His Temporary Assistant: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Kensington Square Book 1)

by Taryn Quinn

  I opened my tiny fridge in my equally tiny galley kitchen. There definitely wasn’t much to go on in there. I really needed to go shopping. Spotting spreadable wine cheese on the top shelf, I smiled—yes, please.

  I hip-checked the door closed and reached for the box of Triscuits in the overhead cabinet. I shook the box with a disappointed sigh and didn’t bother with a plate. I’d definitely be finishing off the meager rattle of thin salty treats. I tucked my wine tumbler into the crook of my arm and padded over to the modernized Rococo couch that I’d bought from Kinleigh & August’s Attic.

  Kinleigh Scott and her husband, August, were good friends of mine. Since they’d hooked up, there had been a lot more interesting rehabbed furniture in their combined stores. So far, I’d added two of their pieces to my little studio, the couch being my favorite. The back and sides of the sofa were hand painted in a gorgeous lavender, gray, and blue paisley. The over the top Baroque-style leaves and scroll work were painted a deep dark plum to offset the softer colors. The velvet upholstery was a few shades lighter.

  It was like the universe knew I’d needed it to go with my tapestry rug and array of framed prints that made up the corner of my apartment. Just beyond the one good window, I had a huge cubed bookcase—one of August’s builds—as a room divider jammed with my collection of tarot and crystals. The other side held my bed with a special drawer the size of my full bed for storage below the frame, courtesy of Kinleigh’s clever mind.

  A double-door closet had been turned into my podcast recording space. My clothes made for great noise buffering.

  The other half of the apartment was my art studio, meager kitchen, and child-sized bathroom with standing shower.

  It wasn’t much, but it suited me. When I had a hankering for television, I had a cool little projection unit that hooked up to my iPad so I could watch The Golden Girls on the one bare wall in my place.

  I glanced at my phone—no reply yet.

  While I waited, I pried the top of my cheese spread open and scooped some out. My cheese to Triscuit ratio was definitely out of whack. I shrugged and popped it in my mouth as my phone buzzed.

  Instead of April’s name, the distinct letters I’d plugged into my contacts glowed from the screen.

  PMS.

  I licked off a stray bit of cheese from my thumb and read the preview.

  PMS: I apologize for my behavior yesterday. I should not have contacted you after business hours. Nor should I have spoken to you with such familiarity.

  Mercy, this dude had an iron rod shoved up his butt. I unlocked my phone and folded myself into the corner of my couch. Who the hell talked like that outside a Regency romance? I only knew because that was my mom’s favorite genre lately. I’d filched one of the old, scarred books with Fabio or some lookalike on the front the last time we’d had lunch.

  She got them for like a dollar a bag at the library. She wouldn’t miss it. Probably.

  Before I could reply, another text came through.

  PMS: I hope we can clean the slate and start again.

  Miss Moon: My slate’s in good shape. Takes a lot more than that to get my panties in a twist.

  And there I went with the inappropriate talk. I couldn’t help myself. Hopefully, he wouldn’t turn out to be a troll when I got to the office on Monday.

  Not that it mattered one way or the other. Maybe it would be better if he was a troll. Temporary boss and all that. Who needed eye candy I couldn’t act on?

  Either way, I’d definitely have donuts in hand.

  I quickly typed off another text.

  Miss Moon: Guess I’ll just have to do your cards tonight to make sure we’re on the right path.

  I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to say that. The little chat bubbles came up and stopped, and then resumed and stopped again. Maybe I’d gone too far.

  Maybe? That was basically my life motto.

  I scooped out another slab of cheese for my…man, only four crackers left? Ugh. I wiped my hands and retrieved my review deck and went back to my couch. I shuffled as I thought about the ever-repressed Preston Shaw.

  Just how would our Monday go?

  I had to know.

  Six of Wands reversed, Justice, and Eight of Swords reversed with a Hanged Man shadow card.

  Hmm. Not exactly surprising that Justice had showed up, considering he was a lawyer. But maybe we were both a little anxious about getting things right in the workplace.

  The Hanged Man definitely wasn’t giving me much to go on.

  I really hated to wait and see. Being patient topped the list of things I sucked at.

  As I scooped up the cards, one fell to the floor.

  King of Swords.

  My logical and chilly boss-to-be right there in the flesh. The one who’d apparently decided to ghost me.

  The cards weren’t giving me much to go on. PMS definitely wasn’t.

  Monday would be very interesting indeed.

  Four

  Monday

  Card of The Day: Embrace: 6 of Swords | Release: The World reversed

  A purring gray cat with golden eyes tapped my nose incessantly.

  I pushed it away with a mumbled curse. The blasted nuisance came right back.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Then the tapping turned to an annoying bell. Whomever put the bell on the cat’s collar needed to be maimed.

  By me, with pinking shears.

  The bell got louder, followed by a crash of cymbals.

  I jerked up my head, a sketch page stuck to my cheek. I peeled it off my face and stared down at the gray cat I hadn’t been able to get out of my head all weekend.

  Evidently, it had walked right into my dreams. I rolled my eyes then put it on top of the seven other sketches I’d been working on since Saturday night. “Okay, okay. I get it. You want to have a guest spot in the comic.”

  Of course it would be a guest spot. Not a whole change to my setup.

  I stumbled out of my chair and nearly slipped on the scattered sheets in various stages of creative birthing. The cat on one of the pages even had a freaking tie.

  I bent down and picked them up. “Alexa, off!” I shouted and the alarms went silent. I really hoped the alarms hadn’t been going off forever. I checked my Apple Watch, but it had died sometime between Saturday and Sunday.

  Sleeping at my desk was not advised, but it wasn’t the first time. Nor would it be the last.

  “Alexa, what time is it?”

  “The time is 8:11.”

  “Crap.” I shoved the pile of sketches on my small kitchen table and sprinted to the bathroom for a lightning quick shower. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to pull out clothes for work the night before.

  Mornings and I had a really crappy relationship. Add in a binge drawing night and it was the Mondayest Monday of all Mondays.

  I didn’t have time to deal with my heavy, curly hair. Instead, I twisted it into two French braids and wound the tails into a knot at the base of my neck. A few stubborn curls wouldn’t be contained, and it was too blessed hot to deal with a crapton of product.

  Quickly, I lined my eyes, swiped on some shadow and mascara, and called it good. “Freckles be free today.”

  I gave myself ten minutes to meditate while I lotioned up with my protection blend. Who knew what kind of energy I’d be walking into?

  I added on all the mystical armor I could find today. I drew the delicate chains of my body jewelry over my shoulders and around my breasts to meet in the chain around my waist. Clear quartz was wound throughout the silvery metal. Along the center of my back were three chips of rainbow fluorite.

  Then I put on the armor the world required.

  Unfortunately, I was far too curvy to forgo a bra, especially when I had to go into an office. Luckily, it was still summer, so I didn’t have to do the whole pantyhose thing. I pulled on a black maxi dress with spaghetti straps that flirted with my ankles. A celery green sweater hid all my witchy finery and turned the outfit into business casual-ish.
At least as much as I was ever going to pull off. A matching pair of strappy-heeled sandals pulled it all together and gave me that little bit of confidence I needed.

  I rushed back into my kitchen and flipped on my electric kettle. I definitely wasn’t going to make it through the day without some tea.

  I tucked some loose tea leaves into my little salamander tea infuser, and then prestuffed my kitschy sloth one for the drink I would surely need at the office. It would provide a smile later that I’d probably need. I tucked it into a reusable baggie full of loose tea and tossed it into my green bucket bag on my kitchen table.

  My electric kettle was created for the perpetually late or impatient—whichever camp you wanted to sit in. Regardless, the water was ready for me in less than ninety seconds. I set my little dude in a to-go mug and let my breakfast blend steep.

  I didn’t have much time, but rituals were necessary for more than one reason. If I skipped them, my thoughts became chaotic, and in turn, the energy around me would follow suit.

  I grabbed the deck I was using for the month and shuffled quickly.

  My backup alarm filled the room with “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles, my five-minute warning.

  “Time to go.” I flipped my daily card and pulled my shadow card from the bottom of the deck. “Could be worse. All about beginnings today.” The reversed Major Arcana card gave me a little pause though.

  It usually signaled big life movements.

  “It’s just a temp gig, Universe.” I swiped up the cards and dumped them in their deck bag, and then tossed it in my purse along with a few snack items. I double-checked I had my phone and wallet—I couldn’t count the number of times I’d left my apartment without them—then headed for the door.

  Just before I opened it, I rushed back to my altar and snagged a few crystals. Better to be prepared for whatever came my way today.

  I shut the door just as Harry finished singing about all the dirty things he was going to do to some lucky girl.

  I flew down the stairs and out to the alleyway behind my building. It was a shortcut to Garden Avenue. Since I was on the verge of running late and wearing heels, I’d shave any minutes I could.

  I skirted the crunch of kids playing kickball on one of the quieter side streets.

  “Hey, lady!” A freckled boy with a wicked head of red curls whistled at me.

  “Can’t talk. Late.”

  “Come on. Kick the ball with us.”

  I turned to walk backwards. “Do I look like I’m wearing the clothes for kickball?”

  “No, but you’re way prettier than my friends. Come on, please?”

  I grinned. Bold little charmer. “Not sure your friends would be happy to hear that.”

  The ginger’s friend took the opportunity to whale him with the ball. “Out!”

  I laughed. “See?”

  “Come on, now our team needs you.”

  I shook my head and crossed the street. “Nope, sorry. Next time.” I secured my bag over my arm and almost made it to the corner. But damn, his friend had a hell of an arm.

  The thwack of the ball connecting with my ass shocked me enough that I almost turned my ankle on the cracked sidewalk.

  “If I have a smudge on my ass from that ball, I’ll find you tomorrow!” I picked up the ball and hurled it at his friend with the smirky, crooked mouth. I took a little joy in the fact that he ducked just in time for the ginger to take the ball in the center of his chest.

  I smoothed my hand over my butt and made it to Garden Avenue. Only three blocks left to my favorite bakery. It just happened to be across from PMS’s office.

  “Watch it, lady.”

  A flash of jet black hair flew like a tangle of ribbons behind a chick with a lime green helmet. She was hunched over her bike, a matching backpack emblazoned with Lightning Messenger Service strapped to her lean frame.

  The universe was literally trying to take me out today.

  I glanced up at the clock in the middle of Kensington Square. “It’s a miracle,” I said under my breath. It was ten of nine. I might even be right on time.

  The little bell over The Honey Pot’s door jangled on my way in.

  A tall woman with dark hair streaked liberally with scarlet highlights waved at me. “Hey, Ryan. What brings you out and about so early?” She wiped her hands on her apron and gave me a dazzling smile. Eeyore’s woefully sweet face was splashed across the front of her T-shirt.

  “Mornin’, Dre.” I dug into my bag. “I’m temping this week at a lawyer’s office, if you can believe it. I was told bribing him with coconut or caramel would be a good way to make the week go smoothly.”

  “Preston Shaw?”

  I laughed. “So, his sweet tooth is that legendary?”

  “Oh, definitely. April finally took a day off?” She pulled down a bakery box. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  “Yeah, she’s one of my best friends. She had a mini emergency with her grandmother.”

  Dre glanced up from the bakery case. “Oh, no.”

  I waved my hand. “Nothing serious. Well, at least not health-wise. She decided her mid-seventies was a fine time to get a divorce before the marriage.”

  Dre’s laugh filled the room. “Good for her.” She tapped her ring finger with her thumb. “I managed to give my husband the boot recently, as well.”

  “Oh, did you?”

  “I sure did. Remember when I got that reading from you?”

  I laughed. “Been a lot of readings between, girl.”

  Dre flushed. “Right. Sorry, made quite the impression on me at the time. You told me to watch out for a surprise arrival in the spring. I was thinking baby. Instead, it was Mark’s girlfriend.”

  I winced. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Thank God I never put his name on the papers for this place.” She waved toward the room. “Him and Kimmie—with an ie because she’s an infant—are going to be very happy together.”

  “I’m sorry that was the surprise.”

  She shrugged. “Better off. I thought it was my fault that the only thing rising in our marriage was my bread dough.”

  “Oh, girl. Never your fault. Especially with how sweet and open you are. Come see me and we’ll see what kind of fall you’ll have instead. Maybe some new love is on the horizon. I have a good vibe.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m done with men for a while.” She tucked donuts into the box and started to shut the sliding door, and then reached toward some apple fritters that made my mouth water. “These are my new caramel apple fritters. I’m trying out a new honey glaze. Let me know how he likes it. And you.” She tucked two into a pastry bag. “These are on the house.”

  “Aww, you don’t have to do that.”

  “I insist.” She brought the box of donuts and the bag to the register. “Fifteen-eleven.”

  I pulled out a twenty. “You saved my morning. Keep the change.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely. Make sure you come see me soon.” A little zing zipped up my spine when the door jangled again and a dark-haired man came in. He wasn’t paying either of us any mind, his attention centered on his phone. Suddenly, his gaze lifted and bright, silvery gray eyes locked with Dre’s.

  Hmm.

  I glanced between them. “You need to call me,” I said again.

  Dre blinked before clearing her throat. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

  I gave the hottie in the motorcycle jacket a grin then waggled my eyebrows at Dre and took my bundle. “See ya.”

  “Bye, Ryan.” Dre cleared her throat again as she wiped her hands down her apron. “Can I help you?”

  I whistled my way out the door. Love—or maybe it was just a little lust—was in the honey-scented air for sure. I was glad to see someone was getting a little whiff of happiness. I knew I sure wasn’t.

  I glanced back through the big picture window to see tall, dark, and silver eyes leaning against the counter, his phone forgotten.

  “Watch it!” I t
urned to see Miss Speedy McBikerson winging her way back down Kensington.

  You know when they say things happen in slow motion? Or when life flashes by your very eyes?

  Lies.

  The sweets-filled pink box started off in my arms and ended up pinned under my armpit when I crashed into the sidewalk in a blink.

  When I opened my eyes, a bike tire spun about three inches from my nose as the biker popped up off the ground a hell of a lot faster than I did. Then again, she wasn’t covered in caramel, chocolate, or some oozing cream filling.

  Lime Helmet hauled up her bike. “If you broke my bike, I’ll sue.” She hopped back on her bike and took off.

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I shouted as I rolled onto my hip with a wince. I didn’t even want to look down. I could feel all the sugar congealing to my skin.

  I peeled the box off my sweater just as Dre rushed outside.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Here, let me help you up.” Silver Eyes hauled me off the sidewalk without even a grunt. I wasn’t a small girl. Both height and curves meant I was a good handful.

  “Oh, Ryan.” Dre’s horrified face told me all I needed to know.

  A donut fell out of the box and plopped next to my shoe just as my phone shrieked from my bag. It wasn’t any of my usual ringtones, which meant it had to be PMS.

  “Perfect.”

  “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Dre hooked a hand through my arm. “I’m not sure I have enough napkins for this.”

  Hot Guy glanced at his motorcycle. “I could take you home.”

  I sighed as my phone rang again. I gave the delicious guy—who’d now seen me at my graceful best—a weak smile. “I’m late for work.”

  “Think this qualifies as a get out of jail free card.”

  I sidestepped the delighted pigeon who was now getting a sweet treat. “You don’t know my boss,” I muttered. “Hell, I don’t really know him either, and I know this isn’t going to go over well.”

  Silver Eyes gave me an arched brow.