Dare to Love My Grumpy Boss: Romantic Comedy (Forever Marriage Match Book 1)

by Ellie Hall

  Her green eyes lift to mine and there’s nothing cheesy about this moment. Nothing at all.

  13

  Shaw

  “I’ve wanted to do this even before I knew what you looked like.” My head inclines slowly toward Cora’s.

  Her smile grows like she knows what’s coming. Like it’s something she’s also wanted.

  Our online chemistry was palpable even through the screen, but in person, our attraction is off the charts. But given my past, I proceed with caution. I don’t want to move too fast.

  Her sparkling green eyes are the last thing I see before my mouth brushes hers.

  “So soft,” I whisper.

  “You sent the butterflies in my belly scattering.”

  “I’m good for more than scaring off spiders.”

  My lips return to hers. The kiss is as gentle as the rain at first. All I can hear is the patter of the drops on the leaves outside but then a second sound gets louder—the patter of our hearts.

  “Your limey-peppermint scent is much better than this musty cabin odor,” she says with a kiss.

  I tuck my head back. Our gazes lock. I still hold a question in my eyes and now on my lips.

  When she doesn’t answer with a kiss, I say, “We can talk some more, first. I don’t want to move too fast.”

  Does she want to kiss again? I’m suddenly uncharacteristically self-conscious and glad I don’t have bad breath thanks to that mint.

  She wears a mischievous grin. “We’ve done plenty of talking already.”

  I cock a smile. This woman slays me. “You’re sure you want to—? No pressure.”

  She bounces on her toes to meet my mouth. It’s as if her energy springs outward from her chest, through her bones and limbs. It’s like she wants to give a full-body nod. The biggest yes there can be. I lean in.

  Our mouths meet again. The press is more intense this time. Everything except for us kissing right here, right now falls away.

  I have one hand on her waist and the other travels up from her shoulder to her cheek. My thumb traces a gentle line toward her jaw.

  Whereas before we were getting to know each other by placing our fingers on a keyboard and using words on a screen, now our hands are exploring, our thoughts translating from text to feel. IRL—in real life.

  As the kiss deepens, I still can’t believe that Cora is @CookClickChick, but there will be time to ponder that later. Over the months that we’ve been messaging and getting to know each other, I’d fantasized about what it would be like to kiss the lips that spoke, or rather wrote, the words that had made me laugh, relate, answered my work rants, and created a closeness and connection I’d never before experienced.

  The kiss, quietly explosive, is unlike anything I could’ve fathomed.

  Cora’s lips on mine are nothing like Cookie, the girl I met by the bus. They’re confident, demanding, generous. They belong to @CookClickChick. They make me want to leave behind the cocky and irritable jerk I’ve been in the rainforest and show her the real Shaw out from behind the computer screen.

  At work, I’m alpha. In charge and in control. With her, I’m cookie dough in her hands. Bread dough. Whatever she wants, it’s hers. I’m hers.

  Her fingers trail over my shoulder and then grip the back of my neck, drawing us still more deeply into the kiss. She’s all-over soft—her skin, her hair, her lips. She smells like lilacs—my favorite springtime bloom back when I lived in the northeast.

  My pulse quickens as the kiss continues. My thoughts blur, and all I feel is sensation. My hand cups her cheek and the kiss turns tender again before we part.

  We both lean against the wall.

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  “Windows on Windows?” she asks, referring to computer-speak.

  I chuckle. “More like whoa.”

  “Yeah. I agree.”

  I find her hand and curl mine around it. We both slowly slide down the wall and then gaze at the ceiling for a long beat.

  Cora glances over at me, eyes still sparkling, and then bursts into a fit of giggles.

  I can’t help but join her.

  Together, we laugh at the absurdity of this situation before rehashing the last few hours.

  “Well, what’s next?” Cora asks.

  “The only way out is through. I think that’s paraphrasing a famous quote, but it’s true. At first light, we’ll get back on track. Hopefully, the Jeeps will bring everyone out for expedition day two.”

  She groans. “I can only imagine what Rick and Simon have in store for everyone.”

  “And they have no idea what I have in store for them.”

  “Sounds diabolical.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Given your reputation, they ought to be careful.”

  Even though the lantern provides dim light, a shadow crosses my mind. I want to separate myself from the guy I was. Be the best version of myself for Cora, but the past has a way of lingering and reappearing at inopportune moments. I do my level best to shove it away.

  “Thanks for helping me out, Shaw of the Jungle.” There is no teasing in her tone. Just gratitude.

  Once more, I wrap an arm around Cora, tucking her close. She curls up and rests her head against the spot between my shoulder and chest. She feels small yet like she belongs here, with me. Well, not here because I wouldn’t wish a night in this cabin on anyone—except maybe Rick and Simon. Rather, like she and I belong together.

  “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “Shaw of the Jungle will protect you.” And make sure she doesn’t lose her job no matter what Rick and Simon have planned.

  Cora giggles and then falls quiet. Her breathing evens out. We’ve both been up for ages after the long day of travel and then tromping through the jungle. I drift in and out of sleep with an ear on anything outside that might be curious or hungry. I have enough adrenaline in my system, determination in my mind, and Eagle Scout skills to get us to safety. I have to.

  The birds chirping and singing at first light is louder than an alarm.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I say around a yawn.

  She blinks sleepily. “The windows are pretty dirty, but I think it’s still cloudy outside. Hopefully, it won’t start raining again.”

  “Want another protein bar?” I ask.

  “Let’s split one just in case we need reserves.”

  “Good idea. And we’ll ration our water.” Now with daylight, I poke around in the cabin to make sure there aren’t any supplies that might come in handy. All I come up with is some neon surveyor tape.

  “Streamers? I’ll bring the balloons, but let’s wait to have a party until we get rescued,” Cora says.

  The thing about my life is I don’t wait around to get rescued. A long time ago, I learned to step boldly forward. I had to. When I go outside, the rain is little more than a fine mist. The air is thick and it’s already sweltering, but the sun presses through the cloud cover in the distance.

  Cora packs up and meets me on the porch. “Your phone is dead. That means we have no way to navigate or communicate other than the compass and the rough track of the road.”

  “You’re just a ray of sunshine this morning,” I tease.

  “I told you, it’s cloudy.”

  The jungle is thick, but I spot the narrow path we took from the trail and point. “We’ll use this tape to mark our route in case we need to backtrack.”

  “Colorful.”

  “Yeah, land surveyors use it to—”

  Cora tugs on my sleeve. “No, look up.”

  The rainforest canopy is sparse overhead and the brightest, boldest, and most vibrant rainbow arches across the sky.

  Our gazes drift down and meet. Again, we kiss, forgetting about the danger and our survival.

  When we part, I say, “We may not have seen the stars, but that is some rainbow.”

  Cora bounces on her toes and kisses me. “That’s good luck. We’re going to get rescued. We’re going to get rescued.” She does another happy dance.
>
  “Much prefer that to your tantrum yesterday.”

  “We shall never speak of it. Remember what you told me? What happens in the jungle, stays in the jungle, Indie.”

  I pound my chest. “I thought I was Shaw of the Jungle.”

  She taps her chin. “On second thought, I think you’re Gorgon-zilla.”

  “Like gorgonzola? And we’re back to the cheese puns.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of Jurassic Park.”

  “I thought you were a movie buff. Godzilla isn’t a dinosaur.”

  “Oh, right. It’s a lizard, like that thing.” The color washes from Cora’s face.

  I follow her extended arm. A pair of yellow eyes blink from a wrinkled, leathery, dark face with a long snout low to the ground.

  “That’s a black caiman,” I whisper. “Arguably one of the deadliest predators in the Amazon.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to squish it like a spider.”

  “Definitely not.”

  The beast is well over ten feet long, but that’s an estimate since its lower half and tail hides under a shallow rivulet of water about a dozen yards from the cabin.

  “What do we do?”

  “Unfortunately, Eagle Scouts didn’t prepare me for this.”

  “That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear,” she hisses.

  “It’s the truth. I do know they typically hunt at night and they like to be warm. My guess is it wants to bask with the sun coming out.”

  “My version of basking involves a clear blue pool and a resort.”

  “Did you bring your bathing suit?”

  “Are you suggesting I take a dip with that thing?”

  I snort a laugh. “No, for later.”

  “You mean when we return to civilization. If we return to civilization. That thing definitely looks like it wants to eat me.”

  “Stay on the porch and don’t take your eyes off it. I’m going to see about finding another way to the road.”

  She grips my arm. “Oh, no. You are not leaving this porch. It might chase you.”

  “In that case, I’ll run to the road.”

  “And leave me alone here?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m just going to find us another path. I’ll be back in less than five minutes. We’re not far from the road.”

  I speak with conviction and refuse to let my voice falter. The reminder that we are not at the top of the food chain could shake a lesser man.

  I carve us a path with the machete and then return for Cora. “Honey, I’m home.”

  Relief brings a smile to her face as she exits the cabin and she throws herself into my arms, wrapping her legs around me.

  “I like this enthusiastic greeting. I could get used to it.”

  She tugs her head back and smiles, but it has a slightly sad edge to it. “We live on opposite sides of the country.”

  “Don’t remind me. But we’re here now.”

  “And I’m not letting go.”

  Those words send the thrill of the HUB ping racing through me. If we were safe, had food, and resources, I’d suggest we linger in the jungle a little longer. I’m definitely not in a rush to return to reality, my desk, and hoping to find messages from @CookClickChick. I have the real thing right here.

  But Cora’s comment about not letting go was literal. She clutches me tightly like a lovable little leech as I gather up our stuff. Then, as if realizing that’s not going to work, she inches her way around so she’s riding piggyback.

  “Are we really doing this?” I ask.

  “That thing looks like it has sharp teeth. You have longer legs than me so I figure you’ll be able to run faster.”

  “What if it chomped my ankles?”

  “I could grab onto a tree branch overhead and climb to safety.”

  “So you’d sacrifice me?” I ask, mock-insulted.

  “No, I’d pull you up with me. We’d build a treehouse, live on bananas, and never come down.”

  “You are such a lovable goofball.” I realize this time I’ve said the word lovable outloud.

  She nuzzles into my neck, sending warmth through me.

  I have a feeling that I’d find the strength to outrun the caiman if it came down to it. “My guess is the thing fed overnight and is looking to lounge if not nap.” I could use one too but press on through the jungle and to the road.

  When we reach what’s left of it, Cora whimpers.

  With a groan at the state of affairs, I lower her down on a patch of semi-dry ground.

  “Where did the road go?” Worry streaks Cora’s voice.

  And I let out an irritable grunt.

  14

  Cora

  At the sight of the mucky, flooded tract, my spirits dip. “Are you sure this was the road we were on yesterday?” I ask.

  “If you can call it a road, then yes.”

  “How can you be sure? Why didn’t I pay more attention to wilderness survival? I practically grew up in the woods for goodness sakes.”

  “Any good scout keeps track of landmarks.”

  I press the inner edge of my hand across my brow and peer at our surroundings. “I don’t see a Starbucks on the corner, but I think I recognize that gas station.”

  “Very funny.” He points at a pale palm tree. “I named it starfish because it reminds me of a—”

  “Yeah, I get it, but that one looks the same.” I point to what looks like the twin of the spikey palm tree bush thingy Shaw indicates.

  “Right, but that’s a living starfish. This one looks like it’s been baking in the sun for a while.”

  I blink a few times. “Okay, I’ll leave the orienteering to you.”

  “The storm must’ve washed this part of the road, but up ahead it appears to be intact. We’ll take a wide arc out that way.” He points to the jungle.

  “I was hoping you had a paddleboard in that bag of yours—it was listed as one of the resort amenities and something I’ve always wanted to try.”

  “You could try to surf on the back of that black caiman.”

  “Very funny,” I say, repeating his earlier comment. Then a disturbing thought belatedly comes to mind. “What if Gorgon-zilla has friends like the spider?”

  Shaw brandishes the machete.

  “Not exactly encouraging.”

  “We have to work with what we’ve got.”

  “Well, we do have each other. So far, we make a good team.”

  She loops her arm through mine. “Under all that brawn, you’re a real softie, you know that?”

  “You could say that I’m a ball of mozzarella.”

  I giggle. “Shaw Dawson, you’re my favorite kind of cheese.”

  “I take that as the highest form of praise coming from you.”

  “And look, we’re back on the regular part of the road.” I fist pump the air then spin in a circle, doing my goofy happy dance. I take Shaw’s free hand in mine and dip under it like we’re ballroom dancers.

  I spin away and then closer, dropping into his arms. The sunshine highlights golden flecks in his chestnut-brown eyes. The proximity of his mouth reminds me of our kiss last night.

  The unexpectedness of it.

  The perfection of it.

  The thrill of it.

  Hours earlier, I wanted to slap that surly, arrogant grin off his lips.

  But learning he’s @PacManWizard changes things. Just goes to show you, you can never judge a book by its cover or a person by their username and email address.

  Who’d have thought such a dorky name as @PacManWizard would be H.A.W.T? That’s a Fabulous Five acronym for a guy that’s Handsome, Affectionate, Wholesome, and Trustworthy.

  It’s the absolute, ultimate guy.

  The death do us part kind of guy.

  The happily ever after kind of guy.

  The Forever Marriage Match kind of guy.

  That kiss though. It was soft yet intense. I temporarily forgot my name, that I was lost in the rainforest and stuck in a remote cabin
with zero resources, and that hours earlier I’d kind of despised Shaw.

  The guy I’d kissed.

  The one I’ve been messaging for months.

  “Maybe this isn’t a nightmare after all? We didn’t even get devoured by Gorgon-zilla.”

  Shaw’s expression ripples with amusement for a brief moment and then he goes back to hacking at the low brush, tagging the trees with the neon tape every so often.

  We soon fall into rhythm talking about work. I don’t want to worry about job security but if stupid Simon pitted us against each other in this race to the death, I need to know more about my opponent.

  Don’t get your trousers in a twist. Yes, of course, I believe in true love and all that, but I’m a modern woman. I need a job to support myself, for health insurance, and to save for retirement. I’m not going to rely on a dirtbag like Simon to provide job security. If for some reason he fires me for not playing his game, I’ll make sure my next employer knows all about the competition.

  I’m not going to use my feminine wiles to trick Shaw into revealing the kill codes—at least not if it meant his job would be in jeopardy. Rather, I’d like to see DigiPower and AmTech get their comeuppance. And that’s not a fancy term for a crumpet or any other teatime treat.

  No, I’m planning revenge, just like Webster. And don’t you fret, I won’t betray Shaw in the process.

  “So what made you scale back your role at DigiPower?” I ask.

  “There are several reasons. Less responsibility being one of them. I was tired of working eighty-hour weeks.” Shaw sighs like he’s a tire releasing PSI.

  “That’s brutal.”

  He bites his lip as though contemplating whether to say more. “And I’ve been thinking about striking out on my own.”

  “A new startup?”

  “Sort of.” He hesitates another moment. “I’d been thinking about telling @CookClickChick my secret plans but hadn’t gummed up the courage. What if I fail?” he asks vaguely as if not talking about @CookClickChick.

  “I have a feeling she wouldn’t judge you either way. If this little adventure has taught me anything, what seems worse is if you don’t try.” I nibble my lip. “I have no idea what your dreams are, but I’ve been thinking about my love for cooking, blogging, and sharing recipes—an unfortunate hobby considering circumstances because every time I think about food the hollowness in my stomach seems to grow—along with my fear of not going after my dream.”