Page 2 of Boss of the Year
It didn’t really matter. They always looked the same: tall and sleek with immovable foreheads, eyes pulled tight like freshly licked cats, bodies surgically altered to conform to the golden ratio. They laughed when he laughed, pouted when he didn’t,and seemed to know exactly what to say and do to make his bright blue eyes spark with intent.
Now, as the bedsprings gave particularly violent squeaks through the door, I glanced across the closet, where, in the full-length mirror, my reflection peered back at me with bewilderment.
I was everything his partner (I was loath to call her a date) was not. Small and pale, with waist-length black-brown hair that had spent its life in a bunch at the base of my neck. A slightly snubbed nose, an annoyingly asymmetrical mouth where the top lip was bigger than the bottom, and the green eyes I shared with my five siblings, muted by the wire-rimmed glasses I’d worn since grade school.
I pulled at the neck of my oversized black sweater, too warm for this time of year, but which kept me securely covered along with my ankle-length black skirt.
I wasn’t stylish. Wasn’t pretty. Wasn’t any of the things the woman on the bed or Daniel’s other paramours were.
And yet, that had never stopped me from coming up with a million different versions of what he would whisper with impossibly fresh breath hadIbeen the target of his seduction. From planning exactly what I would say to him the next day, if and when we ran into each other.
Or from scuttling in the opposite direction whenever I actually saw him.
My problem was simple. While Daniel Lyons was and had always been a romcom hero come to life, I, Marie Zola, was nowhere near a leading lady.
More like the extra who wandered in off the street.
But I knew, I justknewthat if he had the chance to truly know me, Daniel would feel the same way I did. There was a connection between us, a lightning bolt that had struck medumb the first time I’d ever seen him in the kitchen, asking for a grilled cheese sandwich (and every other time after that).
This was my moment. Fate had let me here.
I had watched as he danced with tonight’s quarry to his preferred seduction song (“The Way You Look Tonight”), twisted his arm around hers so they could drink wedding-style out of each other’s champagne glasses (she was delighted), and nuzzled her ear while he whispered secret, delicious nothings (her giggles echoed across the party). Eventually, with his signature devilish grin, he had pointed her in the direction of the conservatory.
And then…he didn’t follow her.
Instead, he turned toward the main house. And that’s when I knew I had my chance.
I was leaving tomorrow for a year.
It was now or never.
So, I had sprinted across the grounds with a plan quickly forming: I’d wait for Daniel in his bedroom and confess everything I’d been holding inside for ten long years.
But when the door had opened, and I’d heard the distinct sound of kissing along with a woman’s voice, I’d done what any logical person would do.
I’d dropped to my hands and knees, crawled into the closet, and hid.
“Give me that dick, Daddy. I want to taste the rainbow.”
I frowned. Did she just quote a Skittles commercial?
There was more of something that sounded a lot like my brother’s dog slurping from its water bowl. The bedsprings were a like the strings in a horror movie. What were they even doing?
“Take it,” Daniel kept saying through what I imagined was a clenched jaw. “Take that dick. That giant fucking dick.”
Giant, huh? How big were we talking? Granted, I didn’t have much (all right,any) first-hand experience of that part of aman’s anatomy, but my younger sister, Joni, occasionally sent me dirty videos to mess with me.
Seriously, nothing will scare a girl off sex faster than ten inches coming at you through your phone screen while you’re standing in line for coffee.
The baristas at New Rochelle roasters haven’t looked at me the same since.
Mostly, thought, I found those videos confusing. The men had absurdly large anatomy, and the women were always perfectly smooth, almost prepubescent. They whimpered like kittens or shrieked like sirens while their partners huffed and grunted, pumping into them like machines.
How could that feel good? Even a little bit?
I told myself thatmyDaniel wouldn’t lay waste to a woman’s body that way. He’d make sure she was okay. He’d take care of her.
The woman of the night squawked again like a dying parakeet, and Daniel let out a loud “fuuuuuuuck!” that reminded me of the B60 bus when it heaved to the curb less than a block from my bedroom window in the Bronx. I was pretty sure something in the bed broke permanently.
