The Guy Who Became My Grumpy Boss (Curvy Girl Crew #7)

Chapter 12

-Peter-

I’d spent a lot of time observing people. Not in a creepy way. I hoped not anyway.

Jessica probably felt like someone was watching her—because I was. Like a hawk. I learned by watching and then imitating, and Jessica was a treasure trove of information.

She was obviously familiar with this game and would likely beat me, but she wasn’t shy about explaining what she was doing or about doing her best.

On the second hole, she’d ended up with a score of two, and I’d had four. No more out-of-bounds issues, but the obstacles and hills were making it difficult for me.

Golf was a game that every executive had to play, so I knew a little about putting. Although, all of that knowledge had disappeared from my mind as soon as we’d arrived, but it was slowly coming back. Which meant if I could get close to the hole, I’d win. However, I was struggling with the path to get there.

Jessica, on the other hand, seemed to relish each challenge and simply laughed or responded with exaggerated anger when it didn’t work out.

I filed away laughing as a reaction. It wasn’t my style, but I could come up with an equivalent.

The third hole—this one modeled from The Day After Tomorrow , where New York had been flooded and then frozen —had slick plastic on part of the fairway and several fake snow drifts.

Jessica had won the last hole, so she got to putt first. She prowled her way from the tee mat to the entrance of the library, where there were three doors you could go through.

I followed her up the sloped hill and discovered that if we got our balls into the middle door, they would pop out below and likely go into the cup.

Jessica yanked the flag out and grinned. “Just in case of a hole-in-one.”

“Someone’s confident,” I muttered.

I’d found myself muttering a lot this evening. I think it was keeping me from having a total meltdown, as did taking as many opportunities as I could to admire Jessica. Why did watching her have such a soothing effect?

She’d caught me looking at her a few times but didn’t seem phased by it. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Was she uninterested enough to not even be flattered? Or was she hiding her feelings?

Hiding her feelings like I had been for the past year.

I dismissed that thought as we walked back to the beginning of the hole and Jessica teed off. Instead of simply staring, I forced my attention to her form. How did she stand, how did she pivot, and how much force did she use?

Mimicking people had always been one of the ways I’d taught myself to blend in. I’d chosen the wrong person to imitate more than once, which had backfired, so now I tried to observe a few examples before I settled on a behavior.

Right now, I had Jessica and the other patrons on the course.

The group of teenagers that I’d hit my ball into were laughing like idiots and stumbling around as if they were drunk, but I was pretty sure they were showing off for each other.

That wasn’t what I was hoping to behave like, so besides noticing that the game seemed to be a vehicle for hanging out, I dismissed them.

Another couple had almost finished their game, and what little I’d noticed about them had been that they seemed to be having a personal competition. They took every stroke and every hole as seriously as I had wanted to when we’d started, but to be honest, they didn’t look like they were having very much fun.

“Yes!” Jessica shouted.

I turned my attention back to her and found her pointing at her ball as it disappeared into the middle door of the New York Library replica.

I cursed myself for getting distracted, because I wasn’t sure I could reproduce her shot without having seen the whole thing.

“You’re up.” Jessica stepped aside.

She’d used the right hole on the tee mat, so I did the same. I tried to interpret the power of her swing by how far she’d pivoted back, then I lined up my shot and hit the ball.

I’d never seen a professional mini golf tournament—did they even have those?—but I felt like my shot would have been featured on the best of reel at the end of the day.

The ball rolled along the wall, avoiding both fake ice and snow drifts, until it hit an angled piece of cement that bounced it on the perfect trajectory to follow Jessica’s ball through the middle door.

“No way.” Jessica ran toward the lower tier of the hole, narrowly avoiding the slick spots, so she could watch my ball come out at the bottom.

I raced to join her, wondering if I would get the coveted hole-in-one.

Several clattering noises came from inside the little library, and just as I got to where I could see the exit, my ball rolled out and toward the cup.

Jessica let out a squeak of anticipation.

I scowled.

Instead of going into the hole, my ball hit hers, and hers went in, while mine stopped six inches short.

“Yes!” Jessica turned and smacked me on the arm. “Thanks, boss.”

While the irritation from her ball denying me a hole-in-one attempted to consume me, an opposite feeling surged up to push the first one out.

Jessica had casually touched me. Like we were friends. For a heartbeat, I stood shocked, but then warmth spread from the point of contact and filled me so full that every molecule of my body seemed to buzz.

She’d also called me boss, which she’d only done once before.

I liked it. I liked it a lot.

“Sorry.” Jessica stepped back and held her hand up as if I had a weapon pointed at her.

I let my natural scowl take over, hoping that she hadn’t seen whatever look had been on my face the moment before, and said, “You’re welcome, Jessica.”

Another blush rose on her fair skin, and I knew right then that even if I lost the game, I would have won the night.

“You’d better go tap that in.” Jessica indicated to my ball.

I started to walk toward the cup, but my body didn’t want to cooperate. If I completed this hole, then we’d be finished for the evening, and I didn’t want that. When I arrived at my destination, I stopped and looked up at Jessica, who was still above.

She was watching me with a small smile on her face.

I wasn’t a grinning kind of a guy, so instead of acknowledging her expression, I turned and tapped my ball in. Then I reached down and retrieved both of the balls.

Jessica started walking toward me, and I went to meet her halfway.

She held out her hand for her ball. “I guess we’re finished.”

I extended my hand, but didn’t relinquish my prize. “I think we need to talk about the activity.”

“Okay.” She didn’t lower her arm.

I stayed where I was. “I’d like to do so as we finish this course.”

Jessica’s eyes went wide, and she blinked. “You want to keep playing?”

“I do.” I slowly lowered my fingers until they brushed her palm, just as she’d done to me earlier. “I think I need to get back the hole-in-one that you stole from me.”

“Stole?” Jessica narrowed her eyes.

My fingers were on her skin, and I slowly dropped her ball into her hand. “Stole.”

Jessica took her ball. “Fine, then I guess I’m first on the next one.”

With that, she walked away, and I followed.

***

Two hours later, we parted ways at the subway station. I made sure she got on her train, then headed in the direction of my place.

We’d talked about the activity, making a list of supplies for ramps, the cups, and even flags. On the last three holes of the course, we’d envisioned what we could do with boxes and cans of non-perishable food.

There were more possibilities than I had first thought, and I was glad we’d picked this for our activity.

Jessica had found a hotel with a large ballroom that was available the following Monday, and I told her to book it for us.

During our snack break, in which I’d learned that Jessica loved baked pretzels with nacho cheese, we’d drafted the announcement email about the retreat and sent it to Amelia, who had approved it moments later.

I would send it out in the morning. Both Jessica and I were as ready as we could be for the inevitable repercussions.

All in all, it had been a productive evening.

I’d learned to miniature golf; I’d learned what the appropriate actions and reactions were; I’d observed more than a dozen people on the course and was confident I could navigate our company retreat without any issues in regards to the actual golfing and maybe even setting up.

But the most important thing I had learned had to be that Jessica was even more interesting outside of work and different even than when she was with her friends.

She’d coached me. She’d grounded me. She’d cajoled me.

She was a woman I wanted more of in my life.

I hadn’t thought that about another person in a long time, maybe years.

The train back to my apartment was mostly deserted, so I found a quiet corner and sat. Just as I did, my phone buzzed.

Most people got excited when someone contacted them.

Not me. I worried that I’d forgotten something or that I’d messed something up. So when I felt the buzz, my chest tightened.

I always tried to temper myself before I looked at a message. It was almost nine o’clock in the evening. No one I knew would call this late, and anyone who sent a text would know I wouldn’t answer until morning, unless it was an actual emergency.

Then I remembered Aunt Mei and eagerly pulled my phone out.

The hope of seeing my aunt and uncle in their leather riding gear posing in front of a large ball of twine or a giant potato faded when I saw Marissa’s name.

I usually delayed answering her texts but felt like I shouldn’t while she was in the hospital. She was scheduled for surgery in the morning.

Marissa: Where are you?

Why did the simple question feel like an interrogation?

Peter: On my way home.

Marissa: From where?

Again, it felt like an attack. I decided to ignore her inquiry and ask her about surgery.

Peter: What time is your surgery?

Marissa: They postponed it until Wednesday. The swelling is still too bad.

At least she sounded like herself and not a drunken sorority member.

Peter: Glad they’re taking care of you.

The train slowed, but I still had four stops to go.

Marissa: Why didn’t you come visit me today?

I was under orders not to tell anyone about the changes in the retreat until we officially announced it in the morning, and that included Marissa. I couldn’t tell her what I’d been doing, or she would send question after question until I either gave in or had to stop answering her. I decided to keep it simple.

Peter: I’m doing your work and mine.

Marissa: LOL!!!!!!

That was a lot of exclamation points. Maybe she was still on the pain killers.

Marissa: My parents want to see you.

The train slowed and stopped again. A bunch of people got on, including a gaggle of older women who looked like they’d been at a sporting event; I stood and offered my seat so they could sit together.

I got a lot of smiles and ogling but kept looking at my phone until they grew bored.

Marissa: Will you come see me tomorrow?

I mentally shuffled through my schedule. Jessica and I were going to be neck-deep in retreat management, not to mention the three high-profile clients I had meetings with in the afternoon. Going across town to the hospital would suck up at least two hours of my day, but Marissa was a friend, and her parents had been kind to me after my mother had died.

Peter: I’ll try to come around dinner.

Marissa: Bring me food?

Peter: I’ll text you.

Before I got sucked into an even longer conversation, I put my phone away. The next stop was mine.

When my phone buzzed again, I bristled. I almost didn’t pull it out, but a crazy part of me hoped it would be Jessica.

My heart stuttered when I saw that it was, indeed, Jessica.

She’d sent a screenshot of our mini golf scores and had put it on a background of disaster movie monsters. There were four words written in dripping, red letters.

Better luck next time.

I’d ended up ten strokes behind her, and I hadn’t ever achieved a hole-in-one. I wanted a rematch but also needed time by myself.

To process.

I sent a thumbs up back to Jessica, because the thought of being clever was too much for me at the moment.

The spring air smelled wonderful coming out of the subway, and even though it was dark, the light from the city illuminated the trees along the sidewalk. White blossoms were peeking out from the budding leaves, and I almost stopped to take in the moment, but I was afraid one of the people out walking would talk to me.

With such a long day behind me, I knew that my human interaction was at its limit. I needed downtime. So I kept moving, and when my phone buzzed yet again, I pulled it out hoping for something from Jessica.

Instead, it was the proof of life picture from my aunt.

She and Harold were indeed wearing their leather riding gear posing in some sort of cavern.

Auntie: I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours!

“You’d think a grown woman in her sixties would be more mature,” I said to myself as I turned on my camera and took a selfie with the trees behind me.

I sent it, along with a message.

Peter: Obligatory pic.

Auntie: Brat.

Peter: Good night.

I started walking again, when my aunt sent another message.

Auntie: Is that a smile on your face?

At least a dozen grinning emojis followed.

I hadn’t consciously smiled in the picture, but I had to admit, it was there. Small, but evident.

Auntie: Is there something you’re not telling me?

Like Marissa, she would badger me until I either told her what she wanted to hear or got fed up and simply stopped answering her. I decided to tell her what she wanted to hear.

Peter: I met a woman, and I’m in love.

Her reply came in record time.

Auntie: What? Are you serious?

More emojis followed.

Peter: No.

Although the force that kept attempting to tug the ends of my lips upward might disagree with that last message.