacket and pants pressed to perfection. One would never guess his morning had gone sideways, except for maybe the scowl on his face.
“Thomas McCloskey is an a—ape.” He undid his tie, glanced at Sarah, and then plopped down in the booth next to me. “He’s not a very nice person.”
He meant asshole. I’d worked with this man long enough that I could finish his sentences, which was pretty sad.
“Where’s my food?” He frowned at the crumbled-up foil on my tray and the half-eaten chips.
“I was going to pick up your regular—an Italian sandwich—on the way back. I don’t know what type of Mexican food you like.”
He had picky tastes. I could guess his everyday sandwich and his black morning coffee. Anything out of his routine, I was at a loss.
I pointed to the mile-long line in front of us. “The line starts there.”
He could boss me around during work hours, but my lunch was my time, my small reprieve from his tyranny.
“I thought you were gonna get me lunch.” His scowl grew deeper.
“Yes, on my way back to the office, like I always do.” I couldn’t remember the last time Brad and I’d had lunch together outside the office. Never. Never in all the time I’d been working for him.
He took in the booths, the swarm of people standing and eating, the concrete floor, exposed walls, and workers crowded behind the tiny kitchen counter. I knew exactly what he was going to say next, so I beat him to it before he could insult my favorite place to eat in the whole downtown Chicago area.
“You’ll love this food; trust me.”
But my comment could not stop his snotty one. “Are you sure this place is up to code with the Board of Health?”
“It’s no three Michelin star place, but it’s more than fine.” I pulled off my glasses, blew hot breaths on the lenses, and cleaned it off with my sleeve. “If you want to go, we can go.”
“Uncle Brad …” Sarah started. “It’s one of the best tacos I’ve ever had. Just try it.”
I stood, ready to leave, but Brad motioned me back to my seat and stood himself.
“I’m going to get some tacos. Do you guys want anything else?”
“I’m about to go. Did you want to stay with your uncle, Sarah?”
My hour lunch was nearly over, and I had to get back to work, but Sarah’s face scrunched up, and she held my hand with sweet desperation.
“Please stay.”
“Yeah, Sonia. Stay.” Brad tipped his chin toward the counter. “I’ll be right back—in an hour or so,” he scoffed, noting the line almost out the door.
“Please,” Sarah repeated, pushing out her lip.
I remembered the type of conversations that Brad was giving his niece this morning and squeezed her hand right back. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
Fifteen minutes later—not an hour later—Brad had the taco in his mouth, and I’d never heard him praise anything more.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been here. You’ve been holding out on me, Sonia.”
I simply smiled.
He said, “You’re right. This is the best taco I’ve ever had.”
I responded with, “I’m always right.” Because there were rare occasions when I was ever wrong unless you counted my taste in men.
“If you are always right …” He stuffed escaping lettuce into his mouth. “… then tell me what to do about Thomas from Titan Printing. He isn’t budging on our deal, our potential buyout of his company. He wants more money, but his company won’t bring back returns for at least a couple of years. And I’m not budging on the price.”
I blinked at him. He’s asking for my advice? On business? I tapped my fingers against the table. Is there a wrong way or right way to answer this question? I knew nothing about acquisitions, but I could offer honesty.
“I don’t know anything about business, hostile takeovers, or anything like that. I can imagine that it’s all a money game, but if this guy is like you and your brothers, you care about the people who work for you.”
He stopped, his taco hanging midair, and intently looked at me.
I laughed. “Let’s forget the fact that you don’t know anyone’s names, but