Dear Grumpy Boss: A Brother’s Best Friend Office Romance (The Harder They Fall)
Dear Grumpy Boss: Chapter 38

WESTON WAS EVERYWHERE.

He left another Post-it on my desk. This one equally gut-wrenching.

Baader-Meinhof phenomenon is a frequency illusion in which something you notice for the first time starts to “appear” everywhere.

I’m under no illusions about you. From the moment I fell, you are all I see.

That would have been bad enough, but Weston was nothing if not dedicated to his pursuits. I supposed since Andes was crawling out of its crisis, he now had time to pursue me, setting himself up at the collaboration table, which happened to be across from my desk.

He’d greeted me when I’d walked in, watched me read his note, and flinched when I ripped it up and tossed it in the break area trash can.

At lunchtime, he approached my desk and spoke in a low, private tone. “Will you have lunch with me today?”

My fingers didn’t pause on my keyboard. My monitor had never been so interesting.

“No.”

“Please.”

“The answer isn’t going to change.”

“Don’t you think we should have a conversation?”

“No.”

I had never been more aware of my surroundings. Weston and I hadn’t been out loud about our relationship, but he hadn’t kept it a secret either. For the most part, my coworkers had an idea we had been together. Now, they were all getting to watch the aftermath play out.

“Elise. You can’t—”

“I can.” Finally, I flicked my eyes to him. I wouldn’t meet his gaze, but I gave him a long look. He was wearing the navy-blue suit I’d once told him was my favorite. There was not a chance that was by accident. Weston was too deliberate.

He scrubbed at the thick scruff on his jaw. “You’re ghosting me. That’s what this is. You said you wouldn’t do this.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at his accusation. He didn’t get to say that to me. He wasn’t the one who’d been wronged here. I’d reacted to his actions.

“You ghosted me first, Weston.”

I pushed back from my desk and walked right by him. There was no way I could stay. As I rode the elevator down to the cafeteria, I considered I might not get to stay at Andes at all if Weston didn’t back off. I’d take my dead-end job back in Chicago over this.

Weston had cleared out by the time I’d made it back to seven, but he’d left me something behind: a dill pickle spear in plastic wrap with a note that said, “This came with my lunch. Don’t let it go to waste. Talk soon. I love you.”

I ate the freaking pickle.

Then I had to hide in the bathroom to have a cry.

It wasn’t just a pickle I was crying over. It was the reminder of our history. He’d been giving me his pickles forever. Weston had been part of my life for so long, the prospect of truly cutting ties with him overwhelmed me with sorrow.

I wavered in those moments. Would it have been so bad to listen to him? He was clearly sorry. If he said the right words, I could take him back, and this wretched emptiness in me would be filled with him.

But what happened next time Andes needed him? How could I go through this again?

The answer was easy. I couldn’t.

I dried my tears and went back to my desk, newly resolved to continue working to get over Weston Aldrich.

He wasn’t making it easy. Weston worked at the collab table for at least part of the next few days, asking me to lunch each day and leaving me love notes. More flowers were delivered at home. He pleaded for a conversation.

I told him no. I ripped up his notes, shoved his flowers into Saoirse’s room. Each time he came to me, the stone thickened around my heart. I had to do it. If I didn’t protect myself, he would have gotten to me. When it came to Weston, I wasn’t strong.

Thursday, when I returned to my desk, there was a gift bag waiting for me. Shifting the tissue paper aside, I peeked at the contents and frowned.

An empty jar.

Okay. Confusing.

I sat down in my chair to read the note he’d left with it.

There is a shelf where I keep the jars with their hearts. I always take the hearts. Leaving them behind to rot seems wrong, somehow.

My morals are my own. Don’t judge me.

Earlier, I gave her her own jar. She asked me why. I told her to put it on a shelf. Anytime she wants, she can pluck my heart from my chest and put it in her jar. My heart is hers, after all.

It slowly dawned on me where these words had come from: the book I’d been reading when Weston and I had flown home from our trip.

It had been a dark romance about a serial killer who had fallen in love for the first time. I’d swooned when he’d told her his heart was hers.

But how had Weston known?

A warm breath touched my ear a beat before he spoke. “If those crazy people get a happy ending, we should too.”

He pulled back after whispering in my ear and moved to my side, leaning over me to bring us face to face.

“Did you read my book?”

He nodded. “I want to know everything that’s going on inside your head. That one was dark, baby.”

“I don’t—” He couldn’t be sweet and considerate. It was too late for that. To pull out the big guns now, when we were finished, was unfair on every level. “I don’t think you want to know what’s going on inside my head right now, Weston.”

Murder.

Death.

Kill.

Heartbreak.

“I do. Every angry, beat-up thought, I want it. How can I fix it if I don’t know which parts to aim for?”

“You don’t. Please go. I can’t do this here.”

If he didn’t stop, I would cry, and one crying jag at work was enough for the ages.

“Okay.” His fingers grazed my hair. “I love you, Elise.”

I shuddered but kept my mouth clamped shut.

He tapped the lid of the jar. “My heart is yours, after all.”

Then he sauntered away as if he hadn’t just given me a jar to contain his heart. As if he wasn’t continuing to wreck me every single day.

I made it through the week. Barely. Friday rolled in like a lamb, gentle with Weston’s conspicuous absence from the collaboration table.

There was a note, of course.

They say Plato invented the concept of soul mates.

I say your parents invented mine.

For some reason—a reason I wouldn’t let myself dwell on—I couldn’t bring myself to rip that one up. I shoved it in my drawer. Unfortunately, I couldn’t shove it out of my mind.

Soul mate.

He thought I was his soul mate.

He knew I was the girl who read romance novels for the happy endings and believed in things like soul mates and happily ever afters. Calling me his soul mate was cruel. A direct hit to the thick wall surrounding my heart.

Miles stopped by when I was at my most vulnerable. Instead of perching on my desk, he pulled up a chair and plopped right beside me.

“How’s it going, Lisie?”

“Your brother is torturing me. How are you?”

He laughed under his breath. “If it’s any consolation, he’s been climbing the walls all week.”

“That doesn’t console me. I don’t want any of this.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He leaned his elbow on my desk. “You want to talk about something else?”

I turned away from my monitor. “Sure. What if you tell me how you’re doing? Is your house ready to move into yet?”

“My house is a money pit. I don’t know why I bought it. I’m not really a house person. It just seemed like something an upstanding grown-up would do.”

“So sell it.”

His brow dropped. “That didn’t even sound judgy.”

“It wasn’t. Obviously, I’m no expert in real estate, but I’m a strong believer in cutting your losses when things aren’t working.”

He huffed. “That’s your one personality flaw.”

“What?”

“Cutting and running. You peace out when things go south instead of fighting. It’s funny because I used to think you were braver than anyone I knew. Now I’m realizing you’re just as afraid as the rest of us.”

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. Miles really could aim right for my most tender parts, even after all these years. This time, I was pretty certain he wasn’t even trying to hurt me.

“I never said I was brave.” Oh, great. Even my voice betrayed me, coming out thick and raspy.

“Shit.” He took my hand in his. “I’m sorry. I still think you’re rad, Lisie. I’m just saying it’s a relief to know you’re fallible.”

I let him hold my hand, which said a lot about my shaky emotional state.

“What you’re saying is you think I’m messing up by leaving Weston even though he left me first.”

His thumb stroked along my knuckles. “I’m not saying any of that. I’m surprised you won’t speak to him. That seems like fear to me, but what do I know?”

I leaned closer to him to whisper. “I am afraid, Miles. If I could replace a way to forgive him, how could I possibly trust he would never do this to me again? Sometimes acting on fear is a good thing. Nature gave us fear to protect ourselves from danger.”

“You make sound points. There’s also something to be said for conquering your fears. We wouldn’t have fire if a couple cavemen hadn’t conquered their fear of burning alive. Would you rather be living in the dark, Lisie? I wouldn’t.”

I pulled back, giving myself some space. “I thought we were supposed to be talking about you.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Can’t blame me that my thoughts keep coming back to my favorite couple.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s talk about why you think you need to own real estate and conform to some grown-up mode. What’s that about?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “You get to psychoanalyze me now?”

I mimicked his shrug. “What’s fair is fair.”

“No, Lisie, you don’t have the time for all my neuroses. Let’s leave it at growing up with a loser father and an overachieving brother shaped me into a lazy yet ambitious amalgamation of a man.”

At the quiet chirp of my email notification, I reached for my mouse in an automatic response, glancing away from Miles to check if the message was something I needed to deal with urgently. The address made the blood drain from my face.

“Oh shit. Is that your ex?” Miles leaned into me, his chest pressing against my shoulder. “What’s he want?”

“I have no idea.”

The subject line said my explanation. Apparently, Patrick wanted to explain himself, and since I’d blocked him everywhere else, he’d found my work email.

“Click on it. Let’s see what the idiot has to say.”

I elbowed him. “Go away.”

He tugged on my arm, spinning me toward him. “Hey, I’m kidding.”

I stared at Patrick’s name on my screen. This had to be a joke. I’d spent the week dodging Weston, and now my other ex was invading my space. When did it end?

“I know.” I cupped my forehead. “I don’t understand why he sent this.”

“I guess you won’t know until you read it.”

I slid my eyes to him. He was watching me warily. “What if the reason he hurt me doesn’t matter anymore?”

“Doesn’t it?”

My lips were so dry licking them didn’t help. “I don’t know.”

Eventually, Miles left me to my thoughts. Patrick’s email sat in my inbox like a land mine. If I clicked it, it could end up being inert…or it could blow up in my face.

I forced myself to stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. But as five o’clock drew near, I ended up staring at my inbox again, this time with resolve.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I clicked.