Perfect Boss by Penny Wylder

Author:Penny Wylder [Wylder, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-04-09T16:00:00+00:00

I speed through the drive home, probably faster than recommended. Once at my apartment complex, I leave my keys with the valet downstairs and head straight up to the penthouse loft I share with Cannon—my roommate, my coworker, my close friend since law school. Yes, on our salaries we could have both afforded our own places years ago. But not one quite as lux as this apartment, right downtown, a five minute walk to our office, central to all the restaurants and bars that we love —and the penthouse suite in a luxury building, complete with valets, maids, butlers, the whole nine yards.

Yes, we're spoiled. But we also just like having roommates. At least this way, we joke, if one of us chokes while we’re eating, we have a chance at getting rescued. Or if we slip and fall in the bathtub, someone may find us before our bodies get too gross.

We might have a slightly morbid sense of humor about our roommate situation.

But today I'm not in the mood for Cannon's usual jokes. By the time the elevator dings open straight onto our floor, I'm barely keeping it together. My eyes burn and my throat is tight, and all I want to do is retreat to my bedroom and cry my eyes out, preferably with an enormous container of Ben and Jerry's. But when I step out of the elevator onto our floor, I see Cannon has taken the pint I bought out of the fridge and helped himself to it on the couch. He's more than halfway through the container already, and he's watching that stupid cowboy show I hate.

It's the lightweight straw that broke the camel's back.

Without explanation, without being able to say why I'm so emotional (because as close as we are, I didn't tell Cannon about any of these fertility plans I've been pursuing) I burst into tears then and there.

Cannon spins around, his expression comically surprised. He's handsome as hell, but right now he looks like a goof with the Ben and Jerry's spoon hanging out of his mouth, and his dark eyes wide as saucers beneath his artfully messy black shock of hair.

"Are you all right?" he asks through his mouthful of ice cream, so it sounds more like "Ah oo awright?"

Somehow that only makes me cry harder.

He drops the spoon and shoves off the couch, hurrying toward me. In seven years of knowing each another, and four years of living together in this very apartment, I don't think I have ever cried in front of him. Not once. I usually lock myself in my bathroom on the rare occasion when I get emotional, which isn't very often, and usually over some stupid work spat or problem.

Nothing like this.

He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in his tight, familiar embrace. Cannon gives the best hugs. I never tell him that because it would only stoke his ego, but he does. He knows just how tightly to squeeze to let you know he's really there, that he really cares about you.

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