Every Saturday, I sweated in a ridiculous bear suit, handing out flyers until my boss unknowingly started flirting with me.
He had no idea who I was… and I was too scared to tell him because, in real life, I was anything but a cover girl.
I stuffed the last piece of croissant into my mouth, watching Jake from across the office. My boss.
He stood by the coffee machine—tall, athletic, effortlessly charming. His dark hair was perfectly tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed and landed on GQ’s cover.
Meanwhile, I sat at my desk, surrounded by crumpled notes, gripping a plastic fork like it was the last piece of dignity I had left.
He would never notice someone like me.
Someone like me—soft around the edges, with cheeks that refused to cooperate no matter how many diet plans I started (and promptly abandoned).
My feet were a solid size 10, making most cute shoes a cruel joke, and whenever I got nervous, my words tangled up like last year’s Christmas lights.
Jake leaned against the counter, stirring his coffee with lazy confidence.
His friend, Greg, nudged him.
“Dude, you ever notice how Emma looks at you?”
Oh no. Have I been that obvious?
Jake took a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking briefly in my direction. I immediately turned my attention to my screen, pretending to be fascinated by Excel.
“Hey, Emma!”
My heart stopped.
I looked up, mid-chew, only to find Jake watching me, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes.
“You good over there?” He gestured toward me with his coffee cup. “You’ve been staring at me for so long, I was starting to think I had something on my face.”
I nearly choked on my croissant.
“What? No!
I… I was just…” I waved my hand vaguely toward my monitor. “Deep in thought.”
“Deep in thought… about spreadsheets?”
“Yes. Numbers are very… thought-provoking.”
Jake smirked.
“Alright, spreadsheet philosopher. Try not to get too lost in them.”
And with that, he turned back to his conversation, leaving me sitting there, cheeks burning. That was not helping my situation.
I wanted to talk to him, just once, to see if he was as perfect up close as he seemed from a distance.
But the very thought made my palms sweat.
“Emma!”
I jumped. My team leader, Mark, was standing by my desk.
“Stop daydreaming! The reports won’t print themselves!”
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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