The Boss Upstairs (Orchard Heights Book 3 (standalone))

by Roya Carmen

  The Boss Upstairs

  Roya Carmen

  Contents

  Copyright

  BLURB

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  A note from the author:

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Roya Carmen

  The Ground Rules - Excerpt - Chapter One

  Copyright

  The Boss Upstairs © Roya Carmen, 2020

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. Copyright property of the author. No part of this content may be reproduced or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and locations are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design, formatting and illustration: Calico Images

  Editing: CKMS Media

  Poetry: Camille Saville

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  BLURB

  The Boss Upstairs

  Book Three - Orchard Heights Series (standalone)

  A sweet and steamy boss secretary romance.

  Gretchen Morris is barely thirty, yet she’s already a widow. Ethan, her two-year old boy, is the light of her life. This is it for her. She will never love anyone like she loved her late husband, Donovan. Every hour, he’s in her thoughts, in her heart, not letting go. She’s completely shattered because he’s gone, and every single day, she must live with the knowledge that she’s the one to blame.

  She’s nothing but a hollow shell, going through her life on auto pilot, trying to be strong for Ethan, but failing miserably. She’s looking to become self-sufficient again, to head back into the job market and start a new chapter.

  Surprisingly, all it takes is one jolt to bring her back to life; an opportunity to work with the reclusive wealthy man in the penthouse upstairs.

  Weston Hanson is odd, beautiful, sweet, playful, and unlike anyone she’s ever met before. And he’s as broken as she is. He’s lived a man’s worst nightmare, gone through a divorce, and let go of a woman he loved dearly. He’s still obsessed with this woman and cannot move past the regrets in his life.

  Can two people fall in love if their souls are full of broken memories, and their hearts are still held captive by others?

  Preface

  Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or lose. – Lyndon B. Johnson

  1

  I’m stretched out on his bed, wrapped up in a cloud of white sheets and soft duvets. He’s caged me in, and I’m a willing captive. Those amazing green eyes of his bore into mine, and I ache for his kiss. Yet I’m speechless. I cannot speak, and I so desperately want to reach out to him.

  I want him to touch me, kiss me, have his way with me.

  He slides a hand down my arm. He peels me from the bed, but his pull is weak, strained. I’m too heavy for him.

  I wake with a start.

  Ethan’s big brown eyes stare at me, brows furrowed. For a split second, I see the man he will become, the spitting image of his father. He has that same expression Donovan used to have when he was annoyed.

  I smile, but Ethan is still not impressed, still pulling at my arm.

  “Wake up! Want crunch, Mommy.”

  I laugh. He hasn’t been talking very long, but he certainly makes himself heard. I recently gave him a taste of my favorite cereal, Cinnamon Toast Crunch. I never eat it for breakfast. It’s a treat. I eat it for dessert, a small bowl after a meal to satisfy my sweet tooth. And I made the mistake of letting Ethan have some, and now it’s all he talks about. The kid is obsessed.

  I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s not quite seven o’clock yet. My alarm is just about to go off. But seriously, who needs a clock when you have a two-year old?

  I slip on my fuzzy socks and oversized sweater, and follow Ethan to the kitchen. I blush at the recollection of my naughty dream. Well… it wasn’t exactly naughty. Not yet. It could have been if I hadn’t been so rudely interrupted by Ethan.

  I sigh as I pour him a small bowl of his Cinnamon Toast Crunch. As he eagerly digs into it, all thumbs, happy as can be, I get to work on a proper breakfast. He’ll also be having yogurt, cut-up apples and some scrambled eggs.

  I’m on edge. He has no clue, but today is a big day for us. Mommy has a job interview.

  It seems like ages ago when I last sat at a computer screen, surrounded by colleagues, heels tapping on the floor, hands dancing over a colorful mouse. I miss it.

  I left my last job with a heavy heart, one week before Ethan’s arrival. I’d always planned to take advantage of my maternity leave, but I had originally planned to go back to work. But then life happened. Tragedy happened.

  I could barely function as it was when my maternity leave was up, there was no way I could handle a job and a baby, all on my own. That hadn’t been the plan. Donovan was supposed to be by my side, my partner in crime. With him, I could handle it all. But without him, I could barely function.

  As my hands busy themselves cooking up scrambled eggs, a sudden pang of guilt hits me. I’ve been dreaming of Donovan since the day he left us. But this morning, it hadn’t been Donovan looming over my naked body. It had been Mr. Dark & Mysterious.

  Weston.

  I remind myself that it was just a dream.

  I check my watch as I hastily serve Ethan his breakfast and make myself a small plate. I force myself to eat the plate of food, despite the fact that I have no appetite. I’m too nervous to eat, but I know if I don’t, I won’t feel well, and I need to be at my best.

  The interview is at nine o’clock. Thankfully, it’s only an elevator ride up so I just need two or three minutes to get there.

  I really want this. It’s only a six-month contract, but it’s perfect. It’s the perfect way to get back out there after a two-and-a-half year absence.

  I poke at my scrambled eggs. “So what do you think I should wear, Ethan?”

  He giggles. “Dress.”

  I laugh. The kid’s pretty smart. I love that we can finally interact. He’s becoming a little person, and every day he does something that amazes me. This moment is bitte
rsweet. I’m going to miss him, yet this will be good for us. And it’s just for six months, and Ethan is already going to daycare part-time anyway.

  Patricia (my mother-in-law) first suggested it. She thought he could benefit from having other kids his age and other adults around him, instead of being cooped up all day with a depressed mom.

  Yep, that’s pretty much how she worded it too. But she did have a point.

  I bite my lip as I think back to last Saturday night, Abigail’s birthday party. I finally got to officially meet him that night. Up until then, it had been brief run-ins in the elevator, polite smiles and soft hellos.

  He’s definitely not the kind of man you can miss; tall and handsome, and impeccably dressed. I often wondered about him. What was his deal? I wondered if he was married. I’d seen him with two young kids; teenagers, whom I assumed were his children, but never with any women, save for a small middle-aged lady, who seemed too young to be his mother, but perhaps too old to be a romantic interest.

  I’d often wanted to introduce myself, but he was impenetrable. Although polite, he gave off a standoffish air. So I quietly contented myself with gossiping about him with my girlfriends. Mr. Dark & Mysterious quickly became a frequent topic of conversation. We’d get so excited at sightings of him, as if he were some kind of celebrity.

  I knew nothing about him, save for the fact that he lived in the penthouse of our building, and that he was all class, extremely shy, and perhaps the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

  Abigail keeps insisting that Mr. Dark & Mysterious likes the looks of me too. Apparently, he always stares a little too long. I usually just blush at her silly observations.

  Yes, some might say I’m cute, but I’ve never been beautiful. I’m not as gorgeous as Claudia or Abigail, and not as classy as Mischa. I’m just me, quirky, awkward, and perhaps cute on a good day. What the heck could someone like him possibly ever see in me?

  Ethan throws his bowl of yogurt on the floor. That’s his way of saying “I don’t like.” And he always smiles wide when he does it. Unfortunately I don’t find it nearly as amusing as he does. I grunt as I pick up the mess, but I’m used to it. Just another day in my life.

  I’m not upset. He’s a toddler. And I thank the Lord every day that he was spared, that I was spared, that we are both here today, together, and that God has left me with a small part of Donovan.

  I’ve never been very religious, but lately I’ve been talking to Him at night. I used to be angry for the longest time. I was mad at God, mad at the whole world, but mostly, at myself.

  It was my fault.

  I close my eyes and draw in a long breath. Every time I start thinking this way, I shake my head, and try to knock the thoughts right out of my mind. I can’t possibly function if I go there again. And I need to function. Ethan is all I have, and I need to be there for him.

  We’re both standing in my closet, and Ethan has grabbed a pair of my heels and is happily clapping the soles together, delighting in the sound they make.

  “So what do you think, buddy?” I ask him. “Demure and librarian-ish, or vampy and sexy?”

  He laughs and keeps clacking the shoes.

  I pull out two dresses, a blue conservative number and a flowy black and white polka dot wrap dress. “Well, since I don’t have anything sexy in my closet, librarian dressy will have to do.” I hold both of them on display. “Which one?”

  He eagerly points at the polka-dots. I smile.

  “Polka-dots, it is.”

  He’s still clapping my shoes.

  “I think the polka-dots need a little color.” I reach for a pair of pointy red kitten heels and a pair of butter yellow rounded toe Mary Janes.

  “Which ones?” I ask again.

  He grins and points at the yellow heels.

  “Yes,” I agree. “The red pointy toes might be a little too sexy for a job interview.”

  I stare at my reflection in the tall mirror. I should probably wear my hair up. The blue strands might send the wrong impression, that I’m some kind of wild artsy type. Not really. I just like to add a little fun in my life by dying the ends of my hair. I also like to play with my nails and experiment with different colors. And I occasionally have a little too much fun with my nail art pen. Today, my nails are painted a classic pink.

  I smile, remembering our first meeting.

  He kept staring at my hands. I was holding a glass of red, and he seemed quite fascinated with that glass of wine. Perhaps it was the little cat charm around the stem, the kind your glass wears to distinguish itself from others at a party. Or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with me. I can’t, in a million years, imagine why. Someone like him would have no reason to be intimidated by little old me.

  I already knew he was shy, but he seemed even more so, in this environment. He was clearly ill-at-ease, and I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him it would be okay. How could someone as beautiful and clearly successful as him be that bashful? It still baffles me.

  “You live on the second floor, right?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Yes. And you live in the penthouse.”

  He blushed, and stared at the floor again. “Yes… I do.”

  “You have two children, right?” I asked, curious.

  He smiled proudly. “Yes. Ashton is fifteen and Elizabeth is thirteen,” he told me. “Their mother and I were divorced a few years ago,” he added, volunteering the information I so desperately seeked.

  I nodded quietly.

  “And you…” he went on. “You have a small son… Ethan.”

  I smiled, impressed that he would know his name, but then again, he’d probably heard me say it. I was flattered that he remembered.

  “Yes,” I said brightly. “He’s a lot of work.”

  He nodded and studied me for the longest time as if he desperately wanted to know more, but didn’t dare ask.

  “His father died in a car wreck a few years ago,” I explained, “before he was born.”

  His face fell. “Oh… I’m so sorry.”

  I could tell he was genuinely sorry, and I knew he didn’t know what else to say, so I was quick to change the subject. “Anyway, we’re doing all right. My mother-in-law is a lot of help, and I have my girlfriends.”

  He smiled. “I know… I see the four of you together all the time.”

  “I don’t know what I would do without them.”

  His gaze fixed me for the longest time, full of longing, of appreciation. It made me slightly uncomfortable, but also gave me butterflies.

  I hadn’t felt butterflies at the pit of my stomach since Donovan.

  “You’re lucky to have them,” he finally said, and I wondered if he had any friends. He didn’t seem to. He definitely came off as the strong silent type, a real lone wolf.

  I wanted to know everything there was to know about him. “So what do you do when you’re not riding the elevator,” I teased, curious. I knew he was well-off, and I wondered how he had gotten that way.

  “I’m a developer,” he said. “Sustainable living condos. Semi-retired, philanthropist, and father of two teenagers, which is a full-time job in itself.”

  I smiled, speechless.

  “What about yourself?”

  I stared at my feet. “Well… at the moment, I’m just a mom.”

  He smiled. “There’s no such thing as ‘just a mom’. That’s a big job. Especially when you’re talking about a two year old. I’ve been there.”

  I nodded, shy. “Well, I was thinking of getting back out there, back to the workforce.”

  He drained his glass of white wine. “And what did you do before you were a full-time mom?”

  I smiled at the recollection of a life which seemed so long ago. “I was a Graphic Designer,” I told him. “I’ve also worked as a Marketing Assistant and Communications Assistant. I studied Graphic Design and Marketing.”

  His face lit up. “Really?”

  I smiled. His reaction was funny. It wasn�
�t like I’d told him I was a heart surgeon or a marine biologist. Although fulfilling and creative, my profession is certainly not the most impressive. “Really. I make things look pretty and fun. I draw people in… that’s if I do my job well.”

  “Did you love it?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did,” I said honestly. “Which is one of the reasons I’d like to go back to it.”

  He nodded, and suddenly became very animated. “Well, I should give you my card.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card wallet, and handed me a card.

  I blinked and stared at it a little too long, confused and speechless.

  “We’re currently looking for a Designer to brand a new charity I’ve been wanting to start for years,” he clarified. “In fact, my assistant, Rosetta, is posting the job on Monday.”

  I was in shock, not processing his words fast enough. “Really?”

  “It’s just a six-month contract,” he explained. “But maybe it’s something you might be interested in?”

  I nodded, still without words.

  “If you are, you can just email your application to Rosetta. Her email is listed on the card.”

  I stared at the card, suddenly too nervous to look him in the eye. Can the perfect job just fall in your lap like that? Does this kind of thing actually happen to people? I’m definitely not one of those people.