Page 62 of Fake Married to the Grumps

Chapter 1

Marissa

My heart's running a marathon, doing the cha-cha, and seriously considering a breakdancing routine—all thanks to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Distractingly Attractive right in front of me.

If my ticker keeps up this Olympic-level performance, I might just beat Usain Bolt to the afterlife. And the culprit? That Greek god who stumbled into my orbit.

This is it—the man I've been crushing on for ages is about to kiss me. His magnetic charm and dazzling smile keep me spellbound. Goosebumps surface on my arm when his fingers slightly graze my cheek in a featherlike touch, leaving a violent burst of butterfly wings in my stomach.

But just as things are about to get interesting, my alarm mercilessly blares, shattering the dreamy illusion. I groan,fumbling to turn it off. Reality hits hard, and I glance at the clock in disbelief. I'm running late for work.

Mornings are not my forte.

As I rush to get ready, I attempt to salvage whatever is left of my morning routine. Toothbrush, check. Coffee, check. Outfit ... well, that's a bit more complicated. In a whirlwind, I rush to the closet, scanning through hangers as if my life depends on finding the perfect outfit.

Finally, I settle on a blouse that says, "I'm professional, but I can also have a good time." I pair it with the pants that make my legs look longer than my patience in traffic. And of course, no morning is complete without the click-clack of my favorite heels against the hardwood floor.

As I tug on the heels, my phone vibrates on the dresser. It's Cindy, my perpetually sassy best friend since forever.

"Hey, Cindy!"

"Marissa, darling! Please tell me you haven't forgotten our lunch date today." Cindy's voice practically oozes sarcasm, her tone a blend of concern and amusement.

I roll my eyes, knowing she can't see it but feeling the need to express myself nonetheless. "Of course not. Just running fashionably late for work."

"Sweetie, if you were any more fashionable, you'd be in a museum," she fires back, and I can't help but laugh. "Besides, I'm the only one allowed to be fashionably late. It's in the best friend handbook."

"I must have missed that chapter. Remind me to catch up on my reading."

As I hurriedly grab my keys, she continues, "By the way, did you hear about that new cafe downtown? Rumor has it they have a latte that can cure Monday blues."

"Monday blues, you say? I might need a lifetime supply then."

Unlocking the door and stepping out, my own two feet suddenly decided to rebel against me. They tangle like rebellious partners on a dance floor, threatening to trip me into a full-fledged face plant, but thank goodness, I manage to grip the doorknob tightly.

If it weren’t for work, I wouldn’t think of being out by this time. Neither would I bestumblinglike a toddler.

Oh, the love affair I have with my job! But on days like these, quitting struts into my mind, flaunting the promise of blissful slumber. Yet, I resist because who needs sleep when you've got bills to pay?

"Oh, trust me, darling, a lifetime supply is precisely what we need. I'll meet you and Hailey there at noon. Don't befashionably late, though—we're not trying to start a trend," Cindy advises, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes.

The commute is a blur of honking horns and hurried pedestrians. The city pulses with life, and I weave through the chaos with the finesse of someone who has mastered the art of navigating a concrete jungle.

My thoughts drift back to the dreamy encounter with the one man who has always had the ability to turn my insides molten, and even though I know I shouldn't, I catch myself smiling like a teenager with a secret crush.

The brisk air hits my face when I step out of the car. As I approach the office building, the anticipation of another workday settles in.

Just before I can slip through the revolving door unnoticed, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

Oh, no. Not today.

I could recognize that voice even in my sleep because of how much of a chatterbox she is. It's Jenna, my bubbly and overly talkative colleague.

Brace yourself, Marissa.

"Hey, Marissa! Wait up!" Jenna catches up to me, her high heels clicking with every step. "Love your shoes! How was your weekend?"

"Thanks, Jenna. The weekend was ... well, you know, the usual," I reply, trying to keep it vague, hoping she won't dive too deep into my personal affairs.

---