Page 30 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)

Christmas Eve passed in quiet, calculated normalcy. Chantelle had insisted on staying in this year—just the two of us, a low-key dinner, chilling in front of the TV. “No traveling, no obligations, no small talk with people I don’t care about,” she’d said with a small, satisfied smile as she poured herself a glass of Merlot. “Just peace.”

And it was peaceful, in a way. Her apartment was still and warm, bathed in the soft shimmer of candlelight. The air was thick with the scent of roasted duck and winter spices, curling into the corners of the room. Outside, the city lay hushed beneath a fresh blanket of snow, the streetlights casting a dim golden haze over the silent roads, muffling the world beyond our windows. The whole evening should have been perfect. But something was missing—a piece of me I didn’t even know I’d lost.

It started small. A fleeting thought, a trick of the mind. As I set the table, I placed two wine glasses down and, without thinking, imagined someone else beside me. Someone who would have nudged my arm playfully and shot me a teasing look. “Look at you, Mr. Fancy. What, no champagne? No fireworks?”

The thought almost made me smile.I shook it off, poured the wine, and sat down.

Chantelle talked as we ate—something about a PR disaster with a major client she represented, a petty fight between two of her friends. I responded like I cared, but I wasn’t really there. The whole time, my fingers itched for my phone without me even realizing it, a restless urge I shoved down before it could take shape.

Later, we curled up on the couch, watching a movie, but even that felt off.

“I don’t get it,” Chantelle said, swirling the last of her wine lazily as Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban flared across the screen, the blue glow from the television casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. “Why do people love this so much? It’s so… juvenile. It’s even worse than those movies about a magic ring.”

A dry laugh escaped me but I didn’t answer. I knew many people like Chantelle—people who only found value in things tethered to immediate reality, who outgrew the magic of fantasy and never looked back. Who was it that said stories of imagination tend to upset those without one? I couldn’t remember. But it always made me wonder what happened to people like that—what moments in their lives chipped away at them until they let their inner child die.

Then I remembered how Chris’s face had lit up when he mentioned wanting to visit the Wizarding World that one time—how he’d rattled off some trivia, laughing at himself for being a ‘nerd about it.’ I could hear him in my head now, making some dumb joke that would have had me rolling my eyes, biting back a grin. I had the sudden, ridiculous urge to book a first flight to Orlando just to take him there, just to see his eyes light up the way they always did when he was excited about something.

My hand crawled toward my phone.

‘Tell me you’re a Gryffindor without telling me you’re a Gryffindor.’

The message sat there, cursor blinking. All I had to do was hit send. Instead, I stared at it for too long, then sighed and deleted it.

The rest of the movie dragged. Chantelle barely watched, scrolling through her phone, making an occasional comment I didn’t respond to. I reached for my phone again. Opened my last conversation with Chris. Scrolled up. Stopped myself.

For fuck’s sake . This was getting pathetic. I needed to pull it together. Chris was only a friend. That was all. And I was fine.

Except I wasn’t. Because it was Christmas, and I was sitting on my couch with the woman I was supposed to marry in three weeks, and I had never felt more alone.

Chantelle shifted beside me, resting her head against my shoulder. “You’re quiet tonight,” she murmured.

I gave a weak smile, pressed a kiss to her hair. “Just a headache.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, but she didn’t push.

We used to talk more. We used to fill the quiet. Now, it stretched between us, thick and heavy, settling into the spaces where conversation used to be, where closeness used to be. And neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge how little we had to say.

* * *

Melissa’s townhouse smelled like baby powder and vanilla, the air warm and slightly humid from whatever she’d been cooking before I arrived. The second she opened the door, barefoot and wearing an oversized sweater, a big smile stretched across her face.

“Zac! It’s so good to see you!”

I huffed a laugh, stepping inside and shaking off the cold drizzle clinging to my coat. “Good to see you too, Mel.”

She pulled me into a quick hug, eyeing the glossy white gift bag in my hand. “What’s this?”

“For the baby.” I handed it over, watching as she peeked inside and pulled out the oversized plush teddy bear I’d picked up on a whim. It was ridiculously large, soft to the point of being obscene, and completely impractical.

“Oh my God,” Melissa breathed, cradling it against her chest. “This is adorable.”

“You said he likes soft things,” I muttered, feeling unreasonably self-conscious.

“He does. I love it.” She beamed, then turned and beckoned me to follow. “Come on, I was just about to put him down for a nap. Coffee?”

“Please.”

We moved into the living room, where a bassinet sat next to the couch, a pale blue blanket shifting slightly with the baby’s tiny breaths. Melissa set the bear down, then leaned over the bassinet and scooped up a bundle of soft cotton and warmth, cooing under her breath.

“Meet baby Connor. Connor, this is Uncle Zac.”

“Hi there,” I said awkwardly, looming over them like a mountain.

“Can you hold him while I get the coffee?”

I stiffened. “No, I—”

But she was already pressing the baby into my arms. I barely caught him in time, heart lurching at the sudden weight of him. He was so small. Warm. His tiny face scrunched up in protest before settling, one hand balling into a fist against my chest.

Melissa smirked. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t drop him.”

“Very reassuring.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me standing there, holding an infant like he was made of glass. I’d never wanted kids. Never saw the appeal. I didn’t know what to do with them, how to talk to them. I didn’t even like them. And yet…

The baby made a soft sound, snuggling deeper against me. His scent—milk and something faintly sweet—rose up, triggering some deep, primal part of me I hadn’t known existed. Before I realized it, I’d adjusted my arms, holding him more securely. The feeling was strange, almost foreign. Like holding something too delicate for a man like me. Like I wasn’t built for this—but for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind. He was soft, fragile, completely defenseless. The thought stirred something unsettling in my chest.

Melissa returned a few minutes later, mugs in hand. Her eyes flicked to me, to the baby curled against me like he belonged there. A knowing smile touched her lips. “I knew you’d like him.”

I scowled. “I never said that.”

“Uh-huh.” She put the mugs on the coffee table, then carefully took the baby from me. His teeny hand curled around my finger, and for a moment he wouldn’t let go. Melissa smiled. “He likes you, too.” She flopped onto the couch, rocking the baby in her arms as she motioned for me to sit.

I settled into a sofa chair across from her. “So, how’s mom-life treating you?”

Melissa let out a breathy laugh. “Don’t even get me started. It’s exhausting, messy, and I don’t think I’ve had a full night’s sleep since he was born.” She shook her head, but there was warmth in her eyes. “John helps as much as he can, but with work, he’s gone a lot, so most of it falls on me. Some days I feel like I’m running on fumes.” She glanced down at the baby, a small smile curving her lips. “But then he looks at me with those big eyes, like I’m his whole world, and somehow, it’s all worth it. I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad. Motherhood suits you.”

She leaned in and took a sip of her coffee, her eyes roaming over my face. “So, catch me up. What’s going on at Nova? Who’s suffering in my absence?”

I smirked. “Everyone. But mostly me.”

She laughed. “I warned you this company would fall apart without me.”

“Your replacement did a decent job.”

“Did?”

I exhaled, trying to sound casual. “He’s one of our new software developers. Chris Landry. I… got to know him better and thought he had potential. So, I made him my PA. But things didn’t work out, and he went back to his original post. Now I’ve got Shirley.”

Melissa pulled a face. “Shirley?”

“She’s… competent.”

“That bad, huh?”

I didn’t answer, but she got the message. We talked shop for a while, covering the usual chaos of Nova Systems—the board’s latest grumblings, a merger in the works, the endless struggle to keep certain departments from killing each other. After a while, Melissa leaned back, tilting her head.

“And how’s the wedding coming along? Only two more weeks, right?”

A spike of tension ran through me. “It’s fine.” The words came out clipped, automatic. Too automatic.

Melissa’s brow lifted. “Just fine?”

I hesitated, then lifted a shoulder. “Chantelle has everything under control.”

She rolled her eyes. “I bet she does. But how do you feel about all of it?” When I didn’t answer, her gaze sharpened. “Zac,” she said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

I sighed, rubbing my beard. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing’s wrong. Maybe everything is.” A humorless laugh escaped me. “Maybe I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.”

Melissa studied me, then set her mug down with a quiet clink. “I never liked her, you know. Chantelle.”

I looked up. A muscle ticked in my jaw. “You’ve never said that before.”

“You never would’ve listened before. And it’s not my place to pry in your personal life, but… I don’t know. She always struck me as fake. Too perfect, you know? Like, nobody’s that refined all the time. Besides, you two are nothing alike. She appears charming and gracious, but underneath all that polished exterior, she’s cold and ruthless like a shark.” Her voice softened. “You, on the other hand, are the exact opposite. You only act cold and harsh, but you’re not. You never have been.”

A lump formed in my throat.

Melissa studied me, head slightly askew. “And do you want to know something else?” I didn’t answer, but she continued anyway. “The only time you’ve smiled since walking in here was when you talked about that new PA guy. Chris, was it?”

My breath caught. I gripped my mug a little tighter, but the warmth of the ceramic did nothing to ground me. Had I really been that transparent? I shifted in my seat, but I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. I felt… raw. Exposed.

Melissa reached over and squeezed my knee. “You deserve to be happy, Zac.”

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening even more around the mug. “I don’t even know what that looks like anymore.”

Melissa only smiled, like she knew something I didn’t. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”