Breaking up with My Boss: An Enemies to Lovers, Office Romance (Love You Forever Book 4)

by Alexis Winter

  We don’t talk as I eat and he reads the paper, but when he starts to fold it back up, I figure it’s time to leave. I quickly finish up breakfast and stand, holding my dirty dishes in my hand to take to the sink.

  “Poppy, please just leave that. There are people who get paid good money to clean up around here. It’s not your job.”

  “Oh, right,” I mumble, setting everything back down.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  I nod, smoothing down my black skirt.

  I suck in a breath when I feel his hand pressing on the small of my back, motioning for me to walk ahead of him with the other. There’s a painless burning sensation under his hand and I find it taking over my whole body as I push myself forward. My legs suddenly feel weak, like jello, and my heart and lungs are racing. We stop at the door and pull on our coats, neither of us looking at the other. I sneak a glance when he’s not looking and see that it appears he’s breathing a little harder too, but maybe it’s just due to the walk to the door mixed with the excitement of leaving the house for the day. I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s not attracted to me. Why would he be? He’s rich and can have literally any girl he wants—one that his uppity family would approve of, who would actually listen when he gave a demand. I push those thoughts from my mind as he opens the door and holds it, allowing me to walk out first.

  I’m not sure what to expect on the drive to the office, and I’m a little nervous thinking about it. He climbs behind the wheel and starts the car. He places his briefcase between my left leg and the dash before pulling on his seatbelt. He moves slowly and carefully, almost like he’s hyperaware of me being at his side. He adjusts the heat and the vents, then finally shifts into drive. He takes off slowly, but he has a wrinkle between his brows as he steers out of the parking garage.

  “We talked about our upbringing last night. Why don’t we move on to something a little easier . . . like what do you like to do in your spare time? What are your hobbies and interests?” he asks.

  That sounds like an easy topic that can’t cause too much of a fuss, right? “Well, I like to read romance novels.” I roll my eyes because what woman doesn’t? But he scoffs.

  “What?” I ask, turning my head to study him.

  “Romance novels? Seriously?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, if you want to live your life being let down because real men don’t stand a chance next to the fictional characters you’re dreaming about.”

  I laugh. “Oh, we know real men can’t compete. That’s why we read them. It’s nice to dream, right?”

  He shrugs. “I prefer to dream about things that may actually happen one day.”

  “Like what? What do you dream about that can happen in real life?”

  He keeps his eyes on the road. “I don’t know. Finding love—real love. Not someone who’s only interested in my money or social status. Getting married, starting a family . . . the classic dream, I guess.”

  “Well, I suppose all that’s good, but don’t you like to imagine? To just let your thoughts carry you away into something you know isn’t possible? I mean, dreaming is the only way you can experience those things.”

  He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “I guess we’re just two very different people. I prefer to keep things real while you like spending your time in la-la land.”

  I snort. “How is it possible for two people to be so different?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer, and that effectively ends our conversation.

  We make it to the office and Matthew and I are walking in together just as Daniel walks out of his office. He smirks. “Poppy, it’s nice to see you again so soon after your recent . . . outburst,” he says with a chuckle.

  I frown at him. “Did you have something to do with this?” I ask, putting my hand on my hip as I study him.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” he says as his eyes move from Matthew, to me, and back.

  Matthew brushes past him. “Daniel, do you mind if we talk in my office?”

  “Sure,” Daniel agrees, looking at me as if he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on around here.

  He turns and heads into the office, leaving me alone to get things started for the day. I turn on my phone as my computer boots up, then I start pulling files. To my surprise, there aren’t a ton of emails from him with lists of things to do, but I guess I kept him pretty busy last night between the move, dinner, and our argument. Maybe he just didn’t have time to work. So while I wait, I decide to clean up around the office—wiping down the coffee station, cleaning the public restroom, and taking out the trash.

  When lunch rolls around, I’m surprised when he leaves his office and stops at my desk. “Ready?” he asks.

  “Ready for . . . ?” I let my sentence drop off. He’s never come to my desk to leave his lunch order. He’s always made me go to him.

  “To go to lunch. I have reservations.”

  “Oh. For the both of us?” I ask, still confused.

  He lets out a deep chuckle. “Of course. I’ll take any excuse I can get to spend time with my fiancée throughout the day.”

  Oh, I see. He’s just wanting to do more interrogation. But whatever. At least I get to leave the office to enjoy some fancy rich-people food. I grab my purse and follow him to the door. I’m pleasantly surprised when he opens it and allows me to walk through first. “Thank you,” I say, passing by him.

  He takes ahold of my elbow and guides me across the street to the parking garage. At his car, he opens my door and allows me to slide inside. Finally, he climbs behind the wheel.

  “Okay, what’s going on? Are you trying to trick me or something?” I ask, suddenly waiting for the ball to drop.

  He looks at me, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “This.” I motion between us. “You’re never this nice to me. So what’s up?”

  He takes a deep breath and starts the car. “I just figured that if I really want to pull this off and sell that we’re a real couple, we need to get to know one another. And being assholes to each other is only going to hinder that. We need to put our egos aside and get to business.”

  “And by get to business you mean . . . ?”

  He scoffs and rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed that I’m not keeping up with the conversation. “I mean we need to treat each other better. Get comfortable as a couple so we don’t have to try so hard when we’re in public. This is our test. If we can get along throughout lunch—look like a real couple in love who are about to get married—then this just might work.”

  I press my lips together and nod. “Okay. If you can stop being an ass, then so can I,” I promise.

  He chuckles. “Are you sure about that?”

  I snort. “Are you?” I challenge.

  He only laughs harder. “We’re doomed. You can’t be outdone and I won’t be outdone.”

  I smile, glad he’s already learned a little about me. But as we make our way to the restaurant, this idea of his worries me. I mean, what if we can pull off the fake relationship thing? Will the lines get blurred? And where does the relationship end and our regular lives begin—especially now that we’re living in the same house and eating three meals a day together? But on the other hand, it will give me a reason to touch him and tease myself even further. So maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

  I decide to try this relationship thing before we even get to the restaurant. His hand is resting on the console between us. I lift my hand and slide it into his. His eyes immediately jump to me.

  I smile and shrug. “Just wanted to see how it would feel. You know . . . if I’d be able to fake it or if I’d feel repulsed.”

  He smirks. “And? How does it feel?”

  I force my eyes to the road, refusing to let him see the pink that’s staining my cheeks. “It feels . . . different, but nice.”

  He squeezes slightly. “It will take some getting used to, but I think I can manage as well.”

  We hold hands fo
r the rest of the drive, and that teenage girl inside me squeals with delight—like it’s the first time she’s ever been touched by the opposite sex.

  Six

  Matthew

  Her hand is soft in mine—warm, trusting, inviting. It only makes me think about how inviting the rest of her body is. Would she allow me to wrap my arm around her? Would she shy away if I reached out and ran the tip of my finger across her cheek? Would she allow me to kiss her? To touch her in ways neither of us should want? Only time will tell, but even this light touch is enough to have me wondering and looking forward to finding out more.

  We arrive at the restaurant and I get out of the car, allowing the valet to take a seat behind the wheel. I walk around the car and Poppy is already opening her door, but I hold out my arm and she takes it. I close the door and lead her inside. I almost feel giddy having her on my arm. It’s like I’m back in high school and got the most popular girl to go to prom with me. Dare I say, I’m even proud to have her next to me. But that confuses my mind in ways I don’t understand, so I push the emotion away as I lead her up to the hostess.

  “Reservation for two under Lewis.”

  She looks over the book. “Ah, found it. Right this way, Mr. Lewis.” She grabs two menus and leads us in the direction of our table.

  She places us in a semi-private back corner. It’s far enough away that not many people will notice us, but it’s also open enough that we’re not secluded from the rest of the diners. I pull out a chair and offer it to Poppy. She takes it and I help her slide it forward before taking my place across from her.

  “Here’s the wine list; your waiter will be with you shortly,” the hostess tells us.

  “Would you like wine with lunch?” I ask her, but she shakes her head.

  “I don’t drink much, especially if I have to go back to work. I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to holding my alcohol.”

  I set the list aside and look over my menu to decide what I’d like to eat.

  The waiter approaches our table. He looks down at me with no pad of paper. “What would you like to get started?”

  “I’ll take a scotch on the rocks.” I realize drinking hard liquor midday isn’t smart and something I seldom—if ever—do, but I need to relax. This woman has me on edge, and my anxiety is through the roof.

  “And you, ma’am?” he asks, looking over at her. I can’t help but notice the way his eyes bug out of his skull slightly when he takes her in. That’s weird. I never considered Poppy to be the obviously sexy type. I didn’t realize the effect she had on men. I thought I was only attracted to her because she hated me so fervently, but maybe it’s more than that.

  “I’ll just take a water with lemon, please.”

  He nods. “Very well. Would you like a basket of rolls while you wait?”

  “No,” I say at the same time Poppy says, “Yes, please.”

  The two of us look at each other. The waiter is clearly confused and finally says, “I’ll bring a basket.” He walks away.

  “Why are you turning down free bread?” she asks.

  “Why are you accepting free carbs?” I reply.

  There’s a long moment in which the two of us are just squaring off, not talking. Then she rolls her eyes and her back relaxes. “Fine.”

  Our drinks arrive along with a basket of rolls that remains untouched.

  “Oh, I have something for you,” I say, reaching into my breast pocket and handing over an envelope.

  “What is it?” she asks around a wide smile, almost like she’s surprised I’m giving her a gift.

  She opens the envelope and pulls out the contents. A gym card, a business card with her trainer’s information and schedule, and a copy of her calendar for the next month. I’ve already taken the liberty of filling it in for her. Gym three times a week, etiquette classes so she can learn the proper ways things should be done in high society, and appointments to get her hair, nails, and body groomed properly.

  “What’s all this?” she asks, examining everything.

  “Not to start an argument or anything, but a woman who’s preparing to be my fiancée needs to take better care of herself. So I took the liberty of getting you a gym membership and I’ve booked you with a trainer three nights a week. I’ve also set up appointments for you to get a manicure and pedicure, a haircut, and a full-body wax along with a massage. I’m not demanding you do these things—just letting you know you have access.”

  She presses her lips together and nods. “And this?” she holds up the reservation for the tea time during which she will be learning etiquette with other young ladies.

  “It was just a guess, but I figured you didn’t know what all the forks were for on the table. That, and my family will tear you apart at dinner. The more prepared you can be, the better.”

  “Seriously? Your family cares which fork I use?” Her voice pitches to an octave only dogs can hear. “What, are we on the Titanic?” she snorts, clearly amusing herself. I don’t respond. Instead, I just take a deep breath and level my eyes at her once again so she can see the seriousness in my expression. High society isn’t a joke and it still exists in America.

  She nods and slips everything back into the envelope. “And when is the shopping trip? I don’t see that on here.”

  “What shopping trip?” I ask, suddenly confused.

  “If I remember correctly, you tossed one of my bags out the window. I had clothes and shoes in there. And it was stuff I wear frequently. Plus I don’t have gym clothes . . . unless you want me working out in the T-shirts and panties I sleep in.”

  My dick twitches. So I was right. No shorts were under that shirt of hers.

  I clear my throat. “We’ll go this weekend. The gym schedule starts next week. Every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday.”

  She smiles and nods, but then she reaches across the table and places her hand in mine. “And I can only assume that in order to sell this to your family, I’ll need an engagement ring of some kind.”

  “I already have my jeweler coming by this evening so I can pick out your ring.”

  “Oh, the jewelry comes to you? Nice,” she agrees.

  I smile. I want to threaten her within an inch of her life if she loses the ring, but I don’t say anything, because she’s playing so well right now that I don’t want to ruin it. I wish we’d been seated in a booth so I could hold her against my side and see how far she’d let me take this.

  The waiter is back. “Are you ready to place your order?”

  I hand over my menu. “Yes, we’ll both take the lunch special.”

  “Okay, which soup?”

  “We’ll have the minestrone with the house salad, please.”

  He nods. “As you wish.” He takes both menus and walks away.

  I can see the fight in her eyes from me ordering for us both, and I watch, waiting to see if she’ll be able to hold her tongue or not.

  “So, where were we on getting to know each other?” she asks with a flirty smile.

  I can’t help but play along, pretending it’s real. I smile at her. “What are your favorite kinds of movies?”

  “Hmm,” she says, thinking it over. “I guess I like scary movies. It gives people the excuse to get close.” Again with the teasing grin.

  I chuckle. “You’re good at this.”

  “Good at what?” she asks, batting her lashes.

  “Flirting. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually liked me.”

  She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m a good actress. Plus, getting to know you a little better does help. You’re not entirely the fuckboy I thought you were, but there’s still plenty of room for improvement.”

  I laugh. “Are you trying to train me?”

  “Nope. I’m just trying to make this as smooth as possible.”

  The waiter comes out with our soups and salads and she releases my hand to eat. I already miss it there. I wish I could treat her like I would any other girl I’d normally date, but that’s not how we are and
that’s not the type of relationship we have . . . although she is a good actress and she even has me wondering if it’s all acting or if she could be feeling the same for me as I am for her.

  The workweek goes by without a hitch. She’s completely different now that we’re living together. She’s never late and she seems to have her shit together at work, though I suppose I’ve also been trying to take it a little easier on her.

  Friday after work, I present her with a dress for dinner with my grandmother. It’s a black number that’s made out of thin black material covered in sheer lace. It’s a form-fitting dress with tiny little sleeves. The dress ends just below the knee, but the tightness of the dress leaves very little to the imagination. I give her a pair of matching sky-high black heels that give a nice shape to her legs. I’ve also included a matching purse and jewelry.

  “So, what do you think?” she asks, spinning in a circle before me.

  I wet my lips, ready to eat her up. “I think you look great,” I say, not wanting to give her too much to have her worrying about the meaning behind it. I pull the ring out of my pocket. “Here’s the engagement ring I promised. I went ahead and took care of it without you. Now, this is only a loaner and it’s worth about $20,000, so do not lose it. In fact, don’t even wear it unless we’re going to a family function. Got it?”

  She nods but rolls her eyes like she can’t believe I don’t trust her with such a priceless item. I open the box and show her the ring, causing her eyes to widen in shock. It’s a platinum halo with a pear diamond in the center.

  “This is gorgeous,” she breathes out.

  I take it out of the box and slide it onto her finger. “Will you be my pretend fiancée?” I smirk.

  “Yes!” She plays along, jumping and wrapping her arms around my neck. I laugh at her theatrics, but place her on her feet.

  Even though she’s standing on her own now, her arms don’t pull away from my neck. I pull back, putting us eye-to-eye, and we both freeze.