Chapter 2: Playing Both Sides

Whether it was too late or not, I was already standing in Marcus’s office.

To be fair, Marcus is stupidly attractive.

Broad shoulders. Tapered waist. And his butt…

Didn’t get a look at it today, but not that I’d ever admit it, the guy could moonlight as a jeans model.

"Ahem."

A sharp throat-clear snapped me out of my daydream.

"Did you need something?" Marcus didn’t even look up, just flipped through his files at a glacial pace.

I pasted on my best suck-up smile, even though my voice came out way too squeaky. "Boss, did you see the letter I sent today…"

"I saw it."

His words were ice cold, like always.

I got anxious but tried not to show it.

"Even if you saw it, it’s no big deal, I just wanted to…"

"Wanted what?"

He closed the file and, somehow, he was wearing gold-rimmed glasses I didn’t even see him put on.

He responded fast.

Of course I wanted to take back my resignation.

If he lays me off, I get a fat check.

But am I supposed to be interested in his abs under that shirt, or how perfect his butt looks in that chair?

Completely unreasonable.

"Didn’t I say I’d think about it?" Marcus finally looked up, his gaze sharp. "Are you really in that much of a hurry?"

"Yes." It slipped out before I could stop myself.

I took a step closer, closing the gap between us.

"Boss, I’m really in a hurry."

Marcus froze, a faint blush creeping up his ears.

"Alright, got it. I’ll think about it a bit more."

I softened my voice: "Boss, there’s no need to think anymore."

At this close, I watched his Adam’s apple bob. Damn, that’s sexy.

"What is it?"

His voice rose, snapping me back.

"I’ve decided to withdraw it. I wrote it just for fun, accidentally sent it to you." I fiddled with the zipper on my jacket, wishing I could crawl under his desk and disappear. "I didn’t really mean it."

He frowned, and I realized he’d been mulling this over forever and still hadn’t approved it. Even after I hunted him down, he needed more time. Now that I wanted to stay, I finally exhaled. Wasn’t this just him not wanting to let me go?

But honestly, even if the job was easy, the benefits were killer, and he was outrageously good-looking—that’s the real issue—I just couldn’t keep up. My side hustle was enough to survive, and I was exhausted from late-night writing. I just wanted to quit and rest for a while.

The room smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. I kept fiddling with my jacket zipper, hoping I didn’t look as much of a wreck as I felt. He looked like a GQ cover model; I was lucky if my messy bun stayed put.