Crumbling Cakes

Part II

Sebastian Ronaldo McLoughlin stood rigidly above me. When I first met him I nearly embarrassed myself by openly salivating. He was broad, he was magnificent, his face was carved by angels, he was... a huge asshole. The horny bird in me fell to her untimely death the moment he opened his mouth. I had no idea he was the guy I'd talked on the phone with.

To say that my boss had a temper was a major understatement. He was curt and cold. Rarely did he praise anyone for a job well done, and if he did it was with the barest of smiles. A slight tilt of his chin down. Needless to say for the seven months I've been in his employment, that chin tilt had never once been pointed in my direction.

Because I, Dalia Romanov, was a major fuck up. A curse really; everything I touched turned to shit, I blamed my mother for that. 

I stared up at my boss, taking him in.

Sebastian had this messy halo of auburn hair. It was the perfect dark shade for a man, like burnt cinnamon. At one point I fantasized running my hand through it and pulling it hard during sex. At some more vague point after being in his company, it evolved to hate sex, which in my experience can be even more wonderful if done right.

That fantasy lasted a whole ten minutes. His first words to me were and I quote, "There's a tear in your jeans. What, did you crawl here? Don't ever come in like that again." This was after he stared me down like he was cataloging what piece of fruit was least rotten. So, the boss was a gorgeous creature out of anyone's reach in my eyes, and I was apparently fermenting fruit in his. Such is my life.

Between you and I, people have way more fun on fermenting fruit anyway, amirite?

Be that as it may, the boss' face was currently turning a lovely shade of tomato. With every passing second, he was broaching beet territory. Or the color of that half smooshed rose by his left foot. I wasn't going to point out either fact to him since I was laying on the floor in his beautiful cake.

I'm not sure of how tall he is but I know he's taller than average. At this moment from my angle flat on my back and his feet on either side of my head, he looked like a giant. One that was about to have his head erupt like Mount St. Helen.

I did that to people. Frustrating someone to the point of spontaneous combustion was a gift of mine, just ask my ex.

Unfortunately, this time, judging by the clenched fists and ticking jaw, frustrated was more like enraged.

"Dalia." His voice was low. Dangerously low. I was aware of the deep shit I was currently in. Worse part in all of it was I couldn't even defend myself. Not without talking about her. And the knowledge of her would pretty much end my non-existing prospects permanently. At least in this area.

Seeing him so angry and knowing how royally I've messed up, not to mention my close call with the red-haired devil that led to this mess, I felt an urge that I had long mastered ages ago. Life's constant double finger salute in my direction has finally cracked my limit. I couldn't stop my throat from closing or the pressure that built around my eyes.

Next thing I knew I was bawling. Tears were gushing out of my eyeballs like a fire hydrant that was hit by a semi.

In. Front. Of. My. Boss.

The man I had vowed to show no weakness.

I was mortified, bruised from my cake slip and slide, burned from being scolded nonverbally, and possibly looking at jail time. I mean hello, I just destroyed 15K merchandise that belonged TO THE FREAKING SENATOR! Not to mention the semi breaking and entering after work hours, I didn't exactly have clearance to come and go as I please.