Page 11 of The Boss and the Wedding Mess
Nessa: Oh no...
Me: He’s about to meet with my boss. He even asked me to bring something up for his guest. They’re using the good room. The luxury room—that means he’s a very important guest!
Nessa: Oh, London...
Me: I'm done for!
Nessa: Stay calm. I'm sure this can be cleared up!
Me: No, he already looked so angry and even brought it up. He's looking for trouble and wants revenge. He even said he wants to get me fired! What if he really convinces my boss to fire me?
Nessa: Yes, but how? They don't have any legal grounds. It happened in private.
Me: They could force me out, or he could offer me a severance package. I don't want to leave. I love this job!
Nessa: Can you talk to him again? If you apologize and explain the situation, I'm sure he'll understand and won't be angry with you anymore.
Me: I guess I have to try.
Nessa: You can do it. Just be sweet and friendly.
Me: But he was completely awful to me!
Nessa: Please don't snap at him.
Me: I'll try.
Nessa: Let me know how it goes, okay? Tell me right away, okay?
I heart her last message and take a deep breath before putting away my handbag and making my way to the kitchen. There I fill a coffee pot and arrange milk, sugar, sweetener, little spoons, and cups on a tray. I even remember the crispy cookies my boss likes so much.
With the well-stocked tray, I head back to the room. The door is closed, so I knock timidly.
“Come in.”
Maybe my boss is already there? I open the door and see that only that guy is inside. Maybe this is my lucky break.
“That took quite a while. Do you always need this much time?” he asks arrogantly, eyes scrutinizing me.
“I’ll be quicker next time,” I promise pleasantly. I start to pour him some coffee, but he declines, raising his hand to stop me.
“I’ll do that myself.”
I step back and watch him. His movements are deliberate, calm, elegant. My eyes drift to his hands—well-groomed, with slightly pronounced knuckles.
Wow, that looks good.
When I look at him, our eyes meet again.
Now he's caught me staring!
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I ask politely.
"No. You may leave." He stirs a small spoonful of sugar and a generous splash of milk into his cup. I’ll have to remember that.
“I’d like to personally apologize to you again, Mr.…?” I still don’t know his name.
“It wasn’t me who was supposed to get married, but my best friend,” he says, taking a sip of coffee before setting the cup down. “The wedding was canceled. The bride fled. His future is ruined. And it’s all because of you.”
