Good morning all and Happy Sunday! Thank you all so much for taking the time to read and review this story of mine. Your comments so far have cracked me up!

Boss Meets bOObs

Well, good morning, peeps of the world!

Don't judge a book by its movie, that's the general consensus today. But I think we should go back to the original saying: Don't judge a book by its cover . . . or do we?! Of course we do! It's human nature to judge everything.

I have spent countless hours scanning the websites, reading summaries, and looking at the reviews. All this time, I've had to force myself to not pay attention to the covers. Why do authors, or their agents, think that slapping a half-naked couple or men (with shitty Photoshopped tattoos) onto a cover is a good idea? If your book is in the erotica section, I can understand to a point, but why on a cover for a chic-lit romance? Yes, we all know that sex sells, that's a given, but there's good sex and bad sex (we'll come back to this later), and that goes for book covers, too. I get that most self-published authors don't have a lot of money or much experience with publishing, but if they can afford to have a cover maker design something, why settle for half-naked people?

Half the time, the covers look tacky as hell and the other half, they have nothing to do with the story at all. Trust me. I've read the books.

You know, when I took on this new responsibility at my job a few short weeks ago, I was kinda angry at the authors for giving us poorly edited crap, putting it bluntly. But I think we, as readers, are just as much to blame for the influx because we are encouraging it by buying the books. In other words, we are condoning the lack of quality in our reading material by supporting it with our money.

In reviewing the info, I gathered (I even have spreadsheets, don't judge me), it all seems to come down to the cost of the book, not the covers. The books with the highest rankings usually have bad covers and shitty reviews, but they are dirt CHEAP. Trust me; I spent hours pouring over the details to come to this end conclusion: We buy these books because they're cheap, shitty covers be damned.

So, there's something to think about.

The next thing I got annoyed about was the content of the books. Now, I know we can go on and on about poor editing and overused words in books, but please, authors, for the love of God, DO NOT USE the following words:

Mound(s), Pebbled, Nub, and Apex

I have several more, which will be listed in future posts, but these are my biggest bug-a-boos. Now for my explanation of why you shouldn't use these words (It's amazing what you can find on the web).

Mounds:

Noun

1. A natural elevation of earth; a hillock or knoll.

2. An artificial elevation of earth, as for a defense work or a dam or barrier; an embankment.

3. A heap or raised mass: a mound of papers; a mound of hay.

4. Baseball. The slightly raised ground from which the pitcher delivers the ball. Compare rubber. (Thanks, )

Are a woman's breasts any of these things? No. So why on earth would anyone call them mounds?

Pebbled? Really? Do I have to bring out the dictionary again? Pebbles are what you find on a beach, at the side of the road, or, if you're in England, thrown up on the sides of houses. A man sucking or biting pebbled nipples would break his bloody teeth!

Nipples can, and do, contract or harden-or even constrict- but they don't pebble!

Nub: I'm not even going there, because the word sounds silly whether you speak it out loud, write it down, or say it in your head. Go on, say it out loud, I'll wait.

N-U-B. Nub, nub, nub. No, just don't, okay?

Apex: Simply put, a woman's pussy/vagina is not a roof! Reading 'The apex of her thighs' only makes me want to check the gutters before bad weather settles in.

If you're old enough to write sexual content, then be mature enough to name it what it is, not give it a building metaphor. Please!

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I woke up the following morning to the furball that is my dog lying across my bladder.

Every morning without fail, he is in this position, and every morning I have to fight to get him off me before I piss myself. With the amount of energy he has, you'd think he'd be up and out the door as soon as my eyes opened, but he is the reverse. He isn't a morning person at all. It's worse in winter. Mac takes one look outside the backdoor, and if it is raining or snowing, he goes back into the kitchen. Can't blame him for that, to be honest.

I felt exactly the same. Give me a roaring, open fire, and hot chocolate over going outside in winter any day. I like snow, it's pretty, but I stay indoors. I can appreciate the weather from the window seat in the living room.

I digress.

I finally pried Mac off my body and made a mad dash to the bathroom, then got ready for the day. Before grabbing my own breakfast, I fed and walked Mac, then let him have his five minutes of madness in the back garden. After turning the radio on for him, I made my way to work. The thought of him lying in silence until I came home for lunch was too much to bear. My parents laugh at me for the radio, but I still do it for him. I made the mistake of leaving the TV on for him once and came back to it crashed on the floor, and him howling. God knows what he was watching, but I don't think he liked it. Or if he did, he liked it a little too much, if you know what I mean.

We'd had this same routine since he was a pup. Thankfully, I no longer come home to find him chewing the hell out of my couch or laundry pile. God, it was so embarrassing the day I came home to a poorly pooch who I rushed to the vet—the silly dog had eaten one of my thongs. If I hadn't been so worried that he would need to be operated on, I would've been beyond pissed with the humiliation, and the bill at the end of it. All they did was give him laxatives, yet I ended up maxing out my credit card. It was a good job I loved Mac to bits.

Travel mug of coffee in hand, I walked along the side of the road thinking, yet again, about my new boss and Aro. What would it be like in three months, or six? Would the new boss make changes straight away, or would he wait and see how things went? Would he expect me to make him his tea or coffee just the way he liked it? We all shared one small bathroom; would he leave the seat up, or was he trained like Aro?

That last thought drew me up short as I scrunched my nose and promised myself I would NOT be cleaning up piss. No way. I tolerated a lot at work, but I was not a cleaner. I don't mind most housework, but the bathroom? No, just no. If he pissed on the floor or seat, then I'd train him to clean up his own damn mess.

All these questions plagued me with each step I took. Although I didn't have to stay at the place, hell, I didn't even have to work, I realized I didn't want to leave. I liked having arguments with Nancy and Gertrude, and I loved hearing Aro talk about his evenings with Betty in the care home. Maybe I didn't exactly like the job, but being around people was good. If I were jobless, Mom would insist I spend my days with her instead, and there are only so many Macramé plant hangers you can make and stay sane.

"Morning all," I called out to the print men while walking through the doors of the magazine house. The smell of ink and paper hit my nose. Though I'd hated it in the beginning, I loved it now.

A mix of replies came back from the men, some still half-asleep, others sounding like they were on their second pot of coffee already. I finished the last of my drink just in time to hear Gertrude and Nancy start their morning ritual of bitching about my hair.

"You won't ever find a decent man, Isabella, dressing the way you do, and don't get me started on your hair," Gertrude berated, not even trying to hide her snotty tone.

This is how they were when Aro wasn't around. I tried my best to ignore them, just as my mother had taught me, but God, I had to bite my tongue several times a day.

"What if I don't want a decent man, Gerty? What if I want a thoroughly indecent man?" I asked and then belted out a laugh when Gertrude blanched as Nancy gave out a delicate cough in surprise.

It was so easy to rile these two up.

"Look, I like my hair the way it is, and I dress to make myself look and feel good, not to impress a man. If he likes me how I am, right now, then that is enough for me. I'm not putting on a show for any man." I had to will myself not to roll my eyes at the pair of them.

"And that is why she'll die an old maid. A virgin with several cats," Nancy stage-whispered.

"Who said I was a virgin?" With an evil laugh, I walked out of the room, leaving the two stunned women behind.

It didn't take long to get into the swing of work, and by the time Aro found me in the back office an hour later, I'd done most of what was needed. I needed to find a more interesting way of twiddling my thumbs until lunch.

Hmm, maybe my favorite show has been updated online . . .

.

"Mr. Cullen will be here this afternoon, and I know I can trust you in the storeroom. I just need a quick inventory made to double-check the figures," Aro informed me. The poor sod looked so tired. Was he really that stressed?

"Aro, he's seen the books, the inventory list, and has even paid you for the business already. It's done. Try not to stress, okay? You just need to think about what you're going to do with all the new time you'll have." I attempted to console him, but it didn't seem to work since he started pacing the room, his fingers knotted together.

"No, it's not done. The money is in holding until we finalize a few remaining details. Also, I dealt with his father, not him personally. Now I have Gertrude and Nancy handing in their resignations, and I just don't know how to do it all. I'm so tired, Isabella. I don't know how to summon up the last bit of energy I need to get through this," he whispered.

I wasn't used to being mature. I liked to have fun and act like my mom, a free spirit. I wasn't stupid, no, but fun was good. Acting all mature and grown-up made me feel a little depressed if I were being honest, but Aro needed me.

"Well then, I'll make sure that I cross every I and dot every T." I winked at him. "By the time you hand your baby over to Mr. Cullen, this place will be in ship-shape order. And if they're lucky, I'll even get the women flowers when they leave," I cooed in an almost baby-talk tone, trying again to calm him.

"You're such a sweetheart, Isabella, you really are. A man would be lucky to find a catch like you." He gave me a quick hug. He smelled the way I think my Grandfather would have smelled—old and spicy, with warmth and something else I couldn't put my finger on.

Oh, yeah—old man.

"I don't have time to find a man, Aro, but thank you."

What was it with everyone wanting me to find a man? I wasn't even twenty-one yet, but everyone in this office was trying to get me married and chained to the kitchen sink! It's not the fifties anymore; women can be independent, you know.

I gave Aro a nervous laugh then took my clipboard to our outdated and rather pokey storeroom in hopes of having five minutes to myself. That, however, didn't work because not five minutes later, Nancy was knocking on the locked door to ask for my help.

The door was locked for a reason, or didn't she get the hint?

"What's up now, Nancy?" I asked.

"Bob down in printing has cut his hand, and our first aid kit is out of date. Would you be a sweetheart and go to the store for a new one? Aro's having a fit that Mr. Cullen will knock him down on points over this, and with the cold weather, our joints won't allow Gertrude, or I, to make a run for it," Nancy replied, out of breath from talking.

I knew for a fact that Nancy was putting things on. Cold weather and their joints? Did she think that I hadn't seen her at the market last week? If there was a sale on, that woman could run like she was in the Olympics.

"Sure, why not. I have a few years before my hips give out on me." I huffed, and Nancy handed me some cash.

An hour later, and one hell of a long queue gone through, I got back in the office to see that Bob's cut was less of a cut and more of a scratch. To say I was pissed was an understatement because I'd gone to the shop without my coat in my hurry to assist the injured man. My nipples were so hard; you could hang a coat off them.

"I'm so sorry, Isabella, but the ladies insisted, and I couldn't talk them out of it, and don't get me started on Aro. He was on the verge of collapsing because he couldn't find the incident book. I just got a glorified paper cut," Bob said sympathetically while I fixed us both a cup of coffee and helped myself to Gertrude's 'best' cookies. White chocolate and cranberry. Very nice indeed.

"Bob, relax, okay. No worries," I tried to calm him, taking my time in dunking the cookie in my cup. Gerty would hate me for it, but that's what you get if you piss me off.

"Well, I'm going to finish this off before the new boss gets here, and Aro has a fit that we're behind on printing this week's edition," Bob said, putting his half-filled coffee mug down on the rickety old desk.

"Don't push yourself too much, Bob, you've lost a lot of blood today," I teased with a wink.

.

When I went back to work, I didn't bother to lock the door of the storeroom, but it wasn't through choice. Every time I relaxed enough to start cataloging, someone would knock on the damn door wanting something. Where did I hide the cookies, where was the sugar, did I remember that I needed to photograph the winter harvest pictures for Nancy? They kept throwing one thing after another at me, and I was at my wits' end. My frustration level went further through the roof with each and every knock. Can't they see that I'm working?!

I didn't even do photography, but our resident picture-snapper—whatever you call them—retired a few weeks back, and I'd been lumbered with the job, along with everything else that Gertrude and Nancy couldn't—or should I say wouldn't—do.

So now, not only did I have to handle the new inventory, but I also had to go on location to take pictures of some berries on the bushes and veg in the ground so that Nancy could do her blanch and freeze winter special.

Do people still blanch these days? I don't know anyone who does. Well, Mom tried blanching and freezing bananas once. She forgot to peel them. We'll say no more on the subject.

I was pulled out of my internal glowering toward Nancy by a quick, sharp blink, click, and thud-thud. Blink was the light going out. Click was the door being locked, and the thud-thud was someone bashing into me, then both of us hitting the floor. From the smell alone, I knew it was somebody new and manly. He was far from smelling like spicy old man.

Wait. That sounded wrong.

"I am so sorry," whispered a muffled voice.

Muffled, because his face was now planted snuggly between my boobs. I would have responded to him, but the wind had been knocked out of me, and his weight was on my chest, so all I could do was groan. Please, God, don't sound like a sexy groan. The last thing I needed today was a stiffy in my kneecap.

"I really am sorry," the voice said again, but this time clear as day, even if he was still whispering. At least he'd removed his head from my cleavage. "My name's Edward, by the way," he continued, and I was a little stuck.

How do I introduce myself when his body is flush with mine, pinning me to the floor of the storage room? I'd heard of storeroom antics, but I thought that you had to know someone first. Wait. Edward? Oh, no!

"With your close proximity to my body, I hope to God you're not my new boss. Aro will kill me. He's already lost the plot this morning over a box of missing pencils," I whispered.

"And with my face so close in proximity to your lips, I hope to fucking God that you're not one of those old wrinklies I just ran away from. The last thing I need is to be attacked by someone like that," he replied with a small laugh.

I didn't know whether to laugh along with him or try and kick him in the balls for being so rude toward the generation that had gotten us through World War Two (possibly the first war, too).

"Are you going to stay there all day, or will you be moving before clock-out time?" I finally asked, willing my ass cheeks not to go dead on me.

Ever tried walking in a straight line with pins and needles in one ass cheek? Yeah, it makes you look drunk and about to piss yourself. Not pretty.

"Oh, shit, of course. Yes, of course," he replied, then pulled his heavyweight from my body.

I could breathe again. Halleluiah, lungs! How good to feel you again.

In a strange, silent, and twisted manner, we managed to get up from the floor. He apologized once again before leaving me in the storage room. I didn't waste any time turning the light back on and locking the door.

The only way I was coming out of this room now was if there was a fire.

.

After hiding in the storeroom for as long as I could before my bladder exploded, I ended up doing some really strange rendition of the Irish jig all the way to the toilet, hoping against hope that the new boss didn't see me. By some miracle, I got there undetected but stopped short of the first stall because Aro was in there gazing wistfully out the window.

Pee trumped boss, of course, but because I couldn't bear for him to hear me handling business, I decided to strike up a conversation, as you do in situations like this.

I felt sorry for the man as he continued to talk about giving up the business and what he would be leaving behind, but I couldn't truly focus on what he was saying because of the rather intimate threesome fantasy involving me, my bladder, and the toilet bowl I was having.

Boss eventually got out-trumped by pee, though, and I took care of my business then headed off on my photo adventure.

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Home sweet home at last. After several hours on a farm in the middle of nowhere. It had taken some doing, but I'd finally tracked down the farmer and his field of prize-winning winter vegetables and some freaky looking blackberries. I had no idea what Nancy was going to do with the pictures, but the farmer promised that he would bring over some of the crops for Nancy to "do her thing," whatever that was.

Hours of work, listening to my boss cry over the paint color of the ladies' toilets, and then taking pictures wasn't enough torture for one day apparently. When I got home, a howling Mac awaited, followed by a frantic call from my Dad, threatening to pop over because I hadn't answered the phone when my mother had called.

"She needs to chill out a little, Dad. I was an hour late coming home and had no signal, I couldn't help it," I whined down the phone as I opened the back door for Mac to do his business. At the same time, I was trying to juggle his food and water bowls.

"I know, sweetie, but she's your mother, she's worried. You know she never wanted you to move out. Just let her have this moment to worry. It might even do her some good," he said softly. I could hear Mom in the background, sniffling.

"Give her a stiff drink and her hot water bottle, and she'll be fine, Dad." I laughed, but when I nearly dropped the phone in the large bowl of dog meat for Mac, Dad and I said goodnight.

I went to bed after my nightly routine, but instead of reading the shitty romance novel that I should have given up reading pages ago, I fell asleep to strange thoughts of a strange man who had planted his head between my boobs.

Would it be wrong to wish he had 'motor-boated' me…Just a little?

So, what do you think? I'd love to hear!

Technically, Bella doesn't have to work if she doesn't want to, but her parents instilled a good work ethic with their kids.

Here's a teaser for the next chapter...

"Dear Lord, woman, you can't just go broadcasting your personal business in here! How crude of you!" Gertrude clucked, her hand now over her heart. I wanted to agree, but there was still a little dribble of tea escaping from my nose.

Do you know that hot tea stings your nasal cavity like battery acid?

And she said anal. I wasn't a giggling schoolboy, but anal was ... yeah.

Loves you all!