Dare to Love My Grumpy Boss

All’s fair in love and dares until your besties dare you to find your Forever Marriage Match.

I met the perfect guy aka Mr. Right. Too bad he worked for a rival company on the other side of the country. And sayingwe’d metis a bit of a stretch. More like we had a string of flirty email exchanges. However, I can’t say no to a dare...or our digital chats.

When our companies merge, thankfully, I don’t lose my job. The remaining (un)lucky employees are sent on a corporate wilderness survival retreat. When the bus leaves me behind with Mr. Wrong, it’s certain disaster until I discover his identity.

No way.

Shaw Dawson worked hard to get to the top. Wronged by business partners and in relationships, he’s cautious about who enters his trust triangle. He’s the kind of guy to play it safe even though he feels a connection to me that’s stronger than Wi-Fi.

Yes way.

Flirting with a guy from another company seems innocent enough until I learn he’s my new (and very grumpy boss), making dating off-limits.

Despite our proximity, distance grows between us. Will he redeem himself and prove that he’s Mr. Right after all?

Chapter 1: Cora

You know that whooshy, swooping feeling in your
stomach when you do something terrible?

Not stepping on a snail terrible and not overcooking a batch of cookies terrible.

More on the scale of accidentally posting a selfie terrible.

Yeah, that happened.

It wasn’t a selfie of me lounging on the beach looking
perfectly trim and tan, gazing wistfully into the middle distance like I don’t have a care in the world.

More like posting the least flattering kind of selfie that exists.

You know the one...

The phone camera came on while it was in my hand and
snapped a picture of me from the underside. I imagine it’s what a kid sees if they look up.

Yikes.

I look like I have twelve chins, the skin of an ostrich, and
hair that got pressed between a waffle iron—total finger-in-light socket cartoon hair.

The obvious solution would be to delete it, right?

Wrong.

It posted to a special app called Forever Ink that the
High School Reunion Committee is using to plan for the event next year. You can’t delete anything from it ever.

On the upside, there’s a record of all posts, comments, and
dates scheduled so no one can claim to have missed a vital task or meeting.

The downside, there’s a record of all photos, including yours truly.

The worst part is I helped develop the app. That being the case, you’d think I could undevelop it. Sign into the backend and highlight, delete.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I created code specifically so that couldn’t happen. Ever.

Have I mentioned it’s permanent? Like a tattoo.

Hence the name Forever Ink.

At least only people invited to the Woodrow High School
Class of ’12 Reunion Group can see text and images…including
Alex Wilder.

Can’t a girl get a break?

My phone beeps with a text. It’s from the regular group text
with my four besties: Paisley, Blakely, Mila, and Daisy—long
ago, Paisley’s mom dubbed us the Fab Five. Likely, the pic is
already going down in infamy along with my last shreds of
dignity.

Blakely: At least it isn’t on the internet.

Paisley sends the monkey emoji with its hands covering its eyes.

Mila: Cora, it looks like you need some coffee...and
foundation, mascara, a hair brush...STAT.

She’s the snarky one and rarely wears anything that could
remotely be described as “Extra.”

Me: Ha ha. There is nothing funny about this. You know that

Miranda is going to screenshot it and post it on Facebook.
Daisy: She wouldn’t.

The other three blast back: She would!!!

Blakely: Speaking of Miranda, I still don’t understand
why she invited us to be in her bridal party.

Me: To humiliate us because that’s what she’s always
done. Just wait, the dresses are going to be bright orange,
with five layers of ruffles, bedazzled with rhinestones, and she’ll make us wear feathers in our hair.

I immediately regret pressing send because that’s kind of what I looked like in the selfie minus the bling. The tragedy is it would be fitting.

Blakely: Just wait. When one of us gets married, I’ll design
the dresses and we will all look divine.

Paisley posts the lady raising her hand emoji.

Mila: Oh, right. Paisley how could you let us forget you’re
engaged to Jason Cobb, voted number one sexiest man alive
for three years running, and up for one of those shiny film
awards? Big whoop. I mean woot. Woot.

You have to understand, underneath Mila’s dry and sarcastic delivery, I believe she’s actually happy for Paisley. I am. We all are. She’s the first to break away from our single ladies club.

Paisley replies using the yellow emoji head with the tongue
sticking out.

We’re used to Mila’s cynicism.
Even though they’ve moved on from my selfie crisis, I have
not and post in the Woodrow High School Class of ’12 Forever Ink chat.

Oops. I blame Monday, amiright?

No replies, but twenty-seven people have already viewed the pic.

That includes my four friends but still. Will Alex Wilder, my
freshman through senior year crush, see it? I’m supposed to walk into the reunion and blow the doors down all diva-like.

Oh, my life!

Then another, worse thought cracks into my mind.

He’ll be at Miranda’s wedding.

They all will be.

Okay, not the entire graduating class, but a lot of them because Miranda is having the wedding at the Knotty Pines resort in our hometown of Lake Winnipesauke in northern New Hampshire.

It’ll be the pre-show to the reunion next year, exactly three-hundred forty days away. (The Forever Ink app has a countdown feature.) That means I have to:

-Up my fitness game. I want to be toned and lose these
twelve chins.

Okay, I don’t actually have twelve chins. I peer into my bathroom mirror.

Do I have twelve chins though?

Five...three...ten. I lean
against the wall and then zoom in on my skin. Ostrich skin? Is
that a wrinkle by my lip? I swallow thickly. This is not good.

To my list I add:

-Find a new skincare regime with a full line of products.
Maybe see a dermatologist.
I try to smooth my hair. It’s early on Monday morning, I
haven’t gotten ready for work yet and have a bit of bed head.
Sadly, I’ve never been the girl that wakes up fresh-faced with
smooth locks.

-Ask Blakely what salon she goes to. Never mind, she lives
in New York City and probably has someone that comes to her.

If you haven’t gathered, she’s a top clothing designer and as
glam as they come.
Suddenly wobbly with uncertainty, I sit down on the toilet.

Don’t worry, the lid is closed. I rest my head in my hands. The
wedding and the reunion both highlight the fact that I am not
glam or fancy or girlie. I’d like to be, but my job involves a
computer screen and when I’m not working, I’m cooking. Who
has time to primp and preen when they work sixty hours a week?

Who cares when all I do is sit (and stand) all day? (One of my
coworkers suffered from RSI and threatened to sue AmTech, so my boss got everyone ergonomic standing desks.)

The point is, the guys at my office do not care what I look
like...and I don’t care what I look like because I wouldn’t date any of them anyway.
Why? Well, they’re all nerdy and pasty, and that is not my
type.

Also, I don’t have time to date. I hardly have time to do laundry, pay bills, or do anything adultish whatsoever.

My job is demanding and what little free time I do have, I
spend cooking or baking because eating is a necessity and I can’t
live on snack packs from the break room alone. Occasionally, I
need a real meal. Plus, I love being in the kitchen.
As for dating? Unless we’re talking about virtual reality, I’m
off the market. I don’t have time for relationships, drama, or love. I’m focused on my career.

Girl gots bills to pay!

I open a cabinet to grab a breakfast bar only to find the box empty and stare at the wedding invitation on the fridge. The news of Miranda’s nuptials came on short notice.

No save the date. Paisley says yes to everything and already replied before we had a chance to talk her out of it...so now, we all have to go.

You can imagine Mila’s reaction.

My phone jingles with an alert from the Forever Ink group.
It’s Miranda. Of course, everyone can see it, adding to my mortification.