The Boss Upstairs - Roya Carmen Page 0,98

my mother sometimes.

“I’m being careful,” I assure her.

“He seems like a good guy,” Claudia chimes in. “Mind your own business, Mischa.”

Mischa shrugs. “I’m just looking out for our girl. It’s what we do, isn’t it? Look out for each other?”

“Yeah, but we don’t shit on each other’s happiness,” Claudia argues. “You need to cool it.”

Mischa’s jaw drops and she’s without words.

“Ladies, settle down,” I say softly. “It’s all good.” I turn to Mischa. “Claudia has a soft spot for Weston because he sent her flowers and chocolate.”

“Really?” Abigail says. “Why?”

“For looking after Ethan so he and Gretchen could get it on,” she explains. “The man is all class.”

Abbigail smiles. “Yeah, I totally see that.”

“So will you be moving in?” Mischa asks. Apparently, she’s not done with me.

“No. Why would we?” I ask. “Things are perfect just the way they are.”

“And what happens when your contract is over?”

I really want to kick her in the shin. I remind myself that that’s just the way she is, hyper vigilant and uptight. She’s just looking out for me. “Nothing happens. My job will end, and hopefully, we’ll still be a couple. I have plenty of money. I don’t need the job, or Weston’s financial help.”

She blows out a breath. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Now can we quit it with the interrogation and just enjoy our meal?” Claudia pipes in. “This is my cheat day, and I’d like to make the most of it.”

“Let’s talk about the Brazilian I just got instead,” Abigail chimes in.

“What?!” we all say in unison.

Abigail laughs. “Claudia made me do it.”

“It makes sex so much better,” Claudia explains.

“So what’s the verdict?” I ask, curious, wondering how Weston would react if I went completely bare.

“Never again!” she says, and we all break into laughter.

“How did Abe like it?” Claudia asks. “He must have loved it.”

Abigail smiles. “He liked it enough I guess, but when I told him how much pain it involved, he told me he liked me either way.”

I smile, thankful for my best friend. I’d never tell the others, but Abby is my number one girl.

42

Monday morning rolls around, and I’m giddy. I can’t wait to see Weston again. I guess that’s what being in love is. I think about Mischa’s words. She’s right. I need to proceed cautiously. Love sometimes makes you blind, and I need to have my eyes wide open for Ethan. His happiness comes before mine.

Yet, I can’t imagine Weston ever hurting us. He’s too kind. He’s too good. But perhaps I’m wearing rose colored glasses. I just don’t know what to think anymore. I hear Mischa’s words. I see Weston’s smile. I hear Ethan’s laughter. I feel my own heart. I just don’t know.

I shake my head and fetch Ethan’s sweater. “It’s Monday,” I tell him. “Do you know what that means?”

He shakes his head as I slip on the sweater.

“It means grandma is coming over.”

He squeals. He loves his grandma.

I hurry to get him dressed, and feed him breakfast before Patricia gets here. He’s sucking on an orange slice when she finally arrives.

“Hey, little guy,” she coos. “I missed you.” She reaches for a hug.

“Well, I should be going,” I tell her. “I’m running a little late.”

“Mondays…” she says.

“Another day, another dollar,” I joke as I make my way out.

“You have yourself a good day,” she calls out.

“You too… thanks again.”

I scurry down the hallway, and blow out a long breath as soon as I step into the elevator. Mornings are such a rush, and I always feel so stressed, especially on Mondays.

I’m still flustered as I step into our office, and set my briefcase down.

Rosetta smiles up at me. “How was your weekend?” she asks with a playful grin.

“Fantastic,” I tell her. “How was yours?”

“Same old, same old.”

She’s still smiling, and I wonder what she’s up to. “Boss Man would like to see you immediately in his office.”

“Really?”

“Really…” she says. “The man must really like buttering your biscuit, Honey. Just go ahead… you’ll see.”

My nerves stand to attention. What is going on? I hurry down the hall of his office, and my breath hitches when I finally see him.

He’s beautiful in a dark suit, sitting on the loveseat. His smile is playful, but also a little unsure. He’s surrounded by about a dozen bouquets of red roses, and petals on the floor surround his shiny loafers.

“What is this?” I ask, confused. “What’s happening?”

He rises and stretches out his arm. I take his hand, and he leads me to the loveseat. I