Page 19 of This is a Kissing Book

As much as I wanted to go boating with the dangerously attractive Eastern European giant and see if, when water touched Mr. Sullivan’s skin, he’d hiss and deflate like a movie monster turning to dust, I didn’t want to get fired.

Wendy’s eyes cloud over. “I’m having a secondhand crush just watching you two interact.”

Mine bulge. “You’re what? We’re not—we don’t—when did you see us interact?” I ask, struggling to get the words out.

“At the quarterly meeting yesterday, in the hallway, outside the east elevator.” Carmen nods pointedly.

Wendy counts off on her fingers. “You two have a certain kind of magnetism. Chemistry. A sizzle. It’s undeniable.”

But deny it I will. ‘Til the death!

“Admit he’s handsome.” Wendy smiles sweetly.

Carmen’s hand lands on her hip.

I’m not getting out of here before Sullivan is back at his desk upstairs unless I cave.

Clearing my throat, I say, “He’s fine.”

“Nineties slang F-I-N-E fine?” Carmen asks.

Wendy closes her eyes and nods as if our coworker speaks the truth.

We go back and forth for a few more minutes before I lose the battle as they scale new heights and dredge deep lows by claiming my boss and I are at the budding stage of what’ll blossom into an office romance. When I was still working down here, because I was the only single lady, they appointed themselves matchmakers. Last season, they even submitted my name as a contestant for the “Sweetheart Report.” They’ll never stop unless I relent.

Arms firmly crossed like a barricade in front of my chest, I say, “My boss is objectively attractive in a ruggedly handsome way that’s completely at odds with his stodgy executive status. This is not one of those stories that will end with us going from bitter nemeses to madly in love.”

“But why not?” Wendy frowns like I claimed her baby is hideous.

“For one, he’s my boss. For two, he’s horrible. For three, he’s not my type.”

“Why isn’t he your type?” Carmen asks.

As if I’d ever date that beast in a three-piece suit.

“He’s terrifying,” I say.

“Terrifyingly attractive,” Wendy pipes.

“He has a resting brute face. He made Suzie in Licensing and Rights Management cry.”

Carmen sighs. “But she’s so sweet.”

“Exactly.” I flip my hand, gesturing to put a fine point on it. “He’s not my type because I’m pretty much his maid and I’d prefer a guy who tidies up his own messes.”

“Does he make you clean up after him?” Carmen asks, aghast.

I waffle. “Well, no.”

“So you’re more like a personal assistant. Do you have to fetch his coffee?”

“No, but⁠—”

Wendy whispers, “Does he want you to do other things? We could report him to HR for you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I push back the cuticle on my thumb. “I got my dream job, researcher and archivist, in responsibility only. Not in name. I’m his Special Projects Assistant and get zero respect⁠—”

“You have that look,” Wendy interrupts, studying my expression like an art authenticator examining a suspicious Monet.