Boss I Love To Hate Read online

  I felt like a stalker.

  As the time moved closer to five, quitting time, my stomach churned. I wanted to think of an excuse to see her again. Catch a movie. Have dinner. Shit, staring contest. Any-damn-thing.

  Wasn’t this Karma for all the broken hearts I’d left scattered around the city? This was what I got for dating girls that I never truly liked.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. I hated not feeling like myself.

  Again, I tried to think of an excuse to keep her here, but I hadn’t asked her to work after-hours for a while. She knew everything on my schedule and all the big deals I was working on. There was nothing on the pipeline.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I knew I was acting like a little pussy who kept thinking about her pussy.

  “OH MY GOD!” Sonia rushed through the doors, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing. “What the hell, Brad?” She stared me down like she was about to jump on me and wrap her arms around my neck.

  That would be fine as long as her legs were wrapped around my waist. Pissed off Sonia, nervous Sonia, now fucking angry-as-hell Sonia. I decided the hottest one was the angry firecracker in front of me.

  “Why would you agree to our monthly dinner?”

  “What?” I quirked an eyebrow. Monthly dinner? My mind went blank.

  “Aunt Chelsey.” She lifted both eyebrows. “Ring any bells? Because I don’t remember her inviting you to family dinner. That doesn’t ring any bells on my end.”

  Laughter escaped me. Of course, she wouldn’t remember. She had been drunk beyond oblivion that night.

  “It was your idea.”

  She slapped her head and rested one hand on her hip. “Of course it was.” She groaned. “But why the hell would you agree to it when you knew I wouldn’t remember?”

  “Have you met your aunt Chelsey?”

  The woman hadn’t looked like she understood what the word no meant.

  She groaned again. “You’re only my friend, okay?” She gave me a pointed stare. “They think otherwise, but these people are my family, so remember, you’re only my friend. I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

  “Sure thing.” I smirked, silently fist-pumping inside. It was like God had answered my silent prayer because this was my way in.

  She glared at me. “Wipe that smug smile off your face.”

  “You know your aunt did see us holding hands at the wedding, right?”

  She groaned louder.

  “And kissing,” I added, trying to minimize my amusement.

  She rubbed her temples with two fingers. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m never drinking again. Ever.”

  I chuckled. “Why not? You’re quite cute and affectionate when you’re drunk.”

  God, she was adorable. I’d never noticed how she bit her lip when she was frustrated, but now, I could commit to memory all her mannerisms.

  “You …” She pointed. “… shut up. I’ll meet you at seven.”

  She turned to leave, but my question stopped her.

  “Do you want me to pick you up?” I stood, waiting behind her, feeling anxious and eager and excited, all at once.

  Who is this guy? I didn’t fucking recognize him. With women, I was never anxious. It had always been the other way around.

  She flipped around and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “Sure, whatever, fine.”

  Not exactly the reaction a guy wanted. But I wasn’t deterred.

  As soon as she shut the door behind her, my butt dropped to the chair, and I grinned. Guessed I didn’t have to make an excuse to spend more time with her after all.

  Chapter 15

  Sonia

  Brad never made me nervous. Not his fancy, swanky car or his gorgeous looks. He’d always been the BILK to me—a self-centered, pompous ass who didn’t care about anyone or anything other than himself. But, since I’d seen him with his nieces, my opinion of him had already started to shift. And, now, as he jumped out of his car to open my car door, nervous butterflies stirred in my belly.

  “Where to?” he asked, giving me a once-over. He’d never done that before. “You look nice.”

  I barely refrained from groaning in despair. He needed to stop.

  “Elmwood Park. It’ll take us thirty minutes to get there.” I proceeded to punch in my address in his car navigation.

  “Did you do something different with your hair?”

  I scrunched my eyebrows together. “Yeah, I pushed it up into an after-work, don’t give two shits bun.” I shook my head. “What’s up with you, Brad?”

  “What?” His eyes went to the road.

  “You’re being too …” I tried to search for the perfect word. “… nice. It’s weird. Cut it out.”

  He went quiet. No comebacks. No cutoffs. Just silence.

  Then, he said, “Maybe I want to be the nice guy for once.”

  I scoffed. “Since when?”

  “Since recently.”

  I sensed a tiny bit of hurt behind his tone.

  “And why would that be?” I was completely thrown off by his demeanor.

  “Because I don’t want to die a grumpy, old man. How about that?”

  This man wasn’t making a lick of sense.

  “Are you fatally ill, or is something up that you aren’t telling me?” I asked.

  We were stopped at a red light, and he turned to look at me, really look at me. “You said something the other day that made me rethink a lot of things.”

  I tried to jog my memory. “What things?”

  “About being nice for once. About nice guys.”

  I threw up both hands. “I was just kidding.” No, I hadn’t been, but still, this different Brad was a strange beast. I wasn’t used to this side of him.

  He jerked back, almost looking offended. “Are you saying you want me to be an asshole? Because that makes absolutely no sense.”

  “No. I don’t know.” I wanted this conversation over and done and shoved in the glove compartment.

  I stared at the traffic forming in front of us as he swerved onto the highway. I just wanted things to be normal between us, which meant him being his dickish self and me giving it back to him.

  Silent minutes ticked by, and I watched the clock, knees bouncing, like a kid waiting to get to their destination, asking, Are we there yet? Are we? Are we?

  Brad was the first to break the silence. “Is there anything to be aware of, things that should be off topic for tonight?” He stared at the road straight ahead, never turning to me, as though he were talking to the windshield. “Strong political or religious views, for example?”

  “Well, just that my family is too Catholic, for lack of a better word. They believe abortion should be illegal and all the other things far rights believe. We go to church almost every Sunday together. They are the over-the-top Italian family. Lots of hugging and kissing and talking over each other. My parents come from a big family. I come from a family of eight and that’s the average. And my extended family is insane. It’s like all my aunts were trying to top each other by procreating.”

  “Interesting.” He turned to me then, almost smiling. “I want to know a little more about your immediate family before I’m thrown into the fire. Tell me about them.”

  I eyed him. “Really? This is just dinner to placate my aunt.”

  “Just answer the question,” he snapped.

  And the bossy boss man was back. I’d take it.

  “There’s Marco, Anna, Laura, Rosa, and Stella. I’m the oldest, and then my parents just kept popping out more kids. Marco is a nurse. Anna and Laura go to the University of Michigan so they won’t be there. Rosa and Stella are in high school and hormonal as hell.”

  I gave him the lowdown on each of my aunts, Aunt Chelsey being the loudest and sweetest chick of the litter, and before I knew it, we were in front of the house.

  “Anything else?” He turned off the engine, reached for the door handle, and pushed open the door. One foot was already out of the car.

  “Oh, and my father hate
s you.” I shrank into myself. It was mostly my fault, being the child who shared almost every detail of her life to her parents.

  Brad scoffed and then shut his door. “Why?”

  I tried to shrug, though my face flushed pink. I could feel the warmth, as though a heating pad were placed on the apple of my cheeks. “Because I complain about you nonstop, and you’re kind of a dick to me.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m trying to change,” he pointed out.

  I sighed. Maybe it was a good thing he wanted to better himself. I just hoped it had nothing to do with me.

  “Duly noted.” I opened my door and couldn’t jump out of the car fast enough.

  We strolled to the front door, and his hand awkwardly fell to the small of my back as I rang the doorbell. The noise and commotion of people talking and laughing could be heard from outside.

  I pushed his hand off my back and patted his shoulder. “Good luck. If you survive this, I’ll marry you,” I joked, embarrassed that had fallen out of my mouth. If I wanted normal, I couldn’t be joking like this. Am I flirting? Shit, maybe I was still drunk from two days ago.

  The door flew open, and my mother’s smiling face greeted us. “Sonia!” She pulled me into an embrace so quickly that I tripped over my own two feet.

  Seriously? I’d just seen this woman last week.

  She held my cheeks between her two hands and squeezed, making my lips puff out like a fish, before leaning down to kiss my cheeks.

  My mother was a big woman with hips that didn’t lie and hair that was short and with curls that were teased like we were still in the eighties. She’d been stick skinny in her younger years, but she had grown into her skin, the more children she had and the more pasta she’d made.

  When her head tilted up to take in Brad, her eyes lit up. “Hello, boss man turned boyfriend. Come on in.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I groaned.

  She ignored me and pulled him in, holding his cheeks so that his lips puffed out like a puffer fish, too. “Such a skinny man. Does your mama feed you?” She pressed her cheek to his cheek. Then, she started feeling his biceps for more meat and frowned. “You need to be eating more pasta, but don’t you worry; I have cooked a feast for tonight.”

  When she linked her arms around his, I left him to the wolves. Maybe this would cure the weirdness between us.

  “I’m Lydia, and let me introduce you to our clan.”

  “Sonia!” Rosa and Stella rushed toward me. They were Irish twins, born eleven months apart. There were days when I couldn’t tell them apart with their silky, shoulder-length brown hair, their same brown eyes—my father’s—and their similar choice in clothing—Hollister hoodies and Vans.

  “We made the school play.” Stella leaned against the couch and crossed her ankles.

  “And I’m second chair,” Rosa added, almost jumping up and down.

  Stella grabbed my hand and pulled me to the couch, and they began to tell me about the play, who had gotten cast as whom, about their hot-to-trot theater teacher, and all that was high school drama–related.

  Like me, they were late bloomers and weren’t dating anyone seriously. Must be a Russo thing.

  When I peered over at Brad, all the aunties and my mother were grilling him.

  Aunt Kim went up on tiptoes to touch his hair. “Is that a natural curl?”

  “Doesn’t he look like a young John Travolta and James Dean mixed into one?” Aunt Clara asked beside him.

  They were studying him like a new animal they’d never encountered.

  A part of me debated on saving him, but when he caught my eye and smiled, I shrugged and decided he was a big boy. Plus, a little revenge wouldn’t hurt.

  “You guys make the cutest couple,” Aunt Clara said.

  I shouted back, “We’re not together!”

  They completely ignored me and prattled on about how adorable our future children would be.

  “Like I said, we are not together.” I rubbed at my forehead, feeling exasperated already.

  “That’s not what it looked like at the wedding,” Aunt Chelsey added. Then, she proceeded to whisper to her sisters so I couldn’t hear her.

  “It’s called too much to drink and just a date and nothing serious,” I muttered, ambling to the kitchen.

  The thing about my aunts was that they were relentless, so I gave up. Temporarily.

  I went straight to the fridge where I knew our boxed wine was waiting for me.

  My mother was a fan, a lush for boxed wine. Any kind of wine actually, but because she liked it cold, she’d get the boxed kind because she was convinced the taste lasted longer.

  “Poor guy. He’s never going to make it out of there alive.” Marco sat at the kitchen island, eating a slice of tiramisu.

  Out of all of my siblings, Marco had the biggest sweet tooth, yet he was stick skinny. He’d been a lanky teenager and never changed as he grew into adulthood. You wouldn’t have guessed that the skinny gene ran in our family, judging by the size of my father’s Santa Claus belly. Or maybe it was because my father had married an Italian woman who thought pasta was God’s gift.

  “He’s fine.” I tipped the box to pour some wine into my glass. All the way to the top.

  Marco chuckled, and his fork stopped midair. “If he makes it through tonight, I might actually like him for you.”

  “Did you meet him already?” I shut the fridge and staggered over to my brother, sitting by him on a barstool by the long kitchen island that split the room.

  “Not yet. I snuck past the herd to get a piece of dessert before dinner.”

  “And we’re not dating,” I huffed, irritated and already tired of repeating the words.

  There was no doubt I’d have to repeat it a dozen more times before the night was through, though it wouldn’t matter. When he no longer came around, my family would get the hint.

  “In the beginning, Jeff used to be attached to your hip. And then he stopped going to our monthly dinners altogether. He smartened up.” Marco pushed his fork through the tiramisu and slid it in his mouth.

  “He always had to work.” The muscles in my neck tightened. I felt the need to stick up for him, though I wasn’t sure why. Jeff didn’t deserve my loyalty. That was for sure.

  Marco lifted two fingers in air quotes. “‘Work.’ Yeah, sure. During almost every monthly dinner. How coincidental.”

  I thought about the new information I’d learned Saturday night. Jeff had been working all right. Little had I known, he’d been working on my replacement.

  “I never liked that guy.” And Marco never had. He wasn’t overly talkative, but when he said something, it meant something.

  “Why?” I settled my wineglass on the marble island and grabbed Marco’s fork.

  “There was something about him.”

  I sliced the tiramisu with my fork and stuffed it into my mouth. As soon as the cake touched my tongue, I sighed. Heaven on a plate. “You know I hate when you say that. What does that even mean?” I’d never asked Marco to elaborate, but seeing that I was obsessed with my ex-boyfriend, I needed to know. Did others know he was cheating all along? Could I have predicted our end? What signs did I miss? How could I guarantee it never, ever happens again?

  Marco peered over at me, his face thoughtful. “You were way too in love with him.”

  I laughed. “Well, duh. We were in love.”

  He shook his head and then retrieved his fork from me. “No, I mean, you were way more in love with him than he was with you.”

  There was Marco in all his honesty, saying how he had seen it.

  “No, I wasn’t.” It hurt to hear it, and I didn’t want to believe it, but it had to be true because I’d loved him so much that I couldn’t fathom leaving him. “Jeff was in love with me, too.” I stared blankly at the dessert and then picked up the wineglass, tightly gripping it within my fingertips. If I squeezed tighter, I would break the neck. It wasn’t exactly the neck I wanted to break, but it might help ease some of the
pain, the pain of finding out that my ex-boyfriend had cheated on me. “He did things for me, too. Wrote love letters, bought me nice dinners, surprised me with gifts …”

  Jeff used to talk about forever, how our children would look, how they would be legally blind because we both were.

  I swallowed hard because Marco was only speaking his mind, and deep down, I knew it was the truth because, if Jeff had loved me as much as I had loved him, he wouldn’t have left me.

  Marco bumped his shoulder against mine. “Hey.” He dipped his head closer to mine, getting eye to eye. “Stop overthinking things. It’s over.”

  I wished it were that easy.

  A low breath escaped me, and I smiled a little for his benefit. “How did you know? That he didn’t love me the same way?” So, I’d know not to do it again. To fall in love with a guy who wasn’t that into me.

  “It’s how you looked at him. Like he was your whole world, and you would do anything to keep him in it.”

  I sighed and bit my thumbnail, thinking deeply. “Isn’t it always that way though? When people are in love, there is one person who always loves the other person a little more? I mean, look at Dad and how he looks at Mom. You can’t tell me their love is even.” I wanted an excuse, someone to tell me it was okay that I had fallen in love with Jeff and at one time was fully and deeply committed to him. That I wasn’t stupid and that it was okay if I fell in love again sometime in the future. Because I wanted to believe in a forever love after heartbreak, in a love that led to marriage and kids and endless happiness. I wanted to believe in love for me in the future and that my love life hadn’t ended with Jeff and that failed relationship.

  “See, that’s the thing.” His brow crinkled, and he absently tapped his fork against the plate. “Love is not even at any one time. Yeah, Dad dotes on Mom, but then once in a while, roles are reversed, and you can just tell Mom can’t get enough of Dad, as though he’s her world. It’s gross really.” He cringed.

  I was thrown back to when we’d caught Mom and Dad making out in the car, in our garage, windows fogged up, but thankfully, they were fully clothed.