Boss I Love to Hate An Office Romance - Mia Kayla Page 0,91

folders on my desk, and her eyebrows pulled together.

“Yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because I couldn’t possibly be in love with Brad. There was no way.

A few minutes ago, I’d felt like I was underwater; now, I was drowning.

I stood, needing to get out of the building and to the open outdoors to think clearly.

“Sonia, you don’t look too good.” She placed a light hand on my shoulder and then felt my forehead.

“I’m fine.” I stood and reached for my purse.

I chucked my bag across my shoulder, already heading to the elevators.

“Please tell Brad I’m not feeling well.” Because wasn’t that the truth?

I shouldn’t be leaving without telling him myself. There would be consequences, but right now, consequences be damned.

Brad

Charles left me no better than when he’d come into my office. But I was on a mission, and after a beat, I stormed straight out of my office in search of Sonia. I didn’t care that my lunch was on its way. I was taking Sonia to lunch, and we were going to hash it all out. But then I saw Lucy at Sonia’s desk, sorting through a stack of papers, and stopped mid-stride.

“Sonia is out sick.”

“Sick?”

She’d looked fine a minute ago.

“Yes, she went home.”

Four words that told me where I also needed to be.

Chapter 17

Sonia

Maybe I really was sick. That would explain the heat in my cheeks and my light head earlier. But why were all my symptoms gone now? I refused to think it was anything else. I sat on the couch, flipping through the channels. I had just finished drinking a crap-ton of orange juice and played ten rounds of darts on Brad’s poster, thinking it would make me feel better. It didn’t. Even after marring his face, it didn’t erase the flutter in my chest every time I thought of him. Whatever was happening internally or even externally had to stop and stop fast. I loved my job and my life and my sanity and had to do everything in my power to keep it that way.

The banging on the door had me jumping up. At least my food was here.

But, when I opened the door, it wasn’t the Tex Mex delivery guy. It was the BILF.

I mean, the BILK. BILK! I want to kill him, remember? Not fuck him.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped, hating how handsome he looked today, how his crisp white button-down hugged his powerful shoulders, his strong arms, his broad chest.

“I brought reinforcements.” He lifted two brown paper bags. “Soup, crackers, and chocolate.”

That stupid pitter-patter in my chest intensified. This couldn’t be a good thing.

“I heard you were sick. Soo …” He peeked around me. “Can I come in?”

I shouldn’t let him in, but I opened the door, and he strolled in.

“What’s wrong? Did you call a doctor?” His tone was overly concerned, but I didn’t need my primary physician to fix this. I needed a shrink.

The whiff of his cologne had me teetering on my bare feet. This was shithole bad.

“I can’t breathe.” Shit. Did I say that out loud?

“Do you have asthma?” He leaned in and touched my forehead, making the ability to get air into my lungs worse. “You don’t look too well.”

I shook my head when he took my hand and led me to the couch.

Then, he let out a low chuckle. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Shit!” I flew to the poster of him on the wall, but he tugged my hand, bringing me cascading into his chest.

“Stop. I saw it the other day when I was here, remember?” Then, he approached closer, laughing harder. “But this unibrow is different, and this beard …”

I groaned silently. With a Sharpie, I had tried to make him less beautiful, but it was impossible. No amount of Sharpies could de-beautify that face.

“Do you think I can rock that beard? I’m not sure about the unibrow.” He tipped my chin up with the lightness of his fingertips, and a tingling sensation traveled down my neck.

His eyebrow furrowed, and all humor erased from his features. “Lie down,” he commanded in his authoritative boardroom voice.

And I did because then the dizzying sensation might stop.

“Did you even eat?”

He frowned when I shook my head again.

He sighed and made his way to the kitchen, placing the can of soup on the counter.

“It’s fine. I ordered Tex Mex.”

Breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Why the hell did it feel like I was hyperventilating?

“Chicken soup fixes the sick. According to my mom.” Brad was already