3. Lyric

CHAPTER 3

LYRIC

I arrive at work fifteen minutes early the following morning with a knot in my stomach, worried about how the day is going to play out. I never intended for Josh to find out about my job cleaning the office. I didn't intend to confront him about watching me work, either. But when he asked what I was doing in that growly tone, my temper flared, and I just couldn't help myself.

He lied to me.

I saw the moment of sheer panic in his eyes as soon as he realized I'd seen the feed. I read the deepening panic in his expression as he scrambled for an explanation he couldn't find. And there was no hiding his relief when he settled on one he thought I'd buy.

I didn't. It was a load of crap.

I tossed and turned all night, trying to sort out why he told it to me. I didn't come up with an answer, at least not one that I liked. Best guess? He freaking watches me to make sure I'm not doing something I shouldn't. God forbid, I take two minutes to myself on his precious clock.

I drop myself into my desk chair with a huff, my heart rebelling at the unkind thought. He may be cranky and growly, but the man isn't unkind. In fact, he's always been generous. He pays me far more than anyone else would to do the job I do. I always thought that was because he's difficult. But maybe…

"Stop torturing yourself!" I cry, exasperated. No matter how many times I try to convince myself otherwise, facts are facts. And the fact is that I have a hopeless crush on a man who just isn't interested. Even if he were, he's my freaking boss.

"Torturing yourself?"

I jump, wheeling around with a little squeak to find him leaning against the door frame, watching me. My heart thuds against my breastbone, all the moisture evaporating from my mouth. Good grief. He looks edible. His hair is wild as if he's been shoving his hands through it, and his sleeves are rolled up, showing off the corded muscles of his forearms… muscles covered in ink.

Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus…

I bite my tongue, fighting the urge to whimper as my core clenches hard.

His gaze runs down my body oh so slowly from head to toe, his eyes darkening as he takes in my outfit—a 50s-inspired fitted top and pencil skirt. On the way back up, his gaze lingers on my chest for a heartbeat before returning to my face. He stares at me for a long moment with that look in his eyes—the same one that sometimes makes me think he wants to bend me over his desk.

But then he blinks it away, his lips curving into a tiny grin. "What are you torturing yourself about, sweet girl?"

"Quitting," I mumble.

Pure horror washes through his expression. "No," he growls. "You can't. I need you."

My stomach turns a somersault as he pushes away from the door frame. I stand and stare wide-eyed as he stalks toward me like a predator hunting down his prey, a take-out bag clutched in his hands.

"I'll pay you double your salary."

"You can't pay me double, Josh. Are you insane?" I gape at him. Wait. Am I insane? He's offering to pay me double, and I'm telling him no.

"You can't quit."

"I'm not quitting," I grumble, massaging my temples. "I'm just tired." That's an understatement. Did I even sleep last night? No. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his gorgeous face.

I narrow my eyes on him. "What's in the bag?"

"A peace offering." He holds the bag out toward me. "I brought you breakfast."

I gape at him, caught off guard. "You brought me breakfast?"

"Yes." He reaches my side and carefully nudges me back toward my desk. My body lights up like freaking fireworks as soon as I feel his hand on my shoulder. "Sit. Eat."

"Why?" I bite my lip as soon as the suspicious question bursts from them.

He sighs heavily. "Because I upset you last night, and I feel like an ass about it. No." He cringes, and that scar puckers. "I am an ass. You've been working two jobs just to take care of your family, and I spend all day barking orders at you like a dick. It isn't acceptable, Lyric."

"You didn't know."

"It's not an excuse, sweet girl. Sit." He nudges me again, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "Please."

His lips brush the shell of my ear, and my knees lose the ability to function. I lose the ability to function. I drop heavily into my chair, my mind spinning.

Where is my hot, cranky boss, and what has this man done with him?

I've seen glimpses of this side of him before, like when he drove me home when it was raining so hard he was afraid I'd get in an accident. Or when I had a migraine, so he insisted I nap in his office, only for me to wake up to find him two seconds from dismantling the copy machine because it wouldn't give him back his fax. But this side of him always throws me for a loop.

He's so freaking sweet when he's like this. It doesn't seem natural on him. And yet, he tries so hard sometimes. I've never understood why. It's one more mystery about him that makes him so damn compelling to me. How can he be such a grouch most of the time but so freaking sweet underneath it?

I watch as he starts pulling out to-go containers from the diner down the street and opening them in front of me. Eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, biscuits, gravy, pancakes…

"Mr. Brunts… Josh, I can't eat all of this," I protest, my mind boggling at the sheer amount of food he's placed in front of me. Good grief. Is he trying to feed an army or me?

He flashes me an almost bashful grin that makes my core clench. "I wasn't sure what you liked for breakfast, so I got a little of everything."

"Um, I don't usually eat breakfast."

"Ah. Is that why you're so cranky in the mornings?"

I gape at him, only to see his lips twitch. He's teasing me. "You'd know all about being cranky, wouldn't you? You wrote the freaking book on it."

His gaze drops to my mouth, his eyes darkening. He touches my cheek, his calloused finger stroking across the indentation of my dimple. "Sweet, resilient, and fiery," he murmurs with a smile.

"Grouchy, cranky, and grumpy," I retort without heat.

His hand tangles in my hair, gently tugging my head back. Arousal roars through me in a flood as his green eyes lock with mine, his expression dark and heated. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a temper, Lyric?"

"Has anyone ever mentioned yours?" I ask, batting my lashes as my stomach turns flips like it's trying to win an Olympic medal.

"Possibly." He shrugs, releasing my hair to hand me a fork and a knife. Our fingers brush, and a bolt of desire shoots through me. Good lord. This man is working voodoo on my body. "It's also possible I ignored the fuck out of them."

"Sounds like you."

His deep laugh washes over me, turning my nipples to hard points. Awesome. It's barely even eight, and I already need to change my panties. My sisters are going to kill me when they find out that I talked him out of giving me a raise. We're going to need it to cover the water bill.

"Stupid water," I mutter.

"You've been hearing stories about the water in this town, too, huh?"

"What? No. Why? What's wrong with the water, aside from it being expensive?"

"Nothing." He waves a hand, his eyes narrowing on me. "You know I was serious about that raise, right? You don't have to keep working two jobs just to make it, Lyric. Had I known you were struggling, I would have fixed it already."

"We're not struggling," I protest. "We're just…" I huff out a breath, my shoulders slumping. "Okay, maybe things are a little tough right now, but it's worth it, okay? Melody is worth it."

"Your sister?"

I jerk my chin in a nod. "She's training with Maximo Touring. He's basically the greatest choreographer in the world. If anyone can help her achieve her dreams, he can."

"She wants to be a ballerina?"

"She is a ballerina," I whisper, pride in my voice. "An incredible ballerina. But she's curvy, so everyone overlooks her. Ballerinas are supposed to be small and dainty. They aren't supposed to be real women with real bodies." I scowl at that reality. "She's going to prove the world wrong."

"Good for her," he says. "Fuck unrealistic beauty standards. They're bullshit. Now eat, Lyric. We have shit to do today."

I exhale a shaking breath and turn to the food, only to pause and glance up at him.

"What?" he asks, brows furrowed as if he doesn't know why I'm not eating already.

"Um… you intend to watch me eat?"

"No?" The way he says it like a question makes it pretty obvious that was his intention. But he takes a step away from my desk, holding up his hands. "I'll, erm… I'll just fuck off to my office."

"Right," I say softly as he strides that way. "The one with the camera feed."

He jerks as if he hears me, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't tell me that he isn't going to watch me, either.

A second later, the door closes behind him.

"Weirdest morning ever," I mumble.

My weird morning gets… well, even weirder, not even an hour later. Josh and I are in his office, looking over contracts for a new client, when my phone dings with an incoming text.

"You should get that," he says without even looking up.

I shoot him an odd look. He usually hates it when I'm on my phone. When we're working, he wants all of my attention. Harmony swears it's because he's jealous. Lyra swears it's because he's a despot. I'm not sure which of them to believe anymore.

My phone dings again.

"Get the phone, sweet girl," Josh says.

I pull it out of my pocket.

Unknown

Hi, Lyric! This is your Fairy Godmother. You signed up for our dating service, and I have good news. We have a match for you!

Unknown

And don't worry! We want to offer our services on the house.

"Whoa," I mutter, gaping at the text as my heart thuds against my breastbone. "That was fast."

"What?" Josh asks.

"Um, it's nothing," I mumble, my cheeks heating at his question. Somehow, between yesterday and today, I'd forgotten all about entering that stupid contest. Now, I suddenly wish I hadn't done it.

I flick a glance up at Josh, my lip caught between my teeth. He's watching me out of the corner of his eye but quickly turns back to the contract when he notices me looking at him.

Me

I'm not sure I'm interested. I'm pretty busy.

It's only a partial lie. I am busy, but I actually have weekends off. Since today is Friday, I have nothing on my schedule all weekend.

Unknown

Give us one chance. I promise you won't regret it. If you still want to change your mind after you meet your match, you'll never hear from us again. And he's willing to meet you on your schedule.

I hesitate for a long moment. The truth is, I don't want to date some other guy. The one I want is sitting right in front of me. He's cranky and bossy, and sometimes, he's sweet as hell. He's the one I dream about. He's the one I'm falling for even though I know I don't stand a chance. He's the one I want.

I decide to take a page out of Lyra's book.

"Can I ask you something?" I blurt before I lose the nerve.

"Only if I get to ask you a question in return."

"Ask yours first," I say, suddenly curious about what he wants to know and admittedly stalling for time.

"Who's texting you?"

"A dating service."

"Ah." Something unreadable flickers in his emerald eyes. "Spam or something you signed up for?"

"I won a contest," I mutter, avoiding his gaze… and leaving out mention of the fact that I entered said contest. "And they have a match for me. But I'm not sure if I should go or not."

"Why don't you want to go?"

I shrug noncommittally, so not prepared to answer that question. "Would you go if you were me?"

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes locked on my face as something unfathomable flows through his green eyes. "Why not? Live a little, Lyric," he murmurs. "Who knows? The man who can't live without you may be waiting for you when you show up. Isn't that worth the risk?"

I've never felt my heart break before, but I think it might feel a little like this because… ouch. That hurt. But I guess I know now, right? He isn't interested in me. If he were, he wouldn't be so willing to send me off to meet the man of my dreams.

I guess I have my answer. There's no reason for me not to go.

"You're right," I whisper, clearing my throat as I glance down at my lap. "You're absolutely right. Somewhere out there is the man who wants to love me. He's the one I should be worried about. Not… anyone else."

I inhale a breath and pick up my phone.

Me

I can meet him tonight. Eight o'clock.