Romancing my Boss

Chapter 2

ONE MONTH AGO

It had been a little over three months since Brad morphed from my caught-red-handed fiancee into a clingy, obsessive nightmare. I'd tried every tactic to shake him - ignoring his texts, blocking his number, even going as far as calling his poor mom for backup. Nothing worked.

On that dreary Monday, I barely made it through the glass doors of Pemberton Financial before Brad ambushed me in the lobby. "Charlotte, please! Just one more chance, babe?" His puppy dog eyes bored into me as a few employees smirked while sidling past.

I groaned inwardly. Doesn't he realize how cringey he's being? Luckily, years of dealing with Maximilian Pemberton's demands had honed my ability to think on my feet. "You know what, Brad? You're right - we do need one last chance." I placed my hands on his shoulders, leaning in close. "A chance for you to respect that it's over and leave me alone for good."

With that, I ducked out of his clammy grasp and power-walked toward the elevator bank, wheezing slightly. Get it together, Lottie. I massaged the stitch in my side as the doors dinged open. Sad that I just out-cardio'd myself evading my ex, but severe situations call for severe actions.

In the mirrored walls, I caught a glimpse of my disheveled reflection and cringed. What a hot mess. I smoothed down my skirt and ran fingers through my tousled hair as the elevator climbed toward the executive offices. Pemberton Financial was an empire built on image - looking put together was a must around here. Especially in front of Maximilian "I Am The Prize" Pemberton himself.

My boss's ongoing existence as Manhattan's most brutally eligible bachelor still baffled me sometimes. The man oozed raw power and chiseled intimidation from every annoyingly toned muscle. His icy glower could shrivel egos and his barked orders instilled sheer panic. Kind of like a terrifying, jacked-up biker minus the grungy leathers. I had no idea how he stayed single, considering every red-blooded woman surely imagined being turned over his knee for a...stern talking to.

I fanned myself as the doors slid open. Get your mind out of the gutter, Lottie! This was no time to mentally undress my boss. I had bigger issues - namely, this whole Brad fiasco. As I hurried toward Max's corner office, an idea began taking shape. A crazy, unethical, gloriously devious idea.

If I couldn't get Brad to back off through normal means...maybe it was time to play a little dirty. See, for all his assholery, Max also happened to be the most intimidating human I'd ever encountered. And really, who better to scare off my lovelorn, cheating ex than a man with the ability to make grown men cower by simply arching one condescending eyebrow?

Of course, the plan came with certain risks. Like potentially getting fired if I failed to sell the ruse. Or ending up homeless and destitute if Max decided to counter-sue for defamation. But hey, I didn't have many other options!

Dad's Alzheimer's treatments had drained my savings, and with Mom gone, I was flying solo. This humiliating little charade might be my only hope.

By the time I reached my desk outside Max's office, the scheme was set. I fired off a quick Instagram post with a pic of the fancy lobby flowers, captioning it 'From my new boo ;)'. Laying the digital trail was key - soon, the internet would be flooded with "proof" of my blossoming romance with Manhattan's most elite bachelor.

I spent the rest of the afternoon curating a scrapbook of cropped couple-y photos featuring me and various shadowy male figures. Fake it 'til you make your ex accept reality and back off, right? That was the plan, at least. Max's daily schedule offered plenty of candid opportunities.

Like that time he stopped for street meat during our midtown lunch meeting...or leaned over me to inspect my computer screen...or that day he got backhanded by the revolving door. Not exactly romantic, but with strategic croppings, they could easily be misconstrued as romantic rendezvous shots.

By the time 6pm rolled around, I was one staged pillow fight away from having all the faux evidence needed to kickstart Phase Two - convincing Brad and the world it was real.

Dread trickled down my spine as I tucked the scrapbook into my tote, mentally kissing my plush assistant's salary goodbye. This was either going to be my most heroic act of desperation...or by definition the fastest way to ruin my entire life.