How to Not Fall for My Boss

Never fall for popular guys. It’s just a waste of time or the ultimate disaster. I’ve had the wisdom tattooed in my mind for almost a decade now, and the memory that goes with it is impossible to ignore. No matter how dreamy and tempting those guys are, I know better.

I also know better than to stare at Luke Williams, who is now in a serious phone conversation with a client, yet my rebellious eyes refuse to listen to my brain.

The man sits on his managerial desk, facing the window overlooking Boston city with one foot dangling and his long fingers fumbling with the document beside him. It’s a good thing that he doesn’t have extra eyes planted on the back of his head, or he would catch me staring. Feeling like a creep, I shift my gaze to my computer screen, inwardly complaining about my boss’s office wall, which is made of glass. It should be illegal.

“Keep your mind out of the gutter, Cobie,” I mumble under my breath, shaking away the urge to ogle my boss longer.

In my defense, who doesn’t find Luke attractive? At least, all the women in this office do. Even my male colleagues sometimes gawk at him as if our boss were a chocolate ice cream in the middle of the desert.

Luke is simply that charming. With a broad posture screaming confidence, walnut hair complementing his beautiful hazel eyes, a deep voice, and a smile that could melt an ice cube within seconds, he attracts all the attention just by breathing. And no, he is nothing mysterious, or dark, or dangerous like most girls fantasize about in fictional characters nowadays. He’s just Luke. He’s friendly and charismatic, and he always knows what to say to make women blush.

I snort at the fact that I’ve just spent the entire fifteen minutes daydreaming about my boss. It’s not like I’m going to make a move on him. Plus, Luke never sees me that way. Our relationship has been strictly professional, and I want to keep it at that. No matter how kindly Luke has treated me as his subordinate, a popular guy is just a no-no.

Shoving the thoughts to the back of my mind, I wiggle my mouse to turn off the screensaver before minimizing the browser. I instantly groan when I catch my reflection on the dark computer screen. I didn’t have time to wash my hair this morning, causing my jet-black hair to lose its volume and lie flat on my skull. The worst part of having greasy hair is that it ruins the rest of my appearance because the unwanted extra oil ravages my makeup. Within no time, my brown eye shadows will leave no trace and reveal my puffy eyes.

“Bad hair day, huh?” says a voice behind me.

I quickly tie my hair into a ponytail and swivel in my chair to look at Lucy, who is rummaging through her yellow bag. “Smeagol hair day. Yeah.”

My colleague giggles before fishing her wallet from her bag. “Are you sure you’re not coming with us? The empanada food truck is back this week.”

“I brought lunch.” I smile at her, shrugging. “Another time.”

“Okay, then.” Lucy pivots on her heels and waves at me. “Later.”

Once she disappears behind the elevator doors, I sigh and look out the window — or wall. I can never tell since the building is glass architecture. The drizzle has stopped for a couple of hours, but the clouds are still hanging low over the city, threatening to pour more rain soon. The streets must be damp with water pooling in random spots on the pavement; it’s definitely shitty to walk on in my flat shoes. So it’s a good thing that I stay at my desk.

Well, that’s not entirely true because I have my boots ready in my locker. I’m just trying to convince myself that staying in is not that miserable. Eating at the food truck plaza on my break is a luxury I can’t afford right now because I need to save money for Mom’s medication. Especially since she’s been packing up my lunch every morning.

A notification blinks at the bottom of my computer screen, pulling me back to the current moment. I smile when I see which window turns yellow. Clicking my mouse again, I open the chat box.

BreadPitt: Yo, what’s up? What’s for lunch?

Notyourgirl: Hi! I’m not sure yet. Haven’t checked. Bread, for sure.

BreadPitt: So, your eating at your desk again today. Eeek. Boring

Notyourgirl: It’s been raining. Can’t hurt to stay in to keep me dry. So, how was your weekend?

BreadPitt: Meh. The usual. It’s been dry here and been helping mom out with the backyard

Notyourgirl: Good boy. How’s the job hunting going?

BreadPitt: No progress yet. Gonna need to send some more resumes today.

Notyourgirl: You do that.

BreadPitt: How’s your Monday so far? What did you say you did at work again? Data analyst?

Notyourgirl: Research analyst.Close enough :) Not so busy considering I just spent my last fifteen minutes gawking at someone.

BreadPitt: That hot dude at work!

Notyourgirl: Who else? *wink*

BreadPitt is typing…

Notyourgirl: Hey, keep typing. Need to grab lunch from the fridge. Brb.

I get up and make a beeline for the pantry with a smile lingering on my face. I’ve been talking to this BreadPitt guy on a dating site for several weeks, and it’s been fun. Honestly, I don’t even know why I created an account a few months back. Maybe I can blame it on the crappy winter and the lack of companionship. Yes, my life can be that depressing sometimes.

After getting a series of weird — borderline creepy — messages from random dudes, BreadPitt’s jolly approach felt so entertaining. The more we talked, the more we enjoyed each other’s company, and now we’ve been chatting nearly every day. Our conversations are pretty platonic, despite the platform’s purpose, but I know he’ll eventually have enough and move on with other girls.

With a lunch box and yogurt in my hands, I saunter toward my desk, feeling less gloomy knowing I have someone to talk to during lunchtime. But when I see brown hair peeking from behind my cubicle wall, my heart skips a beat.

“Luke,” I greet the man sitting in my chair.

Taking his eyes off his phone screen, Luke cranes his neck to look at me and smiles, forcing me to hold my breath. “Evans.” He always calls me by my last name, even though he knows it annoys me.

“Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to be here? In my team’s cubicle?”

Noticing BreadPitt’s chat box is still on display, I scoot to my desk, careful not to stumble into Luke’s long legs, which stretch out in my crammed cubicle space. I put down my lunch box before quickly switching off my screen, hoping Luke didn’t see the chat.

“Of course you’re allowed. But you’re at my desk and sitting in my chair. You always summon me to your office when you need something from me. Am I in trouble?”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Why would you think that? Do you have a reason to be in trouble?” He squints, and the corner of his lips curls into a smirk.

I cross my arms over my chest, and my butt presses against the edge of my desk. “Why do you answer my question with another question? My brain hurts every time you do that.”

He laughs at my reply, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sorry. But I’m probably going to hurt your brain even more for the rest of the day, though. That’s the very reason I’m here.”

“Now I’m scared.”

“You shouldn’t. So, about the data Bram needs for the Global Sports group, he said he wanted it for Wednesday, right? Uh, can you” — he drums his fingers on the armrest — “make it happen today?”

“What? No.” I shake my head. “That’s insane.”

“I know it’s a lot,” he says, wincing, “but if you can wrap it up today, it will make a tremendously different result.”

“How so?”

“If we can send them the pre-analysis tomorrow morning, they might be able to squeeze us into this week’s appointment. I’m taking over the project, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Bram has a lot on his plate right now. He’s slowing down, but we can’t afford to lose Global Sports.” Luke flashes me another charming smile. “So, can you do that for me?” He knows damn well how to use those lips.

I look away to think, trapping my inner cheek between my teeth. If I agree to his request, I will definitely need to work overtime tonight just for this, while pushing back the other plans. My workload will be shit for a couple of days. But if we get the deal, the incentive will be grand. Plus, it will add points to my appraisal, a valid reason to demand a proper raise by the end of the year.

I clear my throat. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, his voice sounding raspier in my ear. To make it worse, my cubicle is suddenly full of his scent, and it makes me squirm inwardly.

Focus, Cobie, focus. “Do you have more requests?”

“No. I’m—” He pauses as his mobile phone chimes. “I’m meeting a client after lunch and won’t return to my office today,” he says, digging his hand into his pocket to retract the phone. “Will you email me the data when it’s done?”

“I will need to stay longer to get it done tonight. It’s going to be counted as overtime, right?”

“Sure. Just note down how many hours you need.” He glances at his screaming phone in his hand and groans. “And the forbidden relationship talk needs to wait a bit,” he says, tapping his screen and bringing the phone to his ear. As he greets whoever is calling him, he stands, winking at me, and leaves my cubicle.

Puzzled by Luke’s last line, I stay put in my spot as my eyes follow him to the elevator. Georgia, the secretary, stands in front of the lift door in her painfully high stilettos, smiling brightly as Luke strides toward her. Everyone knows she has the hots for Luke, and judging from how much time they spend together, it’s just a matter of time until they end up dating.

Once Luke stands next to her, she tosses her hair like a model in a bikini photo shoot and straightens up her torso. I wonder if Luke glances at her breasts while talking on the phone.

As soon as the two enter the elevator, I plop down in my chair and quickly wiggle my mouse against the pad. The chat box from BreadPitt comes into view in the next second.

BreadPitt: I dont get why you haven’t made a move on him yet. Gawking at him from time to time doesn’t make him notice you. Men can be that clueless, y’know? Just ask him out and see what happens.

BreadPitt: Hold on. Didn’t you say he was your superior at work? Would you be in trouble if you seduced him?

BreadPitt: Man, I’m loving this. Forbidden relationship! Woohoo! Lets goooo

I groan audibly, banging my forehead on my desk. He read it. Shit. How much did he read? Did he know it was about him?

My head jerks up to reread BreadPitt’s messages. He chose the word ‘superior’ instead of ‘boss’ or ‘manager’, which means it doesn’t have to be Luke. It can be Bram or Sam. But, oh, those two guys are in their forties and happily married. This is not good.

Notyourgirl:Guess what? The person was just sitting here in my chair and reading your messages!

I shouldn’t have left the screen on when I ran to the pantry. In my defense, who would have guessed that Luke would visit my cubicle and sit in my chair? He’s never done it before.