Page 50 of Sexy Bad Boss

“You have to take me to the airport,” I blurt.

My mother continues huffing while staring at me like she’s trying to decide whether she can simply drive off without me.

“I have to go to London,” I add.

“You need a plan,” she says.

“I have a plan. Go to London and find Myra.”

“London is comprised of over 600 square miles with a population of six million people. You are bat shit crazy if you think you can simply get on a plane and find her without doing a little research first. And I did not raise a bat shit crazy son, so I’m taking you home.”

“Mo-ther!” Dear God I haven’t whined like this since I was six. And it does about as much good now as it did back then.

I sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed, a scowl distorting my features, while my mother drives me home and speculates about whether Chloe will end up pregnant on hers and Paynter’s honeymoon because she’d love to have another grandchild by spring.

“Make sure you have a plan before you make any decisions,” she says once I’m ensconced on my couch with my laptop perched on the coffee table.

“Bye, Mom. Thanks for the lift.”

After kissing the top of my head even though I tried to duck away from her, she leaves me to my plan.

Which involves ordering an Uber to take me to the airport.

***

It’s possible I am as batshit crazy as my mother claimed. Because yeah, I fly to London without a plan. With nothing more than a carry-on containing a change of clothes, my toiletry bag, and my laptop.

And no clue where the hell to find the love of my life.

Myra isn’t close to her family, so it isn’t surprising when I look up her parents and siblings and none of them know where she is or if she is even in the country. She told me she’d accepted a new job but didn’t tell me what it was, so I can’t search for her that way either.

On a hunch, I seek out local bakeries and cookie companies. The first one I call laughs at the idea that they could afford to recruit someone from the States, no matter how delicious her chocolate chip cookie recipe. But the man I speak with on the phone suggests I try the Royal Cookie Co., which is the largest and most well known of its kind in London.

They must be as massive as that person suggested, considering the number of times I’m transferred around, as each employee I speak with attempts to connect me to someone in human resources who will be able to help me.

Finally, I give up and summon a cab, taking it out to the factory so I can pay a personal visit to the HR department. In less than fifteen minutes, I’m shaking hands with a charming young woman who informs me that they don’t have a Myra Edwards working there, and when I press for more information, she informs me she can’t legally tell me anything else.

Ten days after Myra walked out of my condo and my life, I return to my office, exhausted and jet-lagged and no closer to my goal.

“James!” Alex’s enthusiastic voice greets me when I exit the elevator and roll down the hall toward my office. He’s all smiles as he darts around the desk and hurries over to open the door. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“Good God, yes.” Myra had never asked. The coffee had been waiting on my desk, steaming hot, with precisely the right amount of cream. There was so much about the woman I took for granted. I don’t deserve her, but if she gives me a second chance, I will dedicate every single day to appreciating everything about her.

But I can’t be annoyed with Alex. Not right now. I’ve had too many emails and phone calls raving about my new assistant over the course of the last week. Apparently, he really is as good as Myra insisted. Possibly better.

And if that’s the case, maybe he can help with my plan to find Myra.

Alex rushes away and I shift into my leather office chair with a sigh. I’m bone-tired. No, truthfully, I’m lonely. I’ve never experienced such a feeling before; I’ve always preferred ample alone time, limiting my interaction with other people to business dealings and obligatory family functions. Now I hate it.

I even miss the cat. I’ve actually considered heading to the local Humane Society, just to take a look at the felines. I’m not sure why; no animal would live up to Simon. I don’t really want to bring a furry friend into my household anyway. Well, unless it’s Simon. There have been moments when I’ve wondered who I miss more: the cat or the woman.

Okay, that’s not true. As much as I do admittedly wish the cat had stayed, missing Myra is like waking up and realizing someone has taken my right arm. And my heart.

“How’s this?” Alex’s voice startles me out of the reverie I’ve fallen into yet again. I’ve been doing that a lot the last few days. Just sitting and staring into space, thinking about Myra.

I glance down at a mug full of coffee, colored the perfect shade of medium brown. I should probably apologize to the kid for how mean I’ve been to him since he started. I frown; I’m not good at that. Apologizing, I mean. I don’t do it often. When I was young, that was what I most often got into trouble for—refusing to say I’m sorry to my siblings when I wronged them in some way. Mom wasn’t nearly as concerned over whatever it was we were fighting about as she was about the making up part.

“Damn it,” Alex mutters, reaching for the mug. “It’s still not good enough. I’ll keep trying. One of these days, I’ll—”