Knock Me Up, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance

by Juliana Conners

  And I’d also get in trouble at work if I was caught fraternizing with customers. Sure, it would be after hours and my shift will have ended, but that doesn’t matter. We’re supposed to stay far away from the “regular people,” and know our place as lowly servers.

  But still. I sigh as I continue to look down at Wade’s rather neat handwriting— which I remember from studying with him in high school and from all the letters he had written me after that— wishing that things were different. I wish I didn’t need this job, and I wish I could just…

  …have sex with my ex? For my very first time?

  I want to yell at myself for even thinking it. My virginity had been too important to give to him back then and it should be even more important now that I know how things turned out between us. And yet, after all this time of trying to find some connection, some chemistry, some something with anyone else after Wade, and realizing it’s useless, I often wish I would have just had sex with him.

  Sure, I’d spend the rest of my life regretting it but at least I would have gotten to do it. As opposed to just thinking about it all the time, wondering what it would have been like. No, knowing it would have been hot— just like everything else we had done together— but also knowing that I would never get to experience it.

  Except maybe now I can.

  If only I could throw caution to the wind and see what happens. I’ve never been a capricious type of person. But look where that’s gotten me— pretty far in my academic career but almost nowhere at all in my personal life.

  I’m still staring down at the note in my hand, letting my thoughts run away from me, when I hear a stern voice in my ear.

  “Still loafing around daydreaming instead of working, I see. So typical of you, Emily. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

  I jump. It’s John, of course. And he’s actually clucking his tongue at me like a hen scolding her chicks. I stuff the note into my pocket, hoping John didn’t have time to read it.

  “I’m done with the buss work,” I tell him. “I was just taking a little break before…”

  …starting to clean, I was going to say, but I don’t get to finish, because he interrupts me, as usual. And suddenly I’m angry. Because even though I was late, I’d been busting my ass for the past four hours and this is the first small break I’d taken. Yet I can’t do anything around here without incurring John’s wrath.

  “Forget it,” he says. “You’re fired anyway.”

  “Fired?”

  I clench my fists, knowing I shouldn’t be surprised, but figuring that since he’d let me work my shift— or most of it, that I had been forgiven. I should have known that he was as unpredictable as he was egotistical.

  “Clock out and go home and study or whatever else is more important to you than this job,” he commands.

  Fine.

  At least I get out of cleaning peoples’ bits of chewed-up food from the plates and the carpet— my least favorite task. I feel bad for Nathan for having to do it all on his own. But it’s not like I’m going to work for free.

  I clock out as instructed and head to the parking lot. I know I should start to head home.

  But then I reconsider. If I don’t work here anymore, there’s nothing prohibiting me from fraternizing with customers. And for once in my life I could use a drink.

  That’s all this is about, I try to convince myself, knowing full well it’s not. I just need a drink. I got fired and I have no idea how I’ll afford my bills or stay in my beloved graduate program and I deserve a stiff cocktail to help lessen the blow.

  Since I’m already at my car, I bring my bookbag in with me and change back into my street clothes. They’re not exactly Suzi’s attire, but they’re better than my work uniform.

  Then I drop my bookbag back off at my car and head back towards Suzi’s. I wonder if I’ve taken so long to get to Suzi’s that I will have missed out on the opportunity to meet Wade there. Half of me hopes that I have, since my life will be so much easier that way. But half of me hopes that I haven’t, because I’m just dying to see him again one on one, even though I know I shouldn’t.

  Chapter 5 – Wade

  I’m nursing my whiskey sour, almost giving up hope that Emily will show up. She hadn’t appeared again at our table after I’d given her the note. The first guy came back to make sure we didn’t need anything else, and then I saw him with a vacuum cleaner on the stage, but Emily had disappeared.

  Guess you scared her off again for good, I think. Nice one.

  But I still came here to Suzy’s and waited on her, just in case, and I keep scanning the crowd for her. My friends had made plans to head to their favorite dive bar— Jensen got a wild hair and joined a motorcycle gang and they frequent this place— but I backed out, claiming I’d had a long day. They’d congratulated me on the award and told me to meet up with them if I changed my mind. And then they’d headed out and I’d headed here to wait like a long- lost puppy dog for its owner.

  This isn’t like me at all. I never fucking wait around on women. They get on board with what I want or I move on to the next one who will. But that doesn’t change the fact that here I sit, as if I have nothing in the world to do but see if this particular woman— my ex girlfriend— shows up.

  I’ll get one more drink, and then I’ll leave, I tell myself, as I try to signal to the bartender to bring me another. It’s a crowded place— and fancier than I like— but it was close enough that I thought it might entice Emily to join me. It’s on her home turf and all, although she has never been the kind of girl who would like it here, which is one of the things I’ve always liked about her.

  I’m sitting in the back corner of the bar and when I turn my head again, I’m surprised to see Emily walking up to me. She’s in jeans and a purple sweater, her hair cascading around her face instead of pulled up into a bun like it had been during the dinner.

  I can’t speak for a minute. She literally takes my breath away, as fucking cheesy as I know that sounds. She looks even better now than she did when I had first laid eyes on her again. It appears that the feeling is mutual, because she just smiles shyly and waves at me, even though by now she’s just a foot or two away.

  I realize I’m not being very gentlemanly, and so I stand up and say, “Well hello there,” while pulling out the bar stool next to me.

  She nods and says, “Hello there yourself,” while sitting down.

  We stare at each other like a couple of shy school kids— just like we used to be, I suppose— before both turning away, embarrassed.

  She’s completely knocking me off my game, I think.

  I feel uncomfortable about that, even though I’m glad she showed up. My emotions and thought processes are all over the place, as if a tornado entered the bar along with this girl who was the first and only one I’ve ever…

  …liked, I finish, before I allow myself to think of any stronger word.

  Luckily the bartender approaches and breaks our awkward silence.

  “Another one?” he asks me, and I nod, and add, “And whatever the lady would like.”

  “Ummm…. I’ll have a glass of merlot,” Emily says.

  Not a big drinker, I note. We were just kids when I had last seen her, and she wasn’t the partying or rebellious type. But I had often wondered if she’d ever picked up drinking. Since I myself had picked up a lot of bad habits I’m not particularly proud of.

  I look down at my empty whiskey glass. I realize with some sadness that she and I might not have a lot in common anymore.

  “I didn’t think you were going to show up,” I tell her, more to break the ice than anything else.

  I realize that I sound a big pathetic, and want to kick myself.

  “I wasn’t sure that I was,” she says.

  But then, as if reading the hurt in my eyes, she continues, “I mean, let me explain.”

  She takes a deep breath. “My job prohibits this kind of thing. But now I have no job to prohibit me from doing anything, so, here I am.”

&nbs
p; “I see,” I say.

  She shrugs.

  And then I add, “I’m sorry,” even though I know I had nothing to do with it.

  “It’s okay.”

  She bites the bottom of her lip— an old habit left over from way back then— which makes me want her very badly.

  “It wasn’t that great of a job anyway,” she admits. “And I kind of deserved to lose it, since I was really late today. But I’ll have to find another one soon.”

  “Yeah, as you could tell, my buddies were pretty hungry and disgruntled by the time you arrived,” I tell her, with a grin. “But you explained that you had something come up you weren’t expecting. I don’t know why people can’t just lighten up a bit.”

  “It was something at school,” she says. “Not exactly a first class emergency, but I felt I needed to be there for it. I guess, according to my boss— I mean, former boss— I have my priorities askew. Of course, it’s a catch 22, since I need the job to be able to afford to go to school.”

  “What do you go to school for?” I ask her, as the bartender brings our drinks. “Still social work?”

  When we’d last been together, she had been really into getting a degree in it, and wanting to go to grad school after she finished undergrad.

  “Yes,” she says, and I’m so glad she’s been pursuing her dreams.

  I feel a deep sense of pride well inside me that I wasn’t expecting. I know I have even less to do with the fact that she’s been accomplishing what she always wanted to accomplish than I do about the fact that she just lost the job that helps her do it. But it’s incredible to think that the same girl I knew back then has become the kind of woman she always wanted to be.

  “What kind of things are you studying?” I ask her. “Or, what are your interests in the field?”

  “I’m working on a project right now that was actually my brain child,” she tells me, her eyes lighting up at the thought of it. “I mean, I don’t mean to brag…”

  “No problem,” I tell her, thinking of all the times I’ve bragged about my accomplishments. It’s been a while, since I felt prouder of my Air Force achievements than the billions my company has made. It’s refreshing to talk to someone with a genuine interest in what she does. “Please, go ahead and tell me what the project is.”

  I’m glad to have the focus off of myself, and to find out more about her. Every girl I “date”— and I use the term loosely— seems to want to know all about my company and how I’ve made so much money. That’s not at all what I ever want to talk about. And I know that Emily doesn’t care about any of that. She looks enthralled as she talks about her studying, and I just want to sit here and listen.

  “It’s a grant to encourage and support girls and young women in education. It’s especially aimed at youth living in… poverty- stricken areas.”

  She pauses, as if unsure whether to continue. This is obviously a big deal to her, and I don’t say anything for fear she will shut down.

  “Our program will be for all females in all areas of the city, but different emphasis will be placed on different areas. For instance, in more working class areas without nannies and where people can’t afford child care, it will be aimed at after- school programs and tutoring. But everywhere will consist of a mentorship program and making sure the girls have basic educational needs met, which often co-exist with other needs such as physical and mental health, adequate housing, protection from abuse, etc. Another part of the program will be to provide the girls with different role models and careers they never even knew existed or that could be available to them. Whereas in areas of more affluence or privilege, girls can be told about advanced placement courses or early college education available to them, or different careers or fields they hadn’t thought of. Right now STEM fields are really big…”

  She stops when she sees me smile.

  “Of course,” I tell her. “Science, Technology, Engineering and Math. Just the kind of areas I’m involved in.”

  “Yeah,” she continues. “The good jobs are in these fields, although many women shy away from them, thinking they don’t have the skills or can’t compete. Our program will sponsor math and science competitions, and inventions and experiments and the like.”

  “I see,” I tell her. I decide not to expand on how much money I myself have been able to earn thanks to these fields. Both of us grew up poor and I know she places an emphasis on wanting underprivileged kids to have similar opportunities as more privileged kids. I think that’s noble of her.

  She looks at me as if wondering if she should go on, but then she does.

  “Not all of the girls our program will work with will be interested in college, nor will all of them be able to go to college, and that’s just fine. College is so expensive these days that it’s outside the reality of many of our girls, and to be honest I think it’s to the point where colleges and even government student loans prey on poor people.”

  I nod, although I don’t have much to add since I myself didn’t even go to college. Instead I joined the Air Force and then when I could no longer serve, I had to do something to make a living so I went to a different kind of “boot camp”— an intensive computer programming course that trained me in all the different types of computer languages for three months straight.

  “I’ve amassed a huge amount of student loan debt in pursuing my chosen field, which I’m really passionate about but which doesn’t pay enough to ever make a big dent in the student loans,” Emily continues. She’s so sexy when she speaks so seriously and passionate like this. “Some of the current fields that pay well and are very fulfilling, such as computer programming and coding and web development, don’t require a college degree. And then of course there are women interested in military careers, such as the one that you went into, or other outside, nature- based and action- packed jobs like forest ranger or fire fighter, etc.”

  Women aren’t allowed to do what I did, I think, but I don’t mention it. Or at least not yet.

  In fact, there’s talk that the Pararescue division will be open to women for the first time in history, which most of my fellow service members are none too thrilled about. It’s almost a running joke among my buddies. But I’m not about to tell this woman that there’s a field the girls in the program she’s so passionate about aren’t welcome in— in spirit, even if not, soon, technically.

  “Your project sounds very exciting,” I tell her.

  And I’m excited in more ways than one. Yes, sexually she’s done it for me since high school and I knew nothing had changed the moment I saw her again, which is why I invited her here for drinks. But emotionally, there’s still an attraction to her that I can’t deny. It excites me to hear about the things she’s so passionate about. It takes me back to a time when I first joined the military and was in love with life. In love with her.

  Sure, things weren’t perfect and there were issues between her and me—mostly, the fact that I had to leave— but I loved serving with my unit and being a pararescueman. All the joy was sucked out of me during what happened when I was deployed, and I don’t think much of it returned until right now.

  Sure, I’m glad I’m alive and I’m glad I recently acquired so much money unexpectedly. I’ve been blessed beyond measure but I haven’t felt truly alive or excited about life until right this second. I was just going through the motions, trying to convince myself I’d escaped the trauma of my past. Seeing Emily against makes me want to actually deal with life head on. I can’t even explain the effect she still has on me, or why.

  I find myself completely losing my head, and I need to get back on track. Get her into bed, get her into bed, I urge myself. Then you can forget about her and move on, just like with all the rest.

  She and I did everything but It. And now I want to go all the way with her, to claim what I should have taken long ago.

  “I’m enjoying this conversation,” I say, leaning in close so that my nose is barely touching her nose. She doesn’t move an inch. I’m just
daring her to let me kiss her. “But it’s not very private here. How about we continue it at my place?”

  She recoils, and I realize I just totally scared her off.

  “I can’t,” she says, looking around as if she’s going to be spotted by her old boss.

  So at first I think it’s about that. The work thing. Maybe she hopes to get her job back and doesn’t want to be seen “fraternizing.” But then I realize it’d make it easier for her if we get out of here.

  “I just can’t…” she purses her lovely lips and I can tell that I’ve hit on a personal topic without meaning to.

  “What have you been up to, anyway?” she asks me, suddenly, changing the subject.

  “Oh, a lot,” I tell her.

  She looks at me with interest but I can’t bring myself to continue. I realize what the problem is— the reason she doesn’t want to sleep with me. It’s because I had hurt her in the past, and she’s afraid of being hurt again. And rightfully so, I suppose.

  There’s no way I can admit to her how I kept on fucking up my life after I fucked up our relationship. And the only good thing to come out of it is something she’d never understand. So I decide to stick to the obvious.

  “I started a company,” I tell her. “Made lots of money. Became fucking filthy rich.”

  She scrunches her cute nose at me in visible disgust. I’ve obviously said the wrong thing in my quest to keep things on a surface level.

  “You know, I don’t get you,” she says, gulping down her drink as if she needs the liquid courage to speak her mind. “I really don’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Now I’m offended.

  “In high school you were so gung ho about helping other people,” she says. “You joined the military telling me you were going to save the world. What happened to that guy?”