Dare to Love My Grumpy Boss by Ellie Hall

9

Cora

Ididn’t think the day could get any worse, but as my cellphone and the single link I had to civilization are swallowed by the Amazon River, I hurry toward the water’s edge and shout, “No!”

Was I operating under the delusion that a single word would somehow freeze my device in midair or catch it like a net? Maybe.

Did I think the creepily placid water would spit the thing out? A girl can hope.

Do I secretly hope my man-giant partner will dive forward like a baseball player toward home plate and save the thing? I’d be silly not to.

The Selva Survival Camp is exactly that. A camp. No resort or accommodations are in sight. A prickly sheen of sweat coats my skin. I’m already feeling rather swamp-like, so throwing all sense of propriety to the wind, I get down on hands and knees, ready to dig in and rescue my device.

I’m about to plunge my arm into the murky water when Shaw’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder once more. I jolt at his touch.

“Hey, there handsy, hands-off! I’d rather you grip my phone with that bear paw of yours.”

“No,” he repeats, as frantic as I’d been only moments before. “Piranhas, leeches, botflies...”

“But my phone,” I say. “It’s my lifeline.”

“Bears,” he growls.

A strange, fluttery panic builds inside me. I go still. His hand still rests on my shoulder as if he doesn’t trust that I won’t go after my lifeline even if it means risking my own. “I thought you said there aren’t bears in this part of the Amazon?”

“There aren’t but if you’re afraid of bears in the woods, be terrified of what lurks in that water. Things we can’t see. Whatever you do, don’t go in.” His face is granite. Stone. Some kind of solid rock.

“Oh, and there I thought you were flirting with me, a poor damsel in distress.” My voice drips with sarcasm as I rock back on my heels.

He snorts. “No, definitely not that. I don’t want you flirting with disaster, Cookie.”

“Why do you keep calling me Cookie? My name is Cora.”

He snaps his fingers. “Right. Cora Albright. One of AmTech’s best. I like Cookie better.”

“Well, I don’t.” I get to my feet and cross my arms in front of my chest, definitely not a damsel in distress but also not an adventurous explorer. I’m a city girl who knows her way around computers. I plaster on my best Mila-don’t-mess-with-me face. “If you know my full name, then you can stop calling me Cookie.”

“The name fits. You’re more of a milk and cookies kind of person than a survive-the-Amazon kind of person.”

I scoff. “You got that right. I have zero desire to be here. But more than that, I’d like to go home so I can get a new phone.”

“It won’t help you here.”

“A general search engine could have helped me plenty.” I huff.

Whenever I’m not sure how to do something, especially when it comes to cooking and baking, I do an online search, and voila. Answers. Some better than others, but at least it’s a resource.

I also have the Fabulous Five. When all else fails, they know what to do. Without contact, they’re going to be worried something happened to me. I pull my sweatshirt tighter around me. What if something does happen to me? Actually, something has happened to me. I’m here!

The trees suddenly look menacing. Never mind the river, what could be lurking overhead? I can’t keep my eyes in front, behind, and above me at all times.

What would Blakely do in my position? I bite my lip. I guess she wouldn’t be able to design her way out of this, but she’d look a heck of a lot better than I do stranded here in my barre class uniform. Never mind, she’d charm her way out of this mess.

Paisley somehow always manages to land on her feet and would forge ahead, undaunted. Her parents were hippies and she has a sweet, yet somewhat hapless ability to adapt and overcome challenges. She also knows a metric ton of seemingly useless trivia. (The kind of person you want on your team for game night.) Chances are she’d be able to identify edible flora and forage for us.

As for Mila? The jungle would be afraid of her.

Daisy? She has the kind of resolve that comes from a combination of necessity, her own inner well of power, and immense fortitude. She’d manage somehow.

As for me? My shoulders drop. If I can combine all my friends’ strengths, maybe I stand a chance. At the very least, I want to survive to see them again. Then there’s @PacManWizard. I want to live to at least see what he looks like.

We started emailing and I was waiting to hear back from him after telling him all about the guy I’d sat next to on the airplane who made V8 engines sound fascinating. Although, solid sleep would have been better especially now. Lack of sleep and this dreadful situation fried my mainframe.

“So would have been listening to Carlos,” Shaw mutters, belatedly responding to my comment about a general search online—I should’ve done so before leaving the comforts of civilization and taken notes.

But here I am with Indiana Groans. “You were checking your phone too,” I counter.

“There won’t be reception, anyway.” He flips over the laminated card with instructions. “We have to get started with the first task.”

Shaw is quite a bit taller, and I have to stand on tiptoe to read the card. I try to remain balanced on the uneven ground but begin to pitch forward and grip his arm to steady myself.

His angry, animal eyes flash a look that’s best described as Touch me again and I will plunge you in the river.

Message received.

On the card, a series of coordinates are printed in sequence. Shaw smells like citrus—lime to be specific—and something minty, fresh, airy. I haven’t been this close to a guy for a while and don’t appreciate how his masculine scent makes me want to breathe deep. It’s like he’s part animal and part man—but you know what they say about approaching wildlife.

I wonder if @PacManWizard wears cologne or uses a manly body wash. Hopefully, nothing like the musty, cheesy basement odor Mila suspected a guy with that username would smell like. She called it, Eau de loser.

Shaw studies the card. “It’s basic orienteering. We have to reach each of these fixed points, collect the items waiting for us there, and then we’ll be able to make camp.”

I tap my chin. “So we’re headed into the heart of the jungle? I was thinking the objective would be to stay out of the rainforest.”

He grunts.

“Indiana Grouch.”

I stand there, waiting for him to take the lead. Like a lot of his coworkers from the DigiPower team, he seems prepared for the expedition appearance-wise, busting the computer nerd stereotype.

However, he doesn’t move.

I say, “You can tease me all day about being more of a milk and cookies kind of person, but I don’t care. I’m as far from ready to do this as spaghetti is for ketchup. I have a bucket list and surviving the Amazon isn’t on it.”

No response. No flicker in his expression. A man of stone.

Annoyance starts to burn away the layer of sweat on my skin. “So are we going to do this or not?”

“If you’d quiet down for a second, so I can think and more importantly listen, we’ll stand a chance.”

“What do you mean listen?”

He gestures at our surroundings. “To noises. Sounds.”

“All I hear are birds. It’s like an avian rock concert.”

“Listen lower. The snap of twigs, brush underfoot.”

“Are you thinking cannibals because I was joking about the whole Indiana Jones thing.”

“No, animals,” he hisses, inclining his head.

I let out a long sigh. Am I in some kind of virtual reality simulation? Is this real? “Is this thing on?” I call.

I get a poison dart frog death glare from those chestnut-brown eyes of his.

“You like it here, don’t you?” I say.

He moves forward, brushing a palm frond out of the way. “It’s an adventure.”

“I’ll just call you Shaw of the Jungle instead of George of the Jungle. Is that better?”

“And I’ll call you Cookie.” Even his chuckle is obnoxious.

I snort. “You sure can be a real class-A jerk.”

His hand lands on my shoulder. Once more I feel a jolt. It’s a surprisingly protective gesture and not at all meant to limit or coerce me. But I’m in a mood, hating it here, and thinking about my nice, comfortable life, and exchanging jokes with @PacManWizard. He’s the guy I’m attracted to. Not this big lug.

If it were at all safe and if I didn’t think the guy would pick me up kicking and screaming, I’d sit down right here and refuse to move until Simon sent in a helicopter rescue.

I’m not a snowflake or cupcake or cookie. I’m capable, but this expedition is in another league.

So is this man. Despite my brain arguing against it, I have to admit his touch caused the twitch that turned into a jolt. Come to think of it, that’s not something I’ve felt since Alex Wilder’s hand brushed mine when he borrowed a pencil for the SATs.

I gaze up at the sky, checking for snakes and monkeys, but also wondering in what world it’s fair that I’m attracted to a guy with a terrific, sparkling personality but have never seen...

And attracted to a guy with an obnoxious, dull personality who I cannot help but see as he strides ahead confidently, muscles all ripple-y, and with a mouthful of cocky comebacks.

I growl softly in frustration.

He glances back at me, his eyes smoldering. See? That look alone was a cocky comeback to words I didn’t even speak.

Not fair.

Then again, he’s my ride out of here...and if this is a game of survival of the fittest, I’d better start strategizing.

I’ve sat in offices and boardrooms with males who think they’re better than me based on their anatomy. Geek or not, a lot of the dudes in the tech industry are full of themselves. Sure, Shaw is attractive with his square jaw, a thin layer of stubble, and fascinating eyes, but he’s Mr. Wrong. Irritating, arrogant, and overly self-confident. No way is he better than me just because I’m not wilderness ready.

He can try to win this game, but watch out big boy. I have the power of four strong women, our lifetime of friendship, and knowhow behind me. Even though we’re not married and have to fulfill a pact, we know all about guys like you.

I slow as my mouthful of inner comments catches up. Big boy.

And here I am, right back to thinking about @PacManWizard.

Shaw looks like he could win an Iron Man. More like a man of stone. I feel bad for whatever woman he has in his life. I’m glad it’s not me.

We stop for a moment and Shaw sips water. “Want some?”

“I feel like I’m swimming in so much of my own sweat I might drown.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I take that as a no.”

“If this is a survival of the fittest exercise, for all I know you poisoned the water.”

His eyebrows lift. “If that were the case, wouldn’t I be passing out right now?”

“Maybe you’re immune, built up a resistance to the poison.”

He chuckles and then his face falls. Shaw makes a gagging noise, clutching his throat.

I rush forward and his expression of terror relaxes into cracks of laughter.

“Oh, that was not funny. You’ll pay for that when you’re not looking.”

Shaw’s gaze floats over me. His lips subtly quirk. “Oh, I’m always looking.”

He will not wear me down with his manly wiles. Or his harsh demeanor. The wilderness survival guide schtick won’t work either. His bag of tricks must nearly be empty.

This time I consult the compass, then march forward like the queen of the Amazon Rainforest, resolved not to let him or the jungle get the better of me.

We follow one of several trails. It’s likely that numerous groups have come before us, and professionals laid out each of their tasks. The resort couldn’t risk anyone dying on their dime. Right? They probably planned the whole thing out for clueless city folks like me. The notion gives me confidence and soon, we reached the first checkpoint.

I do a happy dance right there, pumping my arms in the air, spinning around, and cheering loudly.

Shaw is not amused.

How do I know this?

He remains a marble statue—Michelangelo ought to take notes.

He grimaces like the challenge has only just begun.

Then he shushes me.

Oh, I don’t think so, buddy. But before I can tell him off, Shaw pulls a machete from a duffel bag labeled with our group name. I bite my tongue. You never can be too sure about cannibals. Maybe we should’ve brought protection. I have pepper spray back home...and internet access, a well-appointed kitchen, friends...

I drop onto a fallen log and down some water. I’m perspiring, and the mosquito spray made my skin prickly. I flick at another insect. My clothing clings to me in a hot, sticky mess of what feels like plastic wrap.

“We should get moving,” Shaw says.

“Yeah. It seems I’ve attracted some bugs.” The bugs being YOU, mister. I give him the side-eye and start to get up.

In a low voice, Shaw commands, “Stop.”

I flinch, ready to grab that machete and show him just how skilled I am at chopping onions, but something about his tone forces me to obey.

His focus narrows. He lifts the machete.

Maybe I misread the situation and am trapped in the jungle with a psycho killer.

“Shaw?” My voice rises an octave in fear. “I was joking about the bug thing. Really.”

“Do. Not. Move,” he hisses.

The machete glints in the low light shining through the rainforest canopy.

Something at my eye-level shifts. Was it wind in the palm fronds or something deadly? A jaguar or caiman hunting me? A frog?

I glance to my right at the same time the machete comes down hard onto a branch at about shoulder height and cleaving the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in two. The crunch causes a full-body shudder in me. My shriek echoes through the rainforest, scattering the birds.

“Brazilian Wandering Spider. Most venomous arachnid in the world. It actively hunts and had it bit you, there wouldn’t be much I could do.” Shaw’s voice is grave.

I can’t even squeak a, Thank you for saving my life or bear to look at the creepy dead thing. With Shaw as my de facto wilderness guide, I feel vulnerable and protected at the same time.

On shaky legs, I get up and hurry ahead, but then let him go in front, slashing at anything that might resemble a spider web. I practically cling to his back, not wanting another close encounter with something with more than two legs.

Hours pass and at the various stops, we collect rope, a tarp, and a knot-tying guide. I can’t seem to shake the encounter with the spider. I flinch at the slightest movement.

As though sensing this, Shaw extends his free hand.

I take it hesitantly as though I’m making a bargain with the enemy. Why would he offer to help me if we’re in this cut-throat situation?

Then again, he didn’t cut my throat. Could a machete do that? I’d better not think too hard about the ten-thousand ways I could die in the rainforest.

His hand remains open. Bear paw is right. He could’ve crushed the spider under his palm. I imagine his big fingers trying to type. I imagine it’s more of a pounding of keys than a hunt and peck situation.

I take a deep breath, not feeling entirely good about this hand holding thing, especially because of @PacManWizard, but I’m shaking and need something to steady me. “Thanks. It’s better I don’t get lost.”

Unfortunately, my smaller hand fits perfectly in his. Although I don’t like Shaw one bit, his touch is comforting.

The sun lowers in the sky, piercing the thick branches above with shafts of light. I swat at the vicious bugs. Sweat creates a second skin. I chug my bottle of water. This situation is hopeless.

“Take it easy on that,” Shaw says, pointing to the bottle. “We’ll probably have to find our own when it’s gone.”

I swallow thickly. “We should probably head back to camp.”

“Yeah, we’ll need to build our shelter.”

I turn slowly in a circle. “Which way is back though? I’m completely turned around. I guess we have to retrace our steps.”

Shaw scratches his head. “I think Carlos said we’d be meeting somewhere else.”

“You mean, you don’t remember?”

“It was a lot of information. You should have been paying attention too instead of being on your phone. We’re a team.”

I huff. “I thought we were opponents.”

“It’s not like I’m going to leave you out here. Can’t have that on my conscience.”

“How reassuring.”

After a bit of arguing and turning the lamented card over and upside down, it turns out we have to go back the way we came. Using the coordinates on the card as a guide, we retrace our steps. The sun dips even lower.

“Do you hear that?” I ask.

He nods. “Trickling water?”

Relief washes through me. It isn’t quite civilization, but being in the jungle all day and without my phone makes me feel more and more closed off.

Ahead of me, but still holding Shaw’s hand, his dark hair is almost black in the low light. He’s tall and muscular like he spends a lot of time at the gym. But not bulky. Solid. Capable. I can’t help but admire his confidence.

@PacManWizard comes to mind. Apart from wanting to survive the ordeal for practical reasons, I resolve to make it through this so we can meet in person. No more hiding behind the safety of the screen. I took it slow with @PacManWizard because of a previous bad relationship. I can practically hear Mila and my girls reminding me that it was six years ago.

When we arrive at the clearing, it’s deserted. Only one canoe remains, and we hop in. Shaw expertly brings us to the shore where we started.

As we get out, the rev of an engine comes from the road carved through the woods.

My thoughts and words start slow and then accelerate as I point toward the rough road. “That was the last Jeep...and it’s leaving. What’s going on?”

Shaw’s eyebrow lifts and I get distinct Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson vibes.

I flash a panicked expression at my calm companion.

But before we can speculate, we both run after the Jeep, calling for it to stop.

It’s too late. The vehicle disappears in a cloud of exhaust.