Yes,I proposed to my Boss

Chapter two

By the time the sky started turning that deep shade of orange that meant the day was officially giving up, I had already stopped pretending I was going back to my office.

It wasn’t my fault.

Well… it was, technically. But also not.

Because apparently, in the name of “intervention,” my entire department had decided that my body belonged to the streets of downtown for the evening.

And now here I was.

A bar.

Loud music. Warm lighting. The smell of food and alcohol mixing in a way that made everything feel slightly unreal.

I sat between them at a long table, still in my corporate outfit, still in my glasses, still looking like I had no business being in a place where people laughed this loudly.

And yet—

I was eating like I hadn’t seen food in three days.

“Ma’am, slow down,” one of them laughed.

“I will not,” I said immediately, already reaching for another bite. “You people kidnapped me. I am recovering.”

“That’s not how kidnapping recovery works.”

“It is if I say so.”

They laughed again, and I ignored them in favor of my plate.

For once, I wasn’t thinking about spreadsheets. Or deadlines. Or people asking me for miracles in Excel format.

Just food.

Peaceful, beautiful food.

Then the drinks started coming.

I didn’t refuse the first round.

Or the second.

I told myself I wasn’t against alcohol. I wasn’t. I just didn’t usually have time for it.

But tonight was apparently a “tonight.”

“So, Ma’am,” someone across from me said, leaning forward, “be honest. Do you actually sleep?”

“Yes,” I replied instantly.

“That was too fast.”

“Because it’s a simple question.”

Another glass slid in front of me.

I took it.

Then another conversation started.

Then another laugh.

Then someone told a story about a client who had tried to submit handwritten financial statements.

I nearly choked on my drink.

That was the beginning of the end.

Because after that, everything became… easier.

Laughter came quicker. My replies came sharper. I stopped overthinking every sentence.

And when someone said, “You’re actually fun like this,” I narrowed my eyes at them.

“I am always fun.”

“You’re terrifying at work.”

“I am efficient at work.”

They raised their glass.

“To efficient terror.”

I clinked mine against theirs.

Bad decision.

Because one shot turned into two.

Two turned into more.

And somewhere between the music getting louder and my laughter getting less controlled, I stopped keeping count.

At some point, I realized I was standing.

At another point, I realized I was dancing.

At another point after that, I realized I didn’t care who was watching.

This was… nice.

Light.

Unbothered.

Free.

I heard someone say my name and turned too quickly.

“I’m fine,” I announced.

“You’re definitely not fine,” someone else said, laughing.

“I am extremely fine.”

“No, you’re extremely drunk.”

“I am extremely—” I paused, thinking hard. “—functional.”

That made everyone laugh harder.

And then the music shifted again, and suddenly the whole group was moving, swaying, pulling each other into messy, uncoordinated dancing that made absolutely no sense and somehow made perfect sense at the same time.

I remember thinking, briefly, that I hadn’t laughed like this in a long time.

The next thing I registered clearly was the outside air.

Cooler.

Quieter.

The world felt slightly tilted.

Two of them—still annoyingly stable—were herding the rest of us toward cars like we were very expensive, very loud luggage.

I blinked slowly.

“I can walk,” I said.

“You are not walking,” someone replied immediately.

“I am a grown woman.”

“A grown woman who just tried to dance with a chair.”

“That chair started it.”

They ignored me.

Rude.

I vaguely remember being placed into a car. Someone buckled my seatbelt like I was a child. I remember arguing about it. I remember forgetting what I was arguing about halfway through.

Then the ride.

Then stopping.

Then lights.

A hotel.

Not my house

Definitely not my house

I frowned as I was guided out.

“This is not my house,” I said seriously.

“We know,” someone replied. “You’re sleeping here.”

“I didn’t approve this decision.”

“You were outvoted.”

“That’s illegal.”

“No, it’s teamwork.”

I tried to argue again, but my brain felt like it was moving slightly behind my mouth.

So I stopped trying.

The lobby was too bright.

Too clean.

Too quiet.

I squinted as someone spoke to the receptionist, something about a room.

I caught fragments.

“Under the bar… doesn’t know her address… safer this way…”

I nodded at absolutely nothing.

Correct. Safer. Logical. Very accounting-approved decision.

Then suddenly I was in an elevator.

Numbers went up.

I stared at them like they had personally offended me.

2… 0… 6… was my room number

209 was I saw

That thought was there.

Somewhere.

But it was floating.

I don’t remember walking to the door properly.

I just remember it opening.

And the world changing.

A man stood there.

Tall.

Still.

Bare shoulders catching the dim light of the room like it belonged there.

Long curly hair slightly messy, like he had been interrupted from existing.

I blinked slowly.

Oh.

Wrong room.

Or…

Maybe I was in the wrong world.

He turned.

And for a second, he just looked at me.

Completely still.

Like even he wasn’t sure what kind of problem I was supposed to be.

Then his voice came.

Calm.

Smooth.

“Wrong room, darling.”

I frowned.

“No no no,” I said immediately, stepping inside anyway. “You’re in my room.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“…Are you drunk?”

I thought about it seriously.

“Absolutely.”

He exhaled a small laugh, like he didn’t know whether to be entertained or concerned.

I closed the door behind me without asking permission and kicked off my heels.

Much better.

The bed looked soft.

So I sat on it.

Naturally.

He was still standing there like I had just walked into his carefully ordered universe and thrown a chair into it.

“You can go now,” I said, waving vaguely. “I want to sleep. Shu shu.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he walked closer.

And sat on the edge of the bed.

I blinked at him.

“…Well I paid for this room,” he said slowly. “So you should leave. What’s your room number?”

I thought about it.

A very serious thought.

But it didn’t stay.

Because my eyes dropped to his shoulders again.

And stayed there.

Annoyingly.

“Did your mom never tell you not to go around shirtless when women are around?” I asked.

His lips twitched.

“Are you always this direct?”

“I am always correct.”

“About what?”

“You’re distracting.”

That made him pause.

Just slightly.

Then, quietly—

“Hello, darling. Eyes up here.”

I looked up.

Finally.

Bad idea.

Because now I saw his face properly.

And my brain did something unhelpful.

Something soft.

Something stupid.

I leaned forward slightly without thinking.

He didn’t move away.

That was his mistake.

Or mine.

I kissed him.

Just once.

Quick.

I pulled back immediately and tilted my head.

“You don’t like being kissed?”

Silence.

Then—

“No… I do,” he said slowly. “But you just kissed a stranger.”

I nodded.

“That’s what strangers are for.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“…Are you sure you’re drunk?”

I scoffed.

“Who told you I’m drunk?”

A beat.

“I am fully aware of what is going on.”

“That is exactly what drunk people say,” he replied.

I leaned forward again.

“And you talk too much.”

Then I kissed him again.

This time I didn’t pull back immediately.

Neither did he.

The world didn’t make much sense anymore.

It didn’t need to.

Not when he finally spoke again, quieter this time—

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm,” I murmured against his lips.

And then—

Everything stopped pretending to be innocent.