I’m back at work after my unusual weekend, and now I’m faced with an unusual Brock.

I still can’t get over his weird decision to pretend that I’m his new fiancée, but whatever. It was fun, and I was actually really enjoying myself until Pete showed up and ruined everything.

But one thing I’m finding it difficult to adjust to is how different Brock can be at work compared to how he was outside.

Sure, he was a little gruff and not amused at the hilarious stories I concocted for his family, but overall, he was sweet. He stood up for me when Pete threatened me, and then we had a ton of fun simply sitting on the side of the road, watching traffic go by.

Today, though, Brock’s all business—even more than normal.

He’s taking on a new project, and the stress is obviously taking a toll on him because today, he’s been either locking himself in his office or stomping around, shoulders tense, forehead creased, and gaze firmly locked on one of his many gadgets.

This morning, as I entered his office, he barely glanced up when I greeted him. He seemed fully absorbed in whatever work he was doing at his desk. It puzzled me a little to suddenly see him so distant.

It got worse when he had some new task for me to do. It was a proposal of some sort about a new team he wanted to create.

I agreed to write it up for him but accidentally left in some spelling mistakes. When I emailed it to him, he printed it out and came striding over to my desk, papers clutched in his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked.

I blinked at him. “The proposal you asked me to write.”

“Look.” He placed the print-outs down on my desk, spelling errors circled in angry, red pen. “Mistakes like these aren’t acceptable. I want you to fix them.”

To me, the errors seemed so small that probably nobody would have even noticed them. But sure, I guess it was kind of sloppy.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get them fixed right now and email you over a new copy of the proposal.”

I was expecting him to go back to his desk, but instead, he stood at my shoulder. “Great. Well, let’s go then.”

And he stayed there, watching as I corrected all the errors, breathing down my neck as he checked to make sure I did it properly.

I stayed silent and got on with the work, but it was irritating—both his tone and his demeanor. Also, the heat emanating from his body sent tingles down my spine, making it hard to concentrate.

“Brock, you’ve already outlined the mistakes on the hard copy. I can handle it. You don’t need to watch me actually make the corrections,” I protested eventually.

“I just want to make sure you catch them all,” he said. “I need to make sure this project goes perfectly.”

He didn’t seem angry; just overbearing and strict. Nothing like the guy I’d sat and laughed and joked with on that sidewalk on Saturday evening.

Eventually, all the mistakes were fixed, and he went back to his desk, leaving me confused.

Someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

Later that afternoon, he brought over a little notebook and pen to my desk.

“I’m going to give this to you,” he stated. “I need you to write down everything I say in case we need it later.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Everything? Like, what you’re having for lunch and if I could get you a coffee?”

He didn’t look amused at my attempt at humor. “You know what I mean, Nina.”

I opened the notebook and wrote that down. He tried not to smile, which was at least a small victory.

But all said, it was proving difficult to adjust to Work Brock Who’s Got a New Super Important Project, as opposed to Not Work Brock, because they were quite different people.

I’m sitting in the lunchroom, eating, when Paula walks in. She smiles and comes and sits next to me. I know her name but not much else about her.

Brock’s been keeping me so busy that I’ve barely had time to get to know my coworkers. Paula seems chatty and friendly, though.

“Hi, Nina. How are you settling in?” she asks, taking the chair across the table from me.

“Good. Thanks, Paula. Brock’s keeping me busy.”

She laughs. “Oh yeah, Brock can be a little intense, can’t he? Especially when there are new clients to impress. I guess that’s why Luke promoted him—he gets the job done.”

I smile. “‘Intense’ is one way of putting it; that’s for sure. He’s being so nit-picky and micro-managing. He stood over my shoulders to make sure I didn’t make spelling mistakes, for God’s sake.”

Paula’s eyes are positively gleaming as she listens.

“He’s going away on a business trip to New York in a couple of days,” I continue. “To be honest, I’m looking forward to it. At least, I’ll be able to get some work done without him breathing down my neck.”

She nods. “If things ever get difficult for you, I’m always a sympathetic ear, hon.”

“Thanks, Paula.” I glance at my watch. “Well, lunchtime’s over. I guess I’d better get back to my desk before he sends out a search party.”

I go back and sit at my desk. A few seconds later, Brock himself shows up, all business.

“Nina, write this down,” he begins. He comes and stands near to me. As much as I hate it when he does this, I have to admit that his proximity to me is more than just an annoyance.

He smells so damn good—whatever cologne he uses is intoxicating. And when he leans over me to point out something or another on the screen, when his body brushes against mine, it’s like a little electric thrill passes between us.

It almost makes me want to make deliberate mistakes so he’ll keep doing it. Almost.

He dictates his itinerary to me—flight times, meeting locations, stuff like that. Boring stuff, but I’ll admit my heart is beating slightly faster than normal.

“Thanks, Nina,” he says when I’m done, shooting me a small, tired smile that reminds me of Not Work Brock for a second, starting flutters down low in my stomach.

Then he’s gone, off to his next engagement.

And I sit there, wondering why the hell I feel like this when he’s around me even though he pisses me the hell off sometimes.

He’s your boss, nothing more, despite this fake engagement weirdness. Pull it together, Nina.

But that’s far easier said than done.