Page 22 of Over My Dead Boss
Another laugh. His pearly whites on display. It’s so infectious, I can feel the warmth spread through my chest, adding to the sweltering heat outside. “Funny, but that’s still a no on that nickname, Miss Ray.”
“Yeah, actually, I don’t know how to throw a football,” I admit. “But I can show you how to kill an attacker with your bare hands.”
“Somehow I don’t doubt you know how to do that,” Phoenix says as we loosen the nuts and put on the new tire.
“Did you and Mr. Cyrus get along well though when you did see each other?”
Phoenix sighs a little. “We… had a distant relationship.”
“Hm, but he must have been proud of you.”
“Maybe in some ways, but not as much as it disappointed him that I refused to take over his business, his life’s work.”
I nod slowly, even though I probably can’t entirely understand what it must feel like. “I think I know what you mean. My dad — I don’t think he meant to — but my dad made me his life’s work. He wanted to make sure I am independent and that I could take care of myself, and, in a way, my success became my dad’s success. Until— Don’t tighten it too much! You’ll break the metal thingy with all those muscles of yours,” I shout at him a little.
“Ah, ismetal thingythe terminus technicus for this sort of thing? I am learning so much from you.”
“Don’t make me ground you, boy,” I threaten jokingly as we put back the tools, and the broken tire.
Back at home, Phoenix spends the rest of the day writing, although he seems to have a hard time getting into the flow. My request, if there is anything I could do to help, is met by him waving me off and telling me to bother the birds outside. When I attempt to cook dinner, I am pushed out of the kitchen on the grounds of ‘not wanting to get poisoned again’, which fills me with relief. An hour later, I am served the most delicious minted couscous salad with watermelon, meaning we don’t have to eat whatever concoction I would have come up with. Afterwards, I retrieve my kindle from my room, take a seat on the couch where Phoenix is already sitting with a book, and begin to read as well. I catch him staring at me when I allow my eyes to wander off the page for a moment. We hold eye contact for a few seconds and I get the immediate need to close my legs tightly in response. Those eyes of his have a supernatural pull that I’ve only encountered in paranormal romance so far. It’s ridiculous. When he doesn’t stop staring, I decide to simply ignore him and continue reading my book.
Why doesn’t he stop?
“I got you something,” he finally says and nods towards the coffee table next to us.
I look over and discover one of the Twinkies that we bought earlier that day.
“Figured you’d might want some dessert.”
“Oh,” I hesitantly reach for it. “Thanks, I guess. Don’t mind if I do.” I tear open the packaging and take a big bite, only to chew on something that is clearly not Twinkie. Careful not to spread cream filling all over myself, I pull a small piece of paper out of my mouth. It is rolled up. Just like a—
“I made you a Fortune Twinkie.” Phoenix smiles bashfully, and I have to fight my inappropriate urge to jump into his arms just at the look of him. “Trademark pending,” he adds quietly as I unroll the paper and read out loud.
“If you ever feel stupid,” I adjust my glasses, “just remember that there are people out there who take advice from cookies.”
I know it’s meant as a slight, but it does not feel like one. I look back into the eyes that are still observing me and grin. “Thank you, Phoenix. That’s actually really sweet of you. I’ll so…”Put this in my scrapbook that I keep of you, which is something I can never reveal, ever.“…appreciate it.”
“Didn’t you—“ He scratches his head and sits up straight. “Didn’t you read the thing I wrote? Maybe you didn’t understand…”
“I did. It was funny and very attentive of you to — not only listen to me — but to remember and do a little arts and crafts project. Just for my benefit. It’s really cute.”
Phoenix stares at me without saying a word, assumably annoyed with himself that his plan backfired. “What are you reading?” he finally asks to change the subject while scrubbing a hand over his stubble.
I finish my treat and lean forward, extending my kindle in his direction. “Wanna switch?” I ask and grab the book from his hand before he can answer. His eyes remain fixed on me as I look at the handwritten words on the page.
He’s going over his own writing. Oh my god.
When he makes no attempt to get his book back, I unfurl my messy bun by retrieving the pencil that was holding it in place and start going through the lines.
13
Istart at the very beginning and am glued to each page, annotating some things, crossing out others. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t need editing, this is not a first draft, this is more like a polished product and I can’t believe I get to be so lucky as to be the very first person to read the new Phoenix Cyrus book. I know of at least a hundred people who would kill for an opportunity like this. I make it all the way to the midpoint of love when I first look up and find those dark blue eyes. Still inspecting me. I can feel the blood rushing through my cheeks, turning them crimson red.
“Don’t talk to me,” I say unprovoked, and dedicate myself back to the task at hand. Although it really is no task at all. It’s a joy and I am savoring every single second. At least for another eight or so pages, when his writing abruptly stops.
“Nooooo,” I shout, and close the book with a loud thud.
“That bad, hm?”
