Page 51 of Sexy Bad Boss

“No, it’s per—” Leaning forward, I try to grab the coffee before he can take it away. We get to it at the same time, his fingers grazing mine before he jerks them away, upending the cup. Dark liquid floods the mahogany wood surface and races toward my lap.

I scramble away, forgetting for a moment that I have a bum foot. When I stand, the pain shooting through my leg is an all-too vivid reminder. My leg buckles and the desk races up to greet my forehead, the sensation of the impact overriding the urge to get off my foot.

A moment later—I think—I open my eyes to Alex’s face swimming above me. I’m on my back, on the ground, apparently.

His eyes widen. “Do you remember?”

“That I just cracked my head on the desk?” I lift my hand and gingerly touch the goose egg forming above my brow.

“No. The night you fell off the deck at your brother’s house.”

“Oh. Right.” How the hell does he know about that? “No.”

“Too bad. Should I call 9-1-1?” He whips his phone out of a pocket. I grab it from his hand.

“No. I’m fine. I overreacted. Acted like an idiot. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

He shakes his head. “No, it was my fault. Myra tried to teach me how you like your coffee, and I must have a mental block or something, because—”

“Stop second-guessing yourself. The coffee was fine. It looked perfect. And I drank that other swill you made me, didn’t I? Help me up.”

He’s strong for a skinny guy, and with seemingly little effort, he has me sitting in my chair, pushed away from the desk, where a puddle of liquid is spreading on the plastic mat protecting the carpet underneath.

“Ice,” he says, practically vibrating as his gaze darts around the office like he expects to find an ice machine. “And something to clean up the mess. Supplies. Got it. I’ll be back.”

“And more coffee.”

He rushes away while I lean back in my chair and close my eyes as I try to will away the hammers now beating against my brain.

He’s back a few moments later, handing me a plastic bag filled with crushed ice. I hold it to my head while he cleans up the mess on the floor and my desk. Apparently he couldn’t manage to bring me a cup of coffee as well.

“Sorry about that,” I say. The words don’t even feel foreign in my mouth. Maybe this apology business isn’t so bad after all.

“It was my fault,” he insists again.

“Will you just let me have this apology? I’m trying to practice.”

Tossing a wad of wet paper towels in the trash, he glances up at me, furrowing his brow.

“I need to apologize to Myra. And…I need your help.”

He takes one more swipe at the plastic covering the floor and then plops himself on my desk. I clench the fist that isn’t holding an ice pack, an attempt to keep from snapping at him to get his ass off my workspace. I’ve just asked the guy for help; I probably shouldn’t ruin it five seconds later.

“Tell me all about it, Boss.”

I shake my head. I’m not good at this, at opening up to others. But it’s time I l try.

“I think it all started at my brother’s wedding. Although I’m not sure, because I can’t remember what exactly happened before I fell off the deck at his reception.”

Alex nods sagely. “I’ve done that before.”

Rolling my eyes, I snap, “I wasn’t drunk.”

“Got it,” Alex replies in a tone that says he’s humoring me.

Gritting my teeth, I continue. “Because of the injuries, I asked Myra to move in, to take care of me, until my doctor signed off saying I could return to work. And our relationship…”

“Got a little physical.”