Page 14 of The Boss

If I had any doubts about switching roles, they’d evaporated quickly. We had an easy rhythm, one that bled seamlessly from the office to the gym and back again. I learned to anticipate his needs, learned his quirks—how he liked his coffee strong and unsweetened, how he took exactly three seconds to respond to an email before moving on, how his fingers drummed against the desk when he was deep in thought.

It was in the middle of one of those routines, sitting at my desk with the quiet hum of the office around me, that I heard Isaac’s voice through the intercom.

“Chris, I need that report from Tuesday.”

“Which one?”

“The one I was very specific about needing before lunch.”

I frowned at my screen, scrolling through my emails. “Uh… what’s the subject line?”

“‘This is the report you need to send Isaac before lunch, dumbass.’”

I snorted. “Oh. That report.”

“Mhm. And?”

“I’ll have it to you in five.”

“You have two.”

“Under pressure,” I muttered.

I could hear the smirk in his voice. “You don’t fool me.”

Apparently, we had inside jokes now. Little things that would make no sense to anyone else. It had started as a one-time thing—a random Queen lyric dropped at just the right moment, a reference that I didn’t even realize I’d made until Isaac responded without missing a beat. After that, it became a game, our own little secret language woven through the monotony of the workday.

At first, I thought I was imagining it, that he was just humoring me. But the more it happened, the more I realized Isaac actually enjoyed our back-and-forth. His usual sharp, businesslike demeanor would slip for a second, revealing something looser, more natural. One time, he’d whispered, “I want to break free,” right before slipping out of a board meeting early. It was stupid. And I loved it.

Yes, he was my boss. Yet I never felt like I was walking on eggshells around him. If anything, I felt freer, looser, the way you do with someone who gets you without needing an explanation. And it wasn’t just at work. Twice more that week, we met at the gym after hours, trading jabs and workouts. When it hit me just how much I enjoyed those sessions, especially our banter in the sauna, I had to admit to myself that I’d developed a little crush on Zac.

I knew he was straight, taken, and soon-to-be-married. It was ridiculous and impossible, not to mention inappropriate. I had to get over it ASAP, so when Darren asked me out that Saturday evening, I accepted. It wasn’t exactly a date—there were a few more people from work there with us, and we all went bowling together.

The place was a little rundown but had its charm, the kind of old-school bowling alley that smelled like greasy fries and beer, with neon lights flickering against the waxed wood floors. The music was loud, the air thick with laughter and the occasional groan as someone missed a strike by an inch.

Darren was already at the bar when I arrived, waving me over with a grin. “Hey, man. Wasn’t sure you’d show.”

I shrugged, grabbing the beer he slid toward me. “Needed a distraction.”

“Oh?” His brows lifted in interest. “Anything—oranyone—in particular?”

I took a sip, forcing a smirk. “Just work. Isaac’s got me running around like an intern on steroids.”

He laughed. “Bet he’s a nightmare to work for.”

I hesitated. Lying would be easier. But instead, I found myself saying, “Nah. He’s actually cool.”

Darren gave me a long look. “Really?”

Before I could answer, our coworker Maya appeared beside us, dragging another girl from accounting with her. “Enough work talk, boys,” she declared, nudging Darren toward the lanes. “We’re here to drink, bowl, and embarrass ourselves.”

I grinned. “In that order?”

She shot me finger guns. “Damn right.”

The night passed in a haze of laughter, terrible bowling scores, and way too many cheap beers. At some point, Maya convinced me to do a tequila shot with her, and Darren got competitive about our scores, demanding a rematch every time he lost.

It was fun. I should’ve beeninit, fully present, soaking up the moment. But every so often, my thoughts wandered. Back to work. Back to Zac. Back to the way his eyes crinkled when he was amused, how his voice dropped when he was focused, how he smelled after a workout—clean sweat and something expensive underneath, warm and masculine.

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