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Home / Romance / My Love, My Boss / Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

All Chapters of My Love, My Boss: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

51 Chapters

On My Own

I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. I didn’t look in his direction, didn’t walk past his office, didn’t so much as breathe near anything that might give him the chance to say my name. By 1:00 p.m., I was back in the bullpen, buried in a new campaign layout I didn’t care about. The brief didn’t make sense, the data was outdated, and I’d read the same line three times without absorbing a word. Everything felt louder in the silence. The click of keyboards, the buzz of the AC, the static hum of the overhead lights. And over it all, the weight of what had happened. What was still happening and what neither of us had the courage to admit we couldn’t undo. Daniel walked over around 2:30. He had a coffee in each hand. “I figured you hadn’t moved in hours,” he said. “You look like you’re mentally stabbing the screen.” I glanced up. He smiled with concern in his eyes. I nodded and took the coffee. “Thanks,” I said. My voice came out flat. He didn’t leave. “You alright?” I nodde

Exposed

I knew something was off the second I stepped out of the elevator. The silence and the looks almost gave it up; but I couldn’t miss the shift in energy. That shift in the air when you walk into a room where your name has already been said out loud - twice, too loudly, followed by whispers. They didn’t hide it today. The stares didn’t dart away when I looked back. Some were curious, some cold and some flat-out smug. No one asked how I was, no one smiled at me as I walked to my desk. Mira wasn’t there. Her chair was pushed back, and her screen was dark. She stuck a note to her keyboard in her handwriting: Meeting. 8th floor. Save you a seat if you’re late. I dropped my bag, sat down and logged in. The group chat on my monitor blinked with a new message: “Cole, HR needs to confirm something on your onboarding form. Stop by after 10.” There was no subject line just a cold process wrapped in soft threat. I closed the window as Daniel passed behind me, slowly and then kept walking withou

Not A Gift

Mira was on her way to the executive lounge for a water refill and a few quiet minutes away from the bullpen when she heard the voice of Cazien Wolfe.She paused at the hallway just outside his private office. The glass was frosted, the door cracked two inches open. She could see only the edge of the room. Just enough light and enough shadow. Inside, his voice was sharper than she’d ever heard it yet he wasn’t yelling or barking but it was laced with something that sounded almost human… frustration, maybe… or restraint running out of room. “I told you to control the fallout,” he said. “Not manufacture more of it.” The voice on the other end of the phone was faint. Mira didn’t recognize it, maybe it was Legal or board-side PR. “Leaking her name was not part of the solution,” Cazien continued. “It was cowardice. And now we have speculation in three departments and a false complaint on record.” He paused. “Of course it’s false,” he said. “Don’t insult me.”Mira leaned slightly clos

Not Goodbye

I stared at the pen which was still in the box and still gleaming like a quiet threat for a long time.I got a message from Mira saying, “They pulled Carlson from Strategy. His seat’s empty.”The message landed like a punch. Carlson was my original department head. The one who believed in my first mock deck. The one who said, “You’ve got instinct. That’s not teachable.” Gone. Just like that. Cazien hadn’t told me. I instinctively stood and walked straight to the glass wall of the floor. Looked down at the lobby four stories below. It was all glass and marble. And suddenly it all felt so far away not just from where I stood but, from who I was when I got here.I came here for a shot - a future. A reason to believe that maybe I wasn’t just a product of my past. And now? I was a name on a list. A whispered story. A warning passed down to the next intern who dared to look a man like that in the eye. The door behind me opened. I didn’t turn.Mira’s voi

Be You

The door to HR still carried that soft, powdery shade of gray deliberately chosen to be non-threatening. The kind that’s supposed to calm your nerves before you step inside; but it didn’t work on me. Not now and maybe not ever.I walked in exactly at 4:55. The receptionist behind the glass partition didn’t lift her head. She had a phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek, scribbling something onto a notepad with practiced detachment. She glanced at me only long enough to motion lazily toward the chairs against the wall.I didn’t sit. I stood still, my hands locked around the strap of my bag, every nerve in my body tuned to the quiet hum of the overhead lights.A door opened on the far side of the room as a woman stepped out. The same legal liaison from last week. Her blouse was starched enough to hold its own shape, hair tied into a low, functional bun, clipboard always clutched like a shield. She didn’t offer a smile.“Miss Cole,” she said,with clipped and neutral voice.I nodded

Echoes and Fire

The room was colder than the rest of the floor not by temperature alone, but by the kind of chill that settles when power sits waiting to be wielded. It had high ceilings and black chairs that absorbed rather than reflected light. At the far end, a wall-length monitor pulsed with a blinking slide titled Q4 Strategic Sync. Not a hint of warmth anywhere. Just hard surfaces and harder intentions.I wasn’t late, but I wasn’t early either. Five people were already seated; two executives, a communications director, and a woman from HR I recognized but had never spoken to. They filled their seats with the sort of posture that said they’d been here longer than the story I was about to step into. The chairs were wide. Deliberately so. Built to make you feel smaller unless you knew how to fill them with the kind of presence that couldn’t be ignored.So, I did. I sat like I belonged.The door opened behind me, and Owen Locke entered the room, file tucked neatly under

Let’s Talk

The announcement arrived the way most threats did at Wolfe Industries - quietly. Not through a call or even a meeting invite. Just a single-line update posted to the internal news bulletin, as if it were nothing more than a calendar change. C. Wolfe – Status updated from ‘on leave’ to ‘active remote’. Board-approved. No press release. No department memo. Not even a formal acknowledgment from senior leadership. Just those three words. Active. Remote. Wolfe. I didn’t immediately react, but my hands froze on the keyboard. I leaned back slightly in my chair and stared at the update until the font blurred. Across the hall, Mira lifted her head slowly. Her monitor glowed pale blue against her glasses, but her eyes were sharp. Focused. She had seen it too. She didn’t say a word, and she didn’t need to. Some information carried its own weight. This was that kind. I turned back to my

The Invitation

“You need air,” Mira said, not bothering to ask if I agreed. She didn’t wait for permission before closing my laptop, lifting my ID badge off the desk like it offended her, and holding out my coat with two fingers as if daring me not to take it. Her voice was calm, but the look on her face said I didn’t have the option of staying behind. “You’ve been in this building for fourteen straight days. Your skin’s turning the color of stress. And you smell like stale ambition,” she added, sniffing dramatically. “I have a job,” I muttered, making no move to reach for the coat. “You have a pulse. Use it,” she snapped, already halfway to the door. That’s how I found myself outside just past six, the wind pressing cold fingers against my cheeks while my boots slapped the wet pavement. The Manhattan sky was painted in lavender streaks and the last hints of golden sun, but I barely noticed. I was too busy trying to remembe

The Drive

The car waiting outside wasn’t glossy or showy. It didn’t gleam under the streetlights like a promise or a warning. It was just there—matte black, sleek, motionless. The kind of car that had been chosen not to draw attention but to erase the possibility of it. The driver stood beside the rear door as I approached. He didn’t speak, didn’t gesture, didn’t ask my name. He simply nodded once, opened the door, and waited. I slid into the backseat, the leather cool beneath me, soft in a way that suggested it had never once held urgency. The door closed with a gentle click. For a second, I thought I was alone. Then I turned—and saw him. Cazien was already there, seated in the far corner of the backseat. He’d taken off his jacket, draped it beside him. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the forearms, one cuff still undone as if he’d started to relax but got stuck halfway through the effort. He looked like he had been w

Eat Me

His body shifted beneath mine with a kind of quiet focus that made every motion feel like a deliberate answer to a question neither of us had spoken aloud. His legs bent slightly beneath me, adjusting to the pressure of my knees framing his hips. His hands found the sides of my thighs, the weight of them warm and anchoring, not pressing me down, but holding me in place like I was something precious he didn’t want to startle. I leaned forward, letting my palms slide up his chest, over the smooth fabric of his shirt where it clung to the heat of his body. My knees adjusted their grip, legs slipping further apart to balance my weight across his lap. The heat between us swelled, thick and immediate, like the space itself had remembered us - our chemistry and our proximity - and was rising to meet it. His hands moved again, this time around my waist. He gripped me gently at first, then tighter, his fingers splaying wide as they learned the shape

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