Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “Oh? Oooh.” Sabrina whimpers in a soft tone.

  I glance over, my body hardening. The look on her face is equal parts seductive and angelic.

  A wicked part of me hurts to know what she’s dreaming about.

  The edge of my face warms at the thought. I grin because I don’t blush.

  I can’t rip my eyes off her face, the magnetic flutter of her long lashes.

  Those lush, biteable lips part softly.

  Her head rolls against my shoulder, then silky chestnut hair brushes my arm, and two seconds later, I’m so fucking hard I could rip through my trousers.

  This is damn wrong.

  Good luck stopping the sudden fire in my veins, the way my eyes narrow, the hunger I feel with every single breath.

  Then it’s her turn to take a deep breath. She shivers as it releases, then blinks her eyes a few times.

  That rush of seduction washes away, bleeds back into innocence, and with each blink she becomes my assistant again. Not this delicate pixie thing straight from a wet dream, ripe for pillaging.

  I clear my throat loudly as she opens her eyes, fully conscious, and takes in her surroundings.

  Goddamn.

  Sabrina—Miss Bristol—works for me. This shouldn’t be so fraught, but it is.

  I force a grin since I can’t shift back into my normal poker face. That’s a first, too, and I don’t like it one bit.

  “Welcome to the land of the living,” I tell her.

  “Um—hi,” she says, picking herself up from my shoulder, her eyes widening. “Oh, no. Sorry.”

  “Quite alright,” I whisper.

  Lies.

  What’s still happening below my belt is the very definition of not alright.

  The flight attendant returns and sets my coffee down next to my laptop. She leans past me and goes to Sabrina’s side.

  “Hello, Miss. You were asleep when I came by for refreshments.”

  “Oh, that would be great,” Sabrina says. “Can I get some water?”

  She nods. “Would you like your pastry heated or cold?”

  “Pastry? Is it in a fridge or at room temperature?”

  “Room temperature,” the flight attendant says.

  “Cold is fine.” Sabrina drops the blanket around her and pushes it back in the bag.

  “Would you like coffee as well?”

  Sabrina reclines in her overstuffed leather chair. “Yes, please. If you could put it in an IV that would be perfect.”

  “I’m afraid this flight only serves drinks orally.” The attendant winks. “I have a dark roast Kona and a cinnamon latte today. What would you like?”

  “Cinnamon latte, please.”

  “Coming right up.” The flight attendant walks away.

  I look over at Sabrina until she meets my eyes. “You know those sugary lattes are the reason you think you need a caffeine drip.”

  “Coffee’s so bitter. I can’t handle it without the milk and sugar,” she says.

  I take a long swallow of my drink.

  “Coffee with sugar in it doesn’t even give me the same buzz.”

  She laughs, flipping her brown hair back over her shoulder. “I’m not surprised the black coffee isn’t too bitter for you. Kind of seems like a perfect match.”

  “Touché,” I say. Time to get serious now. We have a deal to close. “I sent you a list of things I need before the meeting this afternoon. We’re going to secure this brand if it kills us, because this could be the key to unlocking the entire fashion industry for HeronComm. I’ve been vying for an in there forever, but they tend to stick with old-school New York ad companies.”

  She puts two fingers to her head and salutes me. “Yeah, I glanced at everything you sent over last night. I’ll have it done within the hour.”

  She reaches down and pulls her laptop out of her messenger bag with a yawn.

  Fine, I’m impressed. I didn’t expect her to read her emails before the flight. But does she have to be so snarky?

  The flight attendant returns. “Here you are.”

  Brina looks up and smiles. She takes the latte I had sealed in a thermos and the pastry from the flight attendant and sets them down before she sees the logo. “Oh my gosh! This is Sweeter Grind. How?”

  Her smile rivals the sun, just as intense as the happy gleam in her eyes.

  “I made a stop this morning,” I say flatly.

  She needs to know it was nothing.

  “Well, thank you for stocking the plane with my favorites.” She picks up the latte and takes a long gulp.

  Her excitement disarms me so much I decide not to mention her crude taste in coffee.

  She breaks off a piece of her pastry and stuffs it in her heart-shaped mouth, melting back in her seat with a grateful smile. I’m glad it perks her up and puts an extra jolt into her work for the remainder of the flight.

  When we land, she struggles to pick her bag up again, so I carry hers and my own.

  “Do you think I have time to order another coffee before the car comes?” she asks.

  I look at my watch. “Make it fast.”

  Sabrina saunters off and Ruby steps up beside me.

  “I’m kind of jealous,” she says. “I’ve worked here for how many years? And I’ve never once had the boss carrying my luggage.”

  I laugh it off with a shrug.

  “She couldn’t pick it up. If I’d made her, she would’ve dropped it twenty times and it would take us all day to get out of here. This was easier.”

  Ruby watches like a hawk while Sabrina exits and heads inside the airport. “She doesn’t have the usual bounce in her step. Poor girl. She’s exhausted.”

  “She went for a coffee run, and she was well caffeinated during the flight. She’ll be back to normal in time for the meeting.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the same for you,” Ruby grumbles.

  But before I can pull her back to wonder what the hell she means, she’s gone, pulling her roller suitcase behind her.

  Is it that obvious?

  Frowning, I march off the plane, telling myself this bag carrying business is the last favor I do anyone today.

  Nice Guy Mag isn’t who I am, much less what anyone else is used to.

  I’m sure as hell not stumbling through another client meeting like that near-disaster with Stedfaust, and all because my EA turns me into something I’m not.

  The stakes are too high.

  I hope Miss Bristol enjoyed the truce.

  If I have to growl and evil eye my whole team into locking down this client, so be it.

  * * *

  “So let me get this straight,” Millie Lindt, the CEO of Jazzle Razzle Designs says, leaning forward. “I’m supposed to give you a million-dollar budget for some Instagram posts?”

  “Miss Lindt, the ads are all yours, and so is the budget. You can use them wherever you want, but I’ll guarantee they get picked up by the biggest influencers. That’s what’ll get you traction you won’t get anywhere else. You have a young, hip audience. They’re all on the Gram and TikTok.”

  She cocks her head. Her platinum-blond hair ripples in the California sun streaming through the massive glass windows.

  “A million dollars is a lot of money. You’re telling me you can guarantee results? I’ve never had another marketer make that claim.”

  Technically, I can, as outlandish as it sounds.

  We’ve never once had a client fail to see growth.

  Still, she’s right, no other ad company guarantees results. Not if they’re in their right minds.

  In theory, it’s impossible. There are too many variables. I don’t own the advertising platforms, which could glitch, and the influencers don’t have to play ball.

  I also have zero control over other factors, like the formidable competitors in her space or Miss Lindt’s own quirks. She loves politics and her father is a governor. She isn’t shy about sharing her views, which could piss people off any time.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I say,
folding my hands. “If you don’t see at least a ten percent increase in sales from this campaign, we’ll create your next three ad campaigns free. No bull.”

  Ms. Lindt meets my eyes. “If your million-dollar run is unsuccessful, what use do I have for another campaign?”

  My phone vibrates against my leg.

  Fuck. What now? I tap the screen under the table and look down.

  Sabrina: Tell her the majority of our clients see a 20-30% increase in three weeks of the campaign’s release, and when that campaign runs for up to three months, the sales increase can go to seventy-five percent. Jazzle Razzle would almost have to try to stop our campaign from driving their sales through the roof.

  She’s right about everything, but before I can mull it over, my phone pings again.

  Sabrina: I mean, I’d tell her myself, but EAs don’t talk in meetings, or so I’ve heard...

  Damn this girl.

  She needs to learn there’s a time and place for her smart-assery, even if it’s wrapped in wisdom I will take seriously. I look up at Sabrina across the table. She raises her face just above her laptop, hiding a smirk, and returns to typing like mad.

  “Sorry, forgot to mute my phone. Miss Lindt, ten percent is the minimum increase most of our clients see. Our Return on Ad Spend often sails north of fifty percent roughly a month after a campaign’s launch. When clients let it run for three months, the sales increase can go as high as seventy-five percent. Let HeronComm send your numbers to the moon. That’s revenue for new product lines and new hires. Our results speak for themselves, and I’m confident they’ll talk your language, too. The real question is, how confident are you in your team and its products?”

  Lindt tumbles back and laughs so hard her chair rolls a few inches. “Oh, my. You’re good, Mr. Heron. Show me these ads.”

  I do exactly that, with pleasure. Halfway through, as she’s complimenting everything, I hear Hugo breathe a bearish sigh of relief.

  It’s almost too perfect.

  She particularly loves everything we shot in the park after I shooed a crazy, latte-spitting woman off her park bench.

  The meeting ends without a hitch, and when I shake her hand, it’s my turn to silently breathe a sigh of relief.

  I’ll admit it. After the Woof Meow Chow stumble, today had me worried.

  Hugo grins at my side so hard it looks like his cheeks hurt. He needed a win today.

  Lindt pushes her chair back. “Thank you all for coming out to see me today. I’ll have that contract sent over by Monday.”

  A minute later, we’re off, with the entire team swapping high fives behind me on the way to the elevator.

  As we walk out of the glassy building into the L.A. sun, I tell Sabrina, “Nice job, Miss Bristol. Your performance note was on point and well received.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just gives me a blank look.

  “Nothing?” I grumble.

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re so funny.”

  Damn. I tried to give her a compliment, didn’t I?

  “I saved your ass back there, Mr. Heron. Again,” she clips, casting a smile that’s anything but friendly. “You’re welcome. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  My turn to roll my eyes now.

  “Please. I would’ve sealed that deal either way, but I told you, I’m grateful for your help. I’ve done hundreds of multimillion-dollar negotiations long before your sass showed up.” I reach up, jerking at my collar to loosen it in this heat—or maybe it’s just the presence of one insufferable assistant who makes my blood run hot for outrageous reasons.

  “Three words,” she says with a shrug. “Woof Meow Chow.”

  “That was an off day. A rarity,” I grunt, lowering my voice so Hugo doesn’t hear us. “And to be fair, that was far more the design concept than anything I did.”

  “If you say so, boss.” She’s wise not to meet my eyes after wagging that stinger of a tongue.

  If she did, I’m sure she’d see flames shooting out to rival Hades. I’d fire her on the spot, if only she weren’t so damn good at her job.

  We walk to the curb in icy silence and wait for our charter limo.

  Ruby comes up behind me. “Hey, Mag, got a minute?”

  I turn. “Sure.”

  She glances at the other employees, clearing her throat.

  “Over here, away from the team.” She walks almost back to the door, heels clicking.

  Not good. I follow her, wondering what’s up.

  “What is it?” I whisper as soon as we’re alone.

  “What the hell are you doing to Sabrina Bristol?”

  Wait. I did something? To Sabrina?

  If memory serves, I sent her my driver and drove myself to the airport after going twenty minutes out of the way to make sure she had that stupid coffee flavored sugar milk. I even got her bear claws, for God’s sake.

  “Excuse me?” I growl, trying to suppress the edge in my voice.

  “She looks like hell. The warnings are there. She’s already twice as miserable as your other assistants looked right before they quit. Quit, you doofus! Do you hear me? At this rate, I doubt she lasts a month.”

  “Nonsense. She’s doing just fine. Better than most EAs ever have. You’re being ridiculous, Ruby, stirring up drama over—”

  “Watch your step with that bullshit. If you had a male HR manager, would you call him a drama queen for raising concerns about talent retention? You know every single one of your past EAs weren’t all problem children, right? It’s statistically impossible, even if you are King Asshole.”

  A growl lodges in my throat and my nose wrinkles at Mariska Crista’s old nickname. Then I sigh.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply you were doing anything less than your job—looking out for my dumb ass,” I tell her.

  I may be a prick, but I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong.

  Also, she may have a point about running Miss Bristol raw, but that isn’t my problem.

  She’s a smart, capable young woman. She knew what she was getting herself into, and under my tough love, she’s thriving.

  “Magnus...”

  “Ruby, your concerns are noted. Sabrina’s fine. So far, her work is impeccable. She beats most deadlines, and I’m even willing to put up with her goddamned attitude. If she were slipping, I’d notice, and remedy it immediately. I promise you.”

  “Did you just call her Sabrina?” Ruby’s eyes dart up.

  My jaw tightens.

  “Regardless, she’s bone-tired. You’re working her to death,” Ruby hisses. “She’s twenty-three and has bags under her eyes thicker than mine.”

  Ouch. I had a good look at her face this morning and hadn’t noticed. But when I glance over at her now...she does look frayed.

  Then again, appearances are often deceiving.

  “No way. If she were truly that tired, she’d be making mistakes left and right. And given her background, I expected a learning curve. So far, it’s barely materialized. If she were as tired as you say, we’d be discussing her work quality, not her stamina.”

  Ruby places a hand on her hip. “Mag, not every mistake happens on paper or over email. You’re smart enough to know that. This is the best EA you’ve had in a long time. I’m just advising you that if you don’t want to be doing interviews again soon, cut the crap and give the girl a break.”

  “She’s fine,” I insist, locking my gaze on her again to prove my point.

  Her arms are crossed in front of her, and she leans against a concrete plant holder, slumping just slightly. She yawns, and something on the ground catches her attention.

  I watch her bend over, scoop it off the ground, and come up holding a piece of copper between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Lucky penny!” she squeals, as if she just struck gold. “Penny, penny bring me luck, I’m the one who picked you up.”

  I look back at Ruby who’s also watching this whole scene.

  Ruby raises a brow as if to say, told ya.
r />   I don’t respond. But dammit, I may need to consider her advice.

  Our limo pulls up a second later and we all slide in. Miss Bristol shows her lucky penny off to anyone and everyone. They humor her, but the second her back is turned, their eyes morph to pity, confusion, concern.

  Fuck me sideways.

  The girl needs a break.

  She scoots in beside me as the car gets going, beaming at the thing in her palm. “I found a lucky penny. Seems like a good sign for the Jazzle Razzle deal!”

  I’d ask if she’s drunk, but I’ve been with her most of the day and know the answer.

  She’s only had enough coffee to tweak out a horse.

  Maybe there’s more to this and I’m missing something.

  “So I’ve heard,” I say quietly. “What makes it so lucky?”

  “If you find a penny heads up, you have to pick it up. The rest of the day, you’ll have good luck.”

  “You know it probably has city germs on it. You could get sick, Miss Bristol, and your treasure would be nothing but a curse.”

  “Come on, Heron.” She sticks out her tongue. “Do you always have to be such a huge downer?”

  I don’t answer. She moves to an empty seat across from me and falls asleep again.

  Okay. It’s worse than I thought. She’s damn near talking in nursery rhymes.

  Ruby’s right, and I admit I’m being a downer over something harmless.

  Fine, dammit.

  I’ll make sure she gets her break. A well-rested employee is a happy one, and happy employees are statistically more productive, longer lasting, and yes...

  Less insane.

  9

  The Fireman’s Pregnant Tinkerbell (Sabrina)

  Magnus Heron and I sit in the back seat of the town car, the tinted windows hiding us from the outside world. He’s in his button-down shirt and slacks. His blazer hangs over my back, draped there since he noticed I was shivering. The royal blue hue contrasts with my ivory dress.

  I’m sleepy but content.

  His powerful arms are tucked around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder, just like I did on the plane. He presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there, a sweet and sensual forbidden kiss that takes me by surprise. I tilt my chin up.