Page 2 of One Bossy Date

“Hello,” I greeted the man kindly (and professionally). “Can I help you?”

“Yes. A coffee, please,” he said without turning around, his dark voice rumbling like the thunder outside. “Black.”

Huh? Hello?Did he seriouslynotnotice that this was no longer a coffee shop?

“Uh…sorry, sir?” I asked, trying to catch his very narrowed attention. Obviously, in his haste, he hadn’t had the chance to really take in his surroundings and notice thecatmagazines,catcollars,catbowls, and customcattags.

In his defense, my shelves were drearily empty at the moment, except for the shelf with cute pale-yellow ceramic cups.

But what about the new cat sign outside? Okay, he probably missed it in his haste when he stumbled into my shop. No, my leniency had nothing to do with his physique and I didn’t feel the need to look at his averted face at all. I couldn’t care less if it went with the rest of his appearance or not.

He sneezed—oh, he was human after all—and Twinky flinched as she grazed against my leg.

“Bless you. Be right back,” I said to the man who was now busy with his black umbrella, trying calmly to close it.

I reached down, picked up the pedigree fluffball that was Twinky, and hugged her close.

With only a few steps, I took her to the back of the shop where I had my grooming room, as well as a separate area where my furry darlings could hang out during the day. I called it “my kitty lounge,” (a name that Jim, my “girl for everything,” always made fun of) because really, it was a tiny, cramped storeroom with an old red couch and anot-high-end counter along the opposite wall for cat cages and supplies. It only had a small window facing the back courtyard, which remained shut at all times so the cats couldn’t go roaming.

“Here you are. A queen’s bed for a queen kitty.” Twinky meowed and gradually settled onto her cushioned bed, and I quickly closed the door behind me—making sure I’dactuallyclosed it this time.

At least Twinky was the kind of cat who kept to herself, slept all day, and didn’t mind being around the others. There were a few I had to keep in their cages until their owners fetched them, and that made my heart sore.

Now I was ready to face the—somewhat irritating—man, and I hurried back to the counter.

He was where I’d left him, still turned away. It seemed that he’d gotten his umbrella under control though.

“Okay, I’m back,” I said kindly.

No response.

With a shake of his damp hair, he wiped his shoulders to rid himself of the thousand droplets of rain that had accumulated on his coat. Along with the rainwater and leaves that had blown in during the brief time the door had been open, there were now full-on puddles soaking my freshly cleaned floor. My mind swiveled toward the mop I left standing in the grooming room, and for a heartbeat I seriously considered putting the cleaning utensil in his hands. It was one thing to let moisture into my shop when I opened the door. It was quite another to thoughtlessly shake raindrops on my floor like a wet dog!

However, when he turned around to face me, any and all thoughts of him dirtying my floor fell away, becausegirl…the man was eye candy and welcome to wet my floor (and other parts, wink-wink)anyday of the week.

Slightly shocked for no apparent reason, other than his immediately obvious good looks, I stood frozen, taking him in, my mouth gaping like a goldfish. He was tall, but I had already noticed that during his dramatic entrance. Now I could see him filling out the black coat in a way that made my mouth water. He was built enough to balance out his height, and muscled enough for his size to be clearly noticed by any living woman.

Looking around, he ran his fingers through his hair, and it fell into place perfectly when he moved his hand away. Just for the record, his dark-brown hair, even after being ruffled by the wind and rain, already lookedimmaculate. The strands swirled on top of his head like creamy chocolate in a cup—and the best part? There was even a strand or two of graying hair swept up in it. I wondered how old he was. He couldn’t have been much more than forty years old. Maybe mid-forties. His eyes, now darting across the room in confusion, were just as chocolaty, with a hint of golden-caramel swirl.

“Shit, what happened here?” he said, and I found myself momentarily at a loss for words, trying to swing my mind back to reality.

Ooo-kay.

Hugeand unfriendlydick energy.

“Nothing ‘happened’ here, per se…” I started to explain but didn’t get very far.

“Where’s the coffee shop?” he interrupted me. Suddenly the mop was an option again, striking good looks or not.

“They closed a few weeks ago. I’ve opened my boutique here now,” I said as confidently and patiently as I could manage.

The second his piercing eyes met mine, my knees nearly gave out.

His gaze narrowed slightly, taking me in from head to hands, causing my nipples to tighten into stiff little peaks, and my fingers twiddled tentatively around each other on the counter. Disappointed, he glanced out at the street again, clearly not willing to head back out into the rain just yet.

“How unfortunate,” he grumbled.

I tried to ignore the loosely offensive comment. I wasn’t going to let his grumpy attitude deter me. It was too dark outside, so I decided to let it go and bring a little sunshine in his obviously cold, dark, and cheerless life. Just when I had a perfect line ready to go, his gaze fell on the book,My Boss’s Big D.