Hollywood Confessions by Gemma Halliday

Author:Gemma Halliday [Gemma Halliday]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2011-05-24T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

I had to stop doing this. Sleeping with my boss was a bad thing. A very bad thing.

I mean, not that it had been bad. It hadn’t. It had been nice. Oh-so very nice, all night long.

I looked over at Felix’s face in the glow of the pink numbers from my Hello Kitty clock. It was just before dawn but he was out cold, snoring softly in the dark.

Felix snored.

I don’t know why, but that bit of information made me smile. Maybe because I suddenly felt like I was in on some inside joke shared just between the two of us.

I rolled over, turning toward his sleeping form. His features were soft, giving me a rare glimpse of what he might look like if he wasn’t yelling at me. His cheeks were dusted with just the finest hint of stubble, giving him a tough, manly air. His lips, a soft contrast, parted gently. It was tempting to lean over and ever so lightly kiss them.

But I was afraid to wake him up.

I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when we both faced each other in the light of day again, but none of the scenarios currently running through my head were ones I was dying to play out. Maybe he’d been serious last night when he said he thought about me, that maybe he even had feelings for me. Or maybe he’d just been caught up in the moment. The one thing I knew for sure was that Felix was my boss. We’d been down this fling road before, and it had dead-ended. Only this time, my job was on the line.

So instead of leaning over and sampling Felix’s lips like every hormone in my body urged me to, I silently slipped out from under the sheets and pulled a T-shirt over my head. I stepped into a pair of pink fuzzy slippers and shuffled out to the kitchen, hoping the vandals had left my coffee pot intact.

I tiptoed over the mess of broken dishes, finally locating Mr. Coffee. His carafe had been smashed to smithereens against my linoleum, but I pulled a cooking pot from the sink and, after taping Mr. Coffee’s sensor down, it worked fine to catch the coffee. I found the only two cups left whole—a chipped “Journalists do it on the front page” mug and one souvenir glass from the Santa Cruz Boardwalk—and sent the machine percolating, the heavenly scent of coffee filling the room.

Between the sprinklers, Gary banging on my door and Felix last night, I think I’d slept a total of seven hours in the last three days. I wondered how long a person could live on caffeine alone.

Not, mind you, that I was complaining at all about the lack of sleep I’d gotten last night. Last night had been an evening well spent. In fact I would gladly live on caffeine for the rest of my life if I could spend every night like that. I felt a goofy grin snake across my face as I watched my pot fill with coffee.

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