Page 100 of My Favorite Boss

I shut my eyes and counted to ten. Then I opened them, leaned close, and smiled. “Bane?”

“Magnolia?” he murmured, lifting his hand and running a finger down my cheek.

“Suggest this again, and the next time your mother drops in, I’ll let her into your office and lock the door behind her.”

Then I turned and walked out of the office, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Loudly.

What a jerk.

I sat down, stared at my desk, then decided I needed to stay busy and I needed it to be physical. Everything in this office was clean, tidy, and orderly. Bane’s office was organized, although I still wanted to clean his cupboard—I wasn’t going in there with him.

I was angry. Hurt.

When he’d first uttered the words “marry me,” my heart raced. I was filled with elation. Wonder. The belief that he felt the same way about me as I did about him. This wasn’t some office affair. It was something real.

And then he opened his mouth again and ruined it all. He didn’t love me. I was a convenience. We could get married and help each other.

He had told me he didn’t think he was capable of having a relationship. Of experiencing or expressing real feelings. I should have known better. But given the fact that I realized I was falling for him, I thought he’d felt the same about me. I was an idiot.

Simply thinking about it made me angry again. I rose from my desk, went to the kitchen, and made Bane a coffee. I could still be professional, and he liked a coffee this time of the day. Then I gathered up some garbage bags and tucked them under my arm. I knocked on his door, walking in before he answered. I knew he was alone. I set down the coffee, and he eyed the bags under my arm.

“Are you cleaning out your desk, or are those for my body once you dismember me?”

“I am tidying the supply room in the hall. It’s a disaster.” I walked to the door, glancing over my shoulder. “Just like you.”

In the supply room, I looked around, mentally organizing the room. It blew my mind that with the number of extra assistants they had, no one ever came in here and fixed it. Granted, the room was small—a closet, really, but it could still be tidy. I propped open the door that was known to stick, then opened a bag and got busy.

About an hour later, Bane stuck his head in. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

He grimaced, entering the room and looking around. “Looks much better.”

I snorted. “When was the last time you were in here?”

“A couple of months ago, looking for some printer supplies.” He rubbed his neck. “I didn’t find any.”

“They’re on the third shelf now,” I informed him, stacking some packages of copy paper. It amazed me, for a paperless environment, how much paper was used and wasted. Bending, I grabbed another cartridge for the printer, stretching up on my toes to try to put it on the top shelf.

Bane was suddenly behind me, taking the box from my hand and easily reaching the top without any problem. “You need a small step stool.”

“No room, really.”

He bracketed his arms on the shelves, crowding and caging me in. “No, it’s a pretty tight fit.”

I felt him aligned with me, our bodies meshing with perfection. His hard melding to my soft. He lowered his head, his lips ghosting my neck. He moved his hands, grasping mine, the feel of his skin hot. I inhaled, smelling him. Warm. Rich.

Bane.

“Stop,” I whispered.

“You’re angry with me. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like being a convenience.”

“You’re not, Magnolia. You’re so much more.” He pressed his lips to my neck. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”