Page 36 of Breaking Point
* bunny with puck meme *
LAYLA
I’m cursing that hefty NDA
I am utterly DYING to know what this means
BELLA
trust me
you would pass out if I told you
This is torture.
Pure, unadulterated torture, and for various reasons.
First, and the most painful of all, Grayson is attractive. Wildly attractive. I’m talkingGQcover model, face crafted and molded by the hands of Greek gods attractive.
He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen and he’s myboss.
Just the sound of his voice has my stomach flip-flopping. Which is odd, considering I’ve despised every male who I’ve come in contact with since my mother’s ovarian cancer diagnosis. After facing the reality of the type of man my father is.
But then Grayson Crawford had to walk down in a towel and suddenly my mind completely forgot that men can’t be trusted.
Couldn’t I have gotten an ugly hockey player?Don’t they all get their teeth knocked out and have crooked noses from fist fights? I thought once he put clothes on and covered up the six-pack, I would be able to concentrate on my job and not the way his skin seemed to glisten and glow. Then the bastard came downstairs in gray sweatpants—I repeat,gray sweatpants.Doesn’t he know that’s every woman’s kryptonite? Top all that off with the blush that creeps along his cheeks and the lone dimple that continues to show when he gives me a shy smile, and I’m done for.
Truly.
I cannot even begin to decipher the emotions wreaking havoc through my body. My libido is well and truly alive and it’s going to take a miracle to shove her back in the box I’ve been containing her in.
But then, oddly enough, I’m reminded why I took this job in the first place, why exactly Grayson Crawford is my boss. My mom’s face pops into my mind, along with the way it crumbled when she found the scribbled, two-lined note my father left her on the kitchen counter, and suddenly all those feelings vanish within the blink of an eye.
You can never trust men.
Ever.
You can believe you’ve been happily married for twenty years but then suddenly you have cancer and the love of your life—your best friend—is packing up their belongings and running away.
I’m thankful for the godawful reminder, allowing me to focus on the next torturous aspect of this day.
This man doesn’t know where any of his belongings are…and we’re inhishouse. How doesn’t he know where his stuff is?
There’s multiple words sitting on the tip of my tongue, ones with an attitude I shouldn’t be serving my new boss, but every time he opens a cupboard and swears under his breath the flush in his cheeks deepens and there is no way I can kick this man while he’s down.
He’s a hot mess.
Perhaps I’ve been taking care of my mom for too long or it’s a natural instinct from being around Layla all these years, butsomething deep within me clicks and switches into drive. Every part of me is screaming to make the embarrassment vanish from his features.
“It’s okay, you can email me everything. I’ll grab a whiteboard calendar this afternoon. That way if you don’t feel like texting, you can write down updates on the board.”
His shoulders, which were hiked up to his ears, drop. He takes a steadying breath before murmuring, “That’s a good idea.” He turns, the flush in his cheeks gone as he winks. “I guess I’m getting your number after all.”
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing.
The switch from this man being embarrassed and shy within his own home to suddenly full of confidence gives me whiplash.
“Perhaps all communication should go through the board,” I say once I contain my laughter.
