Page 26 of Over My Dead Boss
I wish I had that kind of confidence.
“Say hi to him and let him know he is always welcome here, alright?”
I am glad that she doesn’t sound as depressed as she often does but I do not share her enthusiasm even a little bit. “That’s very inappropriate, mother. My boss has no business visiting my parents.”
“Sure, honey, if you say so. Well, have a good rest of the night. I love you and I’ll call you next weekend again, alright?”
“I love you too, mom. Can you put on Dad for a second?”
It’s hard for him to talk, but I know he’s listening along.
“So you met Popeye, I hear?” His hoarse voice echoes through the phone and ends in a small laughter. “That’s good, Olivia. Just make sure he can cook more than spinach. You know what I always say: A man who can cook, can take care of himself so you don’t have to do it.”
He does always say that, though it has been months since my parents have last pestered me about my dating life. “As a matter of fact, he can actually cook, but it’s not like that, Dad. We’re just working together. Anyway, I’m glad to hear you’re doing better though and I’ll send you some more money tomorrow, ok? Tell Mom to stop working over-time. Being stressed might make her depression worse.”
“That won’t be necessary, honey. We’ve got it covered. You just look after yourself.”
We hang up and, in anticipation of Phoenix’s comments, I’m already dreading stepping back into the car.
“So,” he teases a little. “Are you still hungry then?”
I nod and am relieved that he doesn’t ask any questions about the phone call and about whatever he might have overheard and misconstrued.
“How about we stop by your mom’s place? I hear I am welcome there anytime.” His smile almost reaches both of his ears and I wish it wouldn’t suit him even better than his frowny-face does. Quickly, I put the car into gear and drive off. On our way back, we stop by at a local Vietnamese place and pick up some dinner which we eat back home, alongside a beer, sitting on the floor around the couch table.
In an attempt to not blatantly stare at the person who, I have to remind myself, is my boss and definitely off-limits, I let my gaze wander through the room and over his book collection where I discover a copy of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice And Men. “Did you know that John Steinbeck’s dog ate the manuscript for that book?” I point towards the bookshelf. “He had to rewrite the entire thing.”
“Of Mice And Men? I did not know that. Guess his dog was a pretty talented editor.”
I chuckle, nod and take another sip of beer.
“Speaking of editor,” Phoenix says and sits up straight, scratching his head a little. “I… I obviously don’t need an editor. I have a dog as well, but…”
15
Oh my god.
My eyes and ears focus in on him like a hawk.
Is he about to say what I think he is about to say?
“I had some thoughts… about the remarks you left in my script. They were… not like the ones I usually get from Isabella.” I have never seen him struggle as much as he does right now. “Maybe we could go through them some time. Together. Not right now. But later. I have to mull them over for a bit. And maybe you could take a look at the rest of the book once it’s written.”
I am in!
Now play it cool, Olivia. Play it cool. No shrieking, no punching the air, definitely no hugging or smelling him!
I shrug my shoulders to hide my excitement. “Sure, if you think that might help.”
Phoenix huffs a little and his expression lets me know he isn’t buying it for a second. “Ok, some more things. Since you’re here anyway, I figure I might as well make use of you.”
Yes, please use me.
“I’d prefer not to admit it and maybe this is the beer speaking,” Phoenix bites his bottom lip a little, “but I think I have actually been working better since you have been here. Well, I have been working. Unlike before. Not sure why. Maybe having a somewhat regular schedule helps. Maybe I am just more motivated by wanting to get rid of you. Could be both, really. Either way, I’d like to take you up on that offer of yours… to help out. You could, for example, help me stick to a schedule.”
“I love making schedules!” I sound way more enthusiastic than necessary at the prospect of actually working with Phoenix Cyrus and not just doing his dirty dishes. “Anything else?”
Phoenix lets his gaze drift down to the beer in my hand and then back up to my face, and I would kill to read his mind. He finishes the last sip in his own bottle and picks himself off the ground. “That would definitely be the beer talking,” he mumbles to himself. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything else. For now, just the schedule and the head scratches.”
