My Boss's Proposal

Chapter 3: So it begins

Claire's Pov

What the actual fuck.

What the actual fuck

What, the actual, fuck.

I close the office door behind me once we are both inside, Harry cooly takes a seat, not looking me in the eye as I hesitantly step up to the desk. He un-clips a manuscipt and turns to the first page, keeping his gaze down-ward.

I'm not really sure what to think right now. This man, this gigantic perverted, cold-hearted, tantilizing good looking pain in my ass amazes me every god damn day. Most of the time it isn't a good amazes, it isn't a good amazement right now. I glare at him, my features contorting up in the most uncomfortable yet most fitting way.

"What?" Harry remarks as I stare down at him. I stare even more wide-eyed, what? Did he just say what? Is this ass-hole serious right now?

"What, the hell was that?"

"Claire, I'd like to ask that you not swear-"

"Don't," I raise my pointer finger up to him, shushing him," I need answers, and I need them right fucking now." I emphasize the swear word, staring daggers into those frosty green eyes. I know it must seem wrong, but I'm silently satisfied when he fidgets under my glare.

"Well, you might want to take a seat."

"I'm fine standing," I say back sternly.

"I have to say Claire, you are quite attractive when you're mad," he bites his lip, to fight back a smirk. I slam my palm against his desk, causing him to jolt. He's trying to hide his vulnerability. I know it, he knows it. I just want answers, I deserve them. He's been pushing me around the last three years, and now he says we're married? If this qualifies as marriage, then I'm never getting married, I'll remain a virgin the rest of my life.

"Enough with the bullshit, what happened in there? And how are we suddenly hitched?" I spit back. I've never sweared so much at one time. It's just, I feel the anger that I've bitten back so many times rising like bile in my throat. Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair before rubbing his face with his hands. I don't really know what to say to this bipolar, crooked man.

"They were deporting me," he murmurs, leaning back in his seat. The same hostility I'm trying to direct on him seems to jump back into my eyes courtesy of him. I can honestly say I don't feel sorry for him, and I don't see how us getting married will change his fate.

"And what does that have to do with me? With this," I wave a hand between us and he groans, rolling his eyes, as if I'm supposed to know.

"They can't deport me if I get married to an american citizen."

I glare at him, of course. He's doing this to keep his fucking job, without even thinking about what I have to say,"I still don't see what that has to do with me. You're out of your mind if you think that I'm getting married to you."

He grins, his dimples deep grin, his eyes full of misheif as he crosses both his arms and legs. I will never, in a million years, get married to him.

"Oh Claire," he smiles, reaching across the table and grasping my hand," I know that you will agree to marrying me, other-wise your dreams of becoming an author and inspiring people with the written word are dead."

I swallow, cringing as he squeezes my hand even harder. Blackmail, he's blackmailing me. I cannot believe he'd stoop that low. Just a few minutes ago I was his secretary, his loathing secretary. Now we're engaged? I wanted to save that, I'm only 23 for god's sakes!