Count to three. Do not kill your boss.
And do not fall in love with him.
That's a good start, especially when you work for New York's most eligible bachelor with millions in one pocket and half of Manhattan's panties in the other. Not to mention tho...
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The morning is worse. I'm not sick, thank God, but I have a queasy stomach, and someone has taken residence up in my head to pound it with a hammer. Not my worst hangover morning, but not my best either. I'm getting old. Can I say that at just twenty-four? I sure feel that way.
When I come out of the bedroom, I find Thomas already sitting on the couch with elbows on his knees, ruffling his hair tousled from the sleep.
"Morning," I grunt and shamble to the couch. I push aside the blanket I gave him for the night and sink down beside him. I can feel him checking out my sweatpants, the worn-out Eat, Sleep, Repeat t-shirt, and the nest on my head.
"You look lovely in the morning."
"Don't be an ass."
He chuckles and leans back into the couch, mirroring my position. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a raccoon hit by a car."
He runs his eyes over me again. "That's quite accurate."
I punch him in the shoulder, getting a laugh out of him before he gets to his feet. As he does, my view gets filled with a picture of a skunk with sunglasses, staring at me from the back of his boxers. "Jesus," I mumble, rolling my head to the side to look away. "Could you perhaps put on some pants over your skunk ass, please?"
A teasing grin spreads across his face. "I could just take it off, if you don't like it."
"Try it and your skunk underwear will stay here while your ass will occupy the hallway."
He snorts. "You're no fun in the morning. Would you mind if I grabbed a quick shower first?"
A shake my head. "Towels are on the shelf next to the shower."
"Thanks."
When I bring myself to get up, I use the time to prepare the strongest coffee possible and wash down one Tylenol with a cold water. After a moment of contemplation over the red box, I swallow one more pill. It will be a long day.
I'm massaging the bridge of my nose to make the pain go away when there's a sudden knock on the front door. And it dawns on me quite quickly. Friday. I look in panic towards the door to my bedroom that hides a small bathroom. And the man taking a shower inside. Shit.
I go to open the door behind which is my Friday morning date that I completely forgot about. "Beth, hey. I-"
"You won't believe what happened!" Bethany barges in with a sack of croissants from the local bakery, briefly walking backwards so she doesn't accidentally lose me from her overly enthusiastic sight. "You know how Janet's been playing tennis for years? I mean, you probably don't, but she has. So she offered to teach me. And I was like, yeah, why not, you know? And I was really bad at it at first. Like the first hour was really pathetic. But then I-"
