Boss of Me

Chapter Twenty-One

        The instant the car indicates, pulls over to the side of the road, and idles out the front of the address I punched in, my jaw drops. As expected, Max's house is a beautiful monstrosity. I'm talking pure coastal opulence with a wrought iron fence and cascading pool at the entrance, reminding me of a Majorca villa or somewhere I've only ever seen in other people's vlogs. Stunned, I think I mumble a disoriented thank you to the driver before I clamber out of the BMW, and then I'm staring out at the sprawling, two-storey estate. Max's house is nicer than any vacation home I've ever stayed in, and I'm trying not to let my jealousy, or imposter syndrome, set in. We might work at the same building and share a mutual interest in corporate marketing, but we really do exist in completely different worlds (and social circles).

        Seeing his waterfront mansion in all its magnificent glory is the biggest reminder—aka slap in the face—of that.

        Before I can lose my nerve entirely, I'm shuffling closer to his automatic gate, trying to remember why I thought this was an idea I should run with versus an idea I should shelve for another lifetime.

        Approaching the little camera and intercom system that's built into the bricks, I go to press the button and start talking—even though I have no clue what to say—but it turns out I don't need to have a speech prepared, because there's a faint buzzing noise, followed by the scrape of metal. The swing gates are already opening.

        I feel a swirl of anticipation and uncertainty as I navigate the landscaped circular driveway. I focus on the sound of my heels clicking on the cobblestone path, and it helps to drown out the borderline frantic thudding of my pulse.

        The closer I get to the arched front door, the more and more my sense of self-preservation kicks in. Suddenly, the urge to hightail it out of here, request that my Uber does an immediate U-turn, is very real. But I can't leave. Max knows I'm here. He's seen me at the gate, presumably on the screen of his fancy, high-tech security system. Leaving before I've even spoken to him would achieve nothing but eternal humiliation.

        I have to do this. 

        Still, the surprise in Max's expression mirrors my own when he opens the door. Maybe we were both keeping our expectations in place—that I'd probably chicken out at the last minute and wouldn't be able to face him.

        "This is unexpected," he says, his voice all gruff and low. "Come in."

        Following him inside, I can't help but marvel at the lavish interior of his house. It's just as stunning and over the top as the exterior.

        
"Unexpected bad or unexpected good?" I dare to ask. Readjusting the strap of my handbag, I struggle not to fidget as he takes me in. I'm practically vibrating with nervous, antsy energy, and we're just standing perfectly still in his marble foyer with a chandelier. Of course, there's a freaking chandelier. Why am I surprised? If I had millions of dollars, I'd probably hang one in my house, too.

        "Good," he clarifies, and a small, almost boyish grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. "I don't think you're capable of doing anything bad, Sunshine."

        I inhale a soft breath, hoping to compose myself. Instead, all I can smell is him—the subtle, expensive scent of his cologne. Or maybe it's just the heady combination of his shampoo and laundry detergent. Either way, he smells fresh, masculine, and good.

        Then I take in all the details I overlooked before when I was way too busy ogling his fancy house to really notice anything else. Max is wearing another one of those ridiculously soft-looking sweaters, grey trackpants, and moccasin slippers. His dark hair is unkempt and without product. Immediately, I'm itching to thread my fingers through it. He looks so different to the man who told me less than twenty-four hours ago to get on his desk. To spread my legs for him. The weird thing is, I think I want this version of him more. The Max who has a penchant for super soft sweaters and likes to smile. The Max no one else sees. Maybe this is the real reason I'm here. Because I much prefer who he is when he's not my boss or just a marketing mogul in a suit. Because I need to find out if he has a place for me in his life—his heart—too, or if this only means something because we work together. Because we see each other every day and it's convenient.