The Official Guide to Marrying Your Boss Read online

  The Official Guide to Marrying Your Boss

  Mae Doyle

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Thank you!

  This is a work of art/fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events, or places is purely coincidental. Any persons appearing on the cover image for this book are models and do not have any connection to the contents of this story.

  All characters depicted in this work are unrelated consenting adults. This author assumes no responsibility for the use/misuse of this material.

  © 2020 Mae Doyle

  Chapter 1

  The only thing worse than getting a run in your tights?

  Getting one in your tights on the way to the first day of a new job. In the rain. On a chilly late November day. As I stood on the sidewalk reaching back to see how bad the run actually was, the entire city moved on around me.

  It felt like a fresh breeze from the arctic was blowing down main street, and it had everyone pulling their coats tight. While some people slowed down to toss spare change to the bell ringers, most hurried on, clutching their umbrellas like they were actually going to protect them against the miserable drizzle currently blanketing the city. One huge bus with a giant advertisement for a local vet now offering pet dental care drove by, distracting me for just a moment.

  That cat plastered on the side of the bus looked just like my cat from when I was little.

  I mean, it looked like he did when I was little. Not now.

  Shuddering at that visual, I pulled my coat tighter around me, wishing that one person would stop and magically offer me the exact size and style tights that I needed to make it through this day, but nobody even slowed down enough to look at me.

  I couldn’t blame them. The sky was a deep gray, not threatening snow as much as promising to dump a few inches on the city to shut it down before the afternoon was over.

  The last time that happened, I’d barely been out of college and spent the entire day after calling in to my job as a barista curled up in bed reading romance novels and drinking hot chocolate. Not that I was much older now, but thanks to my first official Big Girl Job, snuggling in flannel pjs and ignoring all incoming calls wasn’t on my to-do list.

  Sighing, I shook my head. Worrying about the weather and daydreaming about being in bed wasn’t going to make this any easier. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t avoid the run any longer, and I mentally prepared myself to turn and look at it.

  After all, it may not be that bad. I mean, really, there are runs, and then there are runs.

  I just hoped it was a regular, tiny, barely noticeable run that wouldn’t make my new boss think that I was any less competent than I’d led him to believe. Not that I really expected to meet him today, even though it was my first day. Nick Marshall was notorious for being…

  Let’s say curmudgeonly.

  That’s nicer than some of the other things that I’ve heard him called around town.

  But when you need a job, you need a job. And, fortunately or unfortunately for me, depending on how you look at it, I’d gotten a job at Marshall Medical.

  Yeah, not the most creative name ever, but that was why I was going there — to spice things up a bit. I’d hoped that my bright green raincoat would bring a little color to the day, but I wasn’t sure how much of a distraction it would be from the fact that I was probably going to show up tightless.

  “Okay, how are bad you?” I muttered, turning around and looking down at the back of my thigh. As I turned, I said a little prayer, not only to Jesus, but also Buddha and Allah.

  I wasn’t picky, I was desperate, and desperate times call for sending out Hail Mary’s to anyone who might not be so busy that they won’t listen.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t any denying it — the run was there, as noticeable as the Grand Canyon and just as shocking as my pale skin peeked through the black knit.

  Leave it to me to try to dress for the first day of work in a way that would impress and end up looking more like a stuffed sausage about to burst out of its casing.

  “No, no, no, no,” I said, rubbing the edge of the run with my finger like that was going to make it magically stitch itself back up. It didn’t, but at least it didn’t fray the edges. I was pretty sure that I’d heard somewhere that you can seal a run with clear nail polish, but I was just as likely to have a knife in my purse as I was to have nail polish.

  Then I started to panic that I did have a knife, and that I was going to take it with me into the building where I was more than convinced that someone would use a metal detector wand on me to make sure that I wasn’t a threat.

  Right. A five foot two threat who can’t even wear tights without getting a run in them.

  For a moment, I considered ditching the tights and using my eyeliner to draw a line up the back of my legs a la the fashionable wartime woman, but knowing my luck and my incredible lack of being able to draw a straight line without the help of a ruler and a T-square, it would probably end up looking more like the lines on an EKG.

  And not the flatlining lines, either. Normally, those were pretty panic-inducing, but right now, those would have been the good ones. It was how I felt, anyway.

  Like I was flatlining.

  “Damn these cheap tights,” I said, standing back up and shaking my head. I’d gotten them on sale 2 for $3, and while that had seemed like the kind of thrifty deal my grandmother would have appreciated, if she could see me now, she’d not only shake her head and roll over her in her grave, but also give me a very judgemental look.

  You all know the one.

  The one that tells you that she can’t believe that you’re actually in her bloodline.

  Yeah, that one.

  The last time she’d given me that look was when I failed my geometry final in high school because I was busy skipping studying to hang out on the roof with my then-boyfriend.

  Yes, I’d had to take the screen out of my bedroom door to get onto the roof, and yes, I’d dropped it down into the yard, which is how I got caught in the first place, but it had been worth it for a while.

  S’mores on the roof under the full moon with your boyfriend? I’m just saying that you shouldn’t knock it until you try it.

  Unfortunately, it ended up not the best decision for my future, as he’d dumped me when I tripped at prom and ripped my dress and I’d ended up having to take remedial geometry over the summer before starting college. I guess that when he said he wanted to see me in my underwear that night, he hadn’t meant that he wanted the entire school to see me in my underwear.

  He should have been more clear.

  Technically, he did see me in my underwear.

  Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turned my feet back to the imposing building in front of me. Nevermind that I had a run in my tights. Nevermind that I was now thinking about the mortal embarrassment I’d suffered when my
pink and blue polka dot underwear were on full display in front of the entire senior class.

  That was all behind me, and I was completely, one hundred percent, sure that nobody else would remember. After all, it had been years.

  We were all adults now, and I was headed into what was officially my first real adult job.

  Nothing could stop me now.

  Taking a deep breath to clear my head, I reached out and grabbed the worn handle of Marshall Medical. It hissed softly as it opened and I stepped inside, shimmying a little to shake all of the rain off of my rain jacket.

  It fell to the rug under me with a soft patter and I flipped down the hood, shaking my hair free from where I’d had it all tucked up and back. I’d just refreshed the red color, and while I didn’t think that a little mist would make it run, red molecules in hair dye are really big, which makes the color fade pretty quickly.

  It’s a fact. Science.

  Once I was satisfied that I wasn’t going to drip all over the floor and fall in front of everyone, I finally looked up and got the first good glance at where I was going to be working.

  And, let me tell you, it was a shock.

  Chapter 2

  Some people might say that it would have been wise of me to come check out the building where I’d be working before my first day, and they’d probably be right.

  But I hadn’t.

  And that was why, on a rainy Monday that was so cold it was the perfect day to never get out of a hot shower, I stood in the front door of Marshall Medical, my jaw dropping down to my waist.

  When my grandmother’s voice, reminding me that I would catch flies that way, popped into my head, I snapped my jaw shut, but I was still a little surprised.

  I guess you could say that I wasn’t expecting this.

  The rug I was standing on was the only soft thing in view. Under it a cold, white, tile floor extended straight out from the door to the receptionist desk, which was accented with stainless steel. Doors to the right and left of the lobby were painted white, giving the illusion that I had stepped into a very large spaceship.

  Overhead, there was bright track lighting installed in the ceiling that cast an unpleasant shade of yellow on the space. That, I decided, was going to be one of the first things I changed.

  Nobody working here was going to escape without looking like they had — at the very least — a mild case of jaundice. As the new creative consultant and planner for Marshall Medical, I figured that I should, at the very least, make sure that the staff here didn’t look like they had a collective disease.

  Straining my ears, I realized that there wasn’t a single sound in the building. Normally there’s piped music coming in from somewhere, and while it can drive you nuts after a while, at least it’s something.

  This place was just…crickets.

  Except not real crickets, because they would stand out against the white and stainless steel and probably get squashed right away.

  I shrugged off my jacket and folded it the best I could before laying it over my arm and walking up to the receptionist desk. The woman sitting there had been watching me since I walked in, but hadn’t cracked a smile.

  Her hair was cut short and was a mousy brown, her glasses looked like they belonged on someone older than her, and her mouth was puckered, like I’d just caught her sucking a lemon.

  Quickly, I glanced around her desk for the offending fruit, but there wasn’t anything that brightly colored within sight. Everything was a sad beige or oatmeal color, except for her stapler, which was stainless steel and shone so brightly that looking at it might cause someone to go blind.

  Big surprise there.

  “Hi, I’m Katie Harper,” I said, holding out my hand. The woman paused for a moment then reached out, giving my hand a quick squeeze before pumping hand sanitizer on her hands and rubbing them together.

  The smell burned my nose and I wanted to frown, but managed to keep my smile plastered to my face. This job? I needed this job.

  Like…really needed this job.

  I couldn’t keep crashing on my best friend’s couch any longer, and I obviously needed a bigger clothing budget if I was ever going to own tights that wouldn’t just fall to shreds at the first sign of strain.

  I was not going to be like my tights. Sure, this was stressful, but I’d done worse. I had more integrity than a pair of cheap tights.

  “I was expecting you,” the woman said, pushing herself up from her desk. She had on a black pencil skirt and a white blouse, making her look more like she belonged in an orchestra than being a reception desk. “I’m Linda Jones. Follow me and I’ll show you your office.”

  “Great, thank you!” My excitement was real. I’d been placed here by my temp agency aster a long search of something that involved more than washing dirty sheets at a hotel or slinging coffee at a coffee shop. Not that there was anything wrong with either of those jobs, mind you, but I wanted a real job.

  With benefits.

  I was more than willing to work for any company, even one as stodgy as this, if it meant being able to pay my bills and live on my own. And health insurance? Don’t even get me started on how amazing that sounded.

  And the fact that I’d get to do creative things all day instead of just sitting in a cube? Definitely a perk, just as long as they didn’t ask me to draw anything.

  Linda walked away from me, her black pumps clicking on the tile floor as she led the way to a door by her desk. “This is the main hall where you’ll be working,” she said, pulling hard on the door handle to open it.

  It looked stuck, and for a moment, I wanted to help, but then it popped open in her hand and she gestured for me to walk ahead of her.

  I did, only going as far as the first office door, which was shut, before stopping and turning back to her. There had to be half a dozen doors down the hall, all of them closed, and the air in here felt a bit stale.

  I sucked in a breath.

  “No windows in my office?” I asked, unable to keep some of the disappointment out of my voice.

  Linda glanced at me over her glasses, looking for all the world like an old schoolteacher who’s finally had enough of your shit. “No windows,” she confirmed. “But you’re not getting paid to sit and daydream all day anyway, so I can’t imagine that it’ll be a problem. Mr. Marshall said that you were to help with the creative side of the company, improve customer satisfaction, and help with any planning for events.”

  I nodded. That was exactly what I had been hired to do, and I had a pretty good feeling that I knew who had typed up the job description.

  “That’s me,” I said brightly. “And I can’t wait to get started. Are you the person who will be sending me my assignments? Or is there someone else?”

  Linda paused briefly before brushing past me and walking to the last door on the right, resting her hand on the handle. “You and I will be in direct contact, yes,” she said. “From time to time, if something goes wrong, you may hear from Dr. Marshall, but don’t expect it to be something regular that occurs.”

  “I don’t,” I told her, which was true. I hadn’t heard anything from the man, and the temp agency that had placed me had told me not to worry if I never met him. He was aloof, they’d said.

  But Linda acted more like he was God’s gift to the company.

  “He must be pretty busy, huh?” I asked, following her into my new office. Once inside the door, I stopped short, surprise running through me, my question completely forgotten.

  There was a single light overhead, and I could hear it buzzing softly as it emitted a soft yellow glow. No window, just like Linda had promised. Instead, someone had tacked up an inspirational poster, but Linda walked over and pulled it down while I watched.

  “No personal effects in the office. This isn’t a daycare,” she said, crumpling it up and tossing it into the stainless steel trashcan that was sitting beside the metal desk and chair in the center of the room.

  A computer was set up on one side of the desk,
there was a stack of notebooks on the other, and a mouse pad between them. It was red, which surprised me, and I leaned over to look at it.

  Marshall Medical Saves Lives.

  To the point, sure, but not exactly exciting.

  Linda waited until I’d looked at everything in the room, which took less than thirty seconds, and then cleared her throat. “You do have a phone, I’m assuming?”

  “Of course.” I patted my pocket where my phone was stashed, making sure that I hadn’t left it at Tiffany’s townhouse. It was there, and it gave a little vibrate when I touched it.

  Ooh, a message. I couldn’t wait to read that later when I wasn’t under Linda’s watchful eye.

  “Dr. Marshall is hosting an event here on Friday and he needs it catered. You will be in charge of finding the right company for the job, hiring them, making sure they get paid, and setting up and breaking down the event. You have a budget, of course, in that top notebook.” She paused, like she couldn’t decide if she’d been speaking too fast for me. “Any questions?”

  “Nope.” I said, excited to actually start working. I caught the look on her face and quickly added, “thank you, ma’am.”

  She gave a stiff nod. “You need to know that how you’re dressing is completely inappropriate.”

  My face flushed and I glanced down at my outfit. Besides my tights, which were a completely lost cause and going in the trash as soon as she left me, I had on a bright red skirt, black heels, and a black cowl neck sweater. The sweater was probably the warmest thing that I owned, which was why I’d chosen it.