Page 121 of One Bad Idea

"Because you're still here."

I stared up at him. "Wasn't I supposed to be?"

He was still frowning. "It's almost seven."

Yes. It was.But I'd attended two meetings today on his behalf, and I'd been planning to finish compiling the notes while everything was still fresh in my brain.

Plus, I didn'twantto go home.

At home, I had that embarrassing habit of falling into bed and thinking of him in ways that were decidedly unprofessional. Plus, I'd been planning to leave something on his desk, but had been waffling about whether or not I should.

It was a black T-shirt that featured a cartoonish white square labeled as Fe – the periodic element for iron. The square was holding an electric guitar and banging its long-haired cartoonish head. Underneath the illustration were the words, "Heavy Metal" in bold, gothic script.

I loved the shirt. And Jaden would look great in it, too. Still, I'd been hesitant to give it to him.

Leaving clothing seemed a little personal, maybe too personal, considering that he was my boss. But I'd been trying to mimic that whole country-music sock thing with something similar.

Unfortunately, Jaden didn't like country music. He liked metal. I knew this from the one time I'd been inside his car, where heavy metal seemed to be the only thing on his stereo.

In reply to his comment about it being nearly seven o'clock, I explained, "I was working on the notes."

"What notes?"

"From today's marketing meeting."

"Forget it," he said. "Go home."

Now I was frowning, too. Normally if someone's boss tells them to go home on a Friday night, that was a good thing, well unless you're getting fired, that is.

I didn't think I was getting fired, but his attitude was seriously confusing.

I asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah. You're still here."

I felt my eyebrows furrow. That was like the third time he'd said it. And by now, it was getting hard to not take it personally.

I pushed myself up to a standing position. "What is it?"

"What's what?"

I was tired of beating around the bush. "Well, if you weren't my boss, I'd say, 'What's your problem?'" I hesitated. "But since youaremy boss, I'll just ask…" I bit my lip. I had no idea how to phrase it.

What have I done to irritate you now?

Why are you in such a rotten mood?

And why are you giving me that look?

In the end, I only shrugged and let the non-professional phrasing speak for itself.

At least I hadn't asked, "What's yourfreakingproblem?"

Or worse.

He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "Go on."

My teeth clenched. This was just like him, making me finish even though I didn't know what to say.