Page 3 of Boss's Red Glare

I stride back into my office, feeling every inch of frustration that Maisie McKenzie seems to effortlessly stir up in me. I’m not a monster—at least, not entirely—but punctuality is one of my non-negotiables. Maisie, with her eternally disheveled hair and that permanently amused sparkle in her eyes, challenges every ounce of patience I possess.

I should fire her. Or at least threaten to fire her. But we both know I won’t. Because despite her chaos, Maisie is the best damn assistant I’ve ever had. Even if she does keep takeout menus where our annual reports should be.

Still, today isn’t the day for leniency. The Fourth of July barbecue isn’t just some quaint town tradition; it’s crucial. I’ve worked tirelessly to build Bradford Enterprises from a coastal dream into a major player in sustainable innovation, and these investors from New York and San Francisco are the next big step. They need to see Starlight Bay as more than just a charming backdrop. They need to believe in the lifestyle—the community—I’m selling.

And that means everything must be perfect.

I settle into my leather chair, spinning slightly to gaze out the large window that frames the picturesque harbor. Boats bob gently, sunlight dancing on the water, and tourists amble leisurely along the boardwalk. It’s postcard-perfect. But how do I convince these big-city investors that this idyllic small-town scene isn’t just a vacation spot, but the place they want to pour their money into?

A sharp knock interrupts my brooding thoughts, and without waiting for a response, Darren strolls in, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, a lazy grin on his face. My best friend since childhood and the marketing director at Bradford Enterprises, Darren has a knack for either solving problems or creating new ones.

Usually both simultaneously.

“You look like you’re plotting a hostile takeover,” Darren teases, lounging into the chair across from my desk. “Or your assistant has finally driven you insane.”

“Possibly both,” I mutter, tapping my pen against my desk. “And why do you keep calling her ‘my assistant’ instead of just Maisie?”

Darren’s smirk deepens. “Interesting you noticed that.”

I glare at him. “Did you need something, or are you just here to annoy me?”

“A little of both.” Darren shrugs, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Big barbecue today. Feeling confident?”

I sigh. “I need something to really dazzle the investors. We’re not just selling innovation—we’re selling small-town values. Community. Family.”

“And barbecue sauce,” Darren adds helpfully.

“Not helpful,” I grumble.

He leans forward, his expression suddenly serious. “Listen, Connor, you’re overthinking this. Investors want to see authenticity. Show them your life. Relax a little.”

“Relax?” I scoff. “There’s nothing relaxing about potentially losing millions of dollars because someone decided small-town charm is just quaint instead of profitable.”

Darren chuckles, leaning back again. “Exactly why you need a solid plan.” He pauses, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You know what might help?”

I arch an eyebrow warily. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“You bringing a date.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He holds his hands up defensively. “Hear me out. You’re selling family values, right? Commitment, stability, roots. Investors see you as a single guy living in your office—doesn't exactly scream ‘long-term investment.’”

I fold my arms, irritation creeping through me. “I don’t live in my office.”

Darren grins. “You kind of do. Anyway, show them a glimpse of your personal life, even if it’s staged.”

“A fake date?” I ask dryly. “Isn’t that a bit cliché?”

“Maybe, but clichés exist for a reason.” Darren leans forward conspiratorially. “Just for the barbecue. A charming, beautiful date on your arm will reassure them you’re rooted here. Solid. Dependable.”

Despite myself, my thoughts flash to Maisie—her frazzled morning appearance, the way her bright eyes widened when she realized she'd handed Accounting the wrong documents. Maisie, whose presence is always annoyingly distracting yet strangely comforting. Maisie, who I should absolutely not be picturing at this moment.

As if sensing my train of thought, Darren smirks again. “You know, Maisie would be perfect.”

My entire body tenses. “Maisie? My assistant?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how pretty she is,” Darren says casually, shrugging. “She’s charming, smart, quirky. Investors will love her. And let’s face it, Connor, you two already act like an old married couple.”

---