Page 8 of Unlocking my Boss's Heart

I turned around to head to the cash register and heard a soft grunt as I collided with a hard chest, then took an abrupt step back, losing my balance in the process.

I let out a small yelp, expecting to fall, but hands wrapped around me and saved me from the potential bruising to both my body and my pride. The hardcover book hit the ground with a loud thud. I was suddenly pulled against a strong male chest.

The first thing I noticed was warmth, then a blending of the comforting smell of aged paper, wooden shelves, and a rich scent I could only call pure masculinity. It took a minute for me to orient myself, and I blinked, feeling a bit dazed. My eyes raked over my rescuer, or at least as much as I could see this close to him.

He was way taller than me, and I had to tip my head back to meet his moss-green eyes. Combined with dark hair, firm lips, and a five o'clock shadow covering a square jaw, he was a sight to behold.

My body tingled where he had his arms around me, so I backed out of his hold, trying to stifle my reaction to him. He let go ever so slowly.

“Are you okay?” His voice was warm and deep, matching the rest of him perfectly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I squeezed out a smile despite my intense embarrassment.

I held his gaze for a moment too long, long enough for my stomach to feel like a flurry of butterflies had been unleashed in it.

He broke the spell by bending to pick up the book that had fallen from my grasp during our collision. He turned it over to look at the cover, and his eyes widened a bit as he read the author. He gave me back the book, looking impressed.

My eyes narrowed into slits at his expression. “What?”

He shook his head, hiding a smile. “Nothing.”

I cocked my head, curious. Didn’t he like this book? I didn’t know why I cared about his opinion, but I did.

“Come on, tell me,” I coaxed.

“I just saw the title of the book. You know, both the author and publisher have been slammed with a lawsuit for this book.”

I’d heard about the lawsuit for copyright infringement. One of Aiko Osaka's acquaintances, a female author, was suing him for stealing an idea she had shared with him. But people online had given the book glowing reviews despite that.

“Yes, I had heard that,” I replied, tucking the book close to my chest. “I’m curious to read the book for myself and form my own judgment.”

“What do you think about the person suing, wanting to share the cake now that the book is a bestseller?” he asked.

“That may be,” I conceded. “But you can’t sue someone for stealing an idea. Ideas can’t be copyrighted.”

I didn’t want to get into legal jargon with this guy. Besides, who was he to question my reading choices? I considered him once more, trying to gauge what kind of profession he was in. He carried himself with confidence, but his dress didn’t give me much of a clue. He wore a dark t-shirt, sweatpants, and running shoes. He could be a trainer, given his slim, muscular build. But then, he could be a DJ or even a budding actor like Maddison.

There was no way to tell for sure unless I asked him.

My eyes traveled to his full lips.

He would have made a good underwear model, too.

I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment at my inappropriate thoughts.

The man raised an eyebrow, his lips quirked up. What would he look like with a true smile?

Those lips moved again, and he said, “But it’s unethical, don’t you think?”

It took me a moment to remember what we’d been talking about.

Oh, yeah. The book. The lawsuit.

I shook my head. “Yes, but people take inspiration from others’ work all the time. Haven’t you read the bookSteal Like an Artist?”

My words came out more like a rebuke than an answer. Where did I get the courage to scold a complete stranger in the middle of a Manhattan bookstore? I guess him being handsome and making conversation was giving me wings to fly.

I was enjoying our banters, though I didn’t let it show.

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