Romancing my Boss

Chapter 21

In the days following our disastrous first "date" Max and I found ourselves inadvertently thrust into the harsh glare of the rumor mill spotlight.

The speculation swirled with salacious glee - was I just another tawdry office fling for the city's most notorious playboy CEO? Or was the great Max Pemberton himself slipping between the sheets with a member of his own staff?

The scrutiny and innuendo only emphasized the charged atmosphere between us. Amidst the public spectacle of our dinner, Max's professional demeanor and intense gazes signaled our mutual disregard for propriety. We existed on our own wavelength, unaffected by outside opinions.

So, in the aftermath of becoming Manhattan's latest "it" couple du jour, I threw myself headlong into Operation: Max-imal Charm Offensive with a zeal that would impress - or possibly terrify - even the most ardent romantic.

True to form, Max seemed utterly unfazed by my increasingly over-the-top overtures. In fact, I'm fairly certain he derived a perverse sort of amusement from the whole mortifying spectacle.

It began innocuously enough - I had a dozen long-stemmed roses delivered to his office with an obnoxiously large card featuring a breathless, schmaltzy poem about the depths of my ardor.

Max didn't so much as bat an eyelash as I presented the garish bouquet, simply arching one brow in that infuriatingly impassive way of his. "Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren't we Ms. Bennett?" was his only dry remark before dismissing me with a curt nod.

Undeterred, I doubled down the next morning by arranging for a bevy of cherubic cupids - AKA local elementary school kids I'd bribed with candy - to release a kaleidoscope of heart-shaped balloons and confetti in the main lobby just as Max arrived. He paused only briefly to regard the spectacle, deftly sidestepping the squealing, tutu-clad hellions with a look of long-suffering patience. Though I didn't miss the slight upward twitch of his lips as one particularly rambunctious "cupid" managed to pelt him square in the chest with a fistful of confetti.

"Your efforts are...valiant, Ms. Bennett," was all he said as he brushed the tissue paper detritus from his jacket lapels. "Though I'd stop short of describing them as successful just yet."

"I'm barely warming up, Pemberton," was my reply to his taunting comment.

It continued like that for the next few weeks. Until I had a stroke of pure genius with my latest attempt to get Max to beg me to stop. I was going to cover his office in an avalanche of sticky notes from wall to wall. I couldn't help but feel a delicious evil laughter at the thought of it all.

Instead of crafting the romantic notes myself, I recruited the same gang of rowdy elementary school "cupids" I had used for the balloon stunt. I figured letting those rambunctious little gremlins take a swing at composing heartfelt poetry would yield maximum cringe-worthy hilarity. And boy, did those sticky-fingered cherubs deliver!

I arrived at the office bright and early before the cleaning crew and set myself to decorate Max's entire office space - every conceivable surface completely wallpapered with a gaudy mosaic of sticky notes in clashing neon hues. I did a delighted little spin, drinking in the saccharine chaos with immense satisfaction.

That is, until I started actually reading the "love notes" scrawled in that unmistakable messy child scribble:

'U R KUTE LADY' one bright orange note declared beside a lopsided heart doodle.

'Marrie me and ill give you my Lego sets.' Proposed a green one hopefully. I barked out a shocked laugh at the unintentionally creepy proposal before scanning the surrounding areas.

There were dozens more equally baffling and off-the-wall notes:

'I love yur musctache!'

'Want to see my bug colektion?'