Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  * * *

  I go back to work on Friday, the last day of work before New Year’s Eve, which is kind of awesome.

  Despite having the entire week clear, I don’t want to get buried.

  I’m there by five for one day and then have several more off. The date Paige helped set up is right after work. So I’ve come dressed in a low-cut, skin-tight red dress and the shock and awe heels my parents bought.

  When I bring Mag’s coffee in, he’s at his desk.

  Surprise.

  I set the coffee down with an audible thump.

  “Since when are you at your desk this bright and early? It’s a slow time of year.”

  He looks up from his laptop, a notepad at his side, holding a pencil. “With virtually everyone out, I don’t have meetings. It’s been nice. I can actually get vision work done for the new year.” His eyes saunter up and down my body, narrowing before resting on my face. “That’s a bright damn dress.”

  I run my fingers down it. “Too bright, you think?”

  He swallows, his throat moving.

  “No, no, I was just...surprised is all.” He shakes his head, tapping his pencil against the desk. “You’re a striking woman, but you know that.”

  “Is that a problem, Mag?” I ask, fluttering my fingers against my chest in mock-worry.

  “Hardly,” he snaps, looking at my neckline with eyes like pointed daggers before meeting my gaze again. “It’s simply not as conservative as your usual style.”

  He clears his throat.

  I grin. “Actually, I have a date when I’m out of here today, and your eyes say this was the right choice. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Date?” Those hell-blue eyes go electric as his eyebrows arch.

  Today, King Grump definitely fits his name.

  “Since it’s the holidays, I won’t berate you, but here’s a reminder,” he growls, still glaring. “You’re at work, Miss Bristol. When we have a full crew again, I expect you to show up dressed professionally.”

  “Mr. Heron, I read the dress code three times this morning. I’m not infringing anything.”

  There’s a loud snap as the pencil breaks like a twig in his hands.

  “You’d better hurry up if you want to make your date. Just because we’re low on work doesn’t mean you’re here for nothing,” he grumbles.

  I walk away with a saucy switch of my hips.

  God, does it feel good to see Magus Heron jealous.

  Predictably, he hides in his office most of the day, and I get caught up. The emails trickled in slowly, luckily. At four o’clock, I order a grilled chicken wrap with pesto and an heirloom grain salad from his favorite deli and go knock on his office door.

  “Yes?” he calls.

  I walk in. “You’re right. With no one here, it’s easy to get work done. I’m caught up from vacation and heading out. I ordered your dinner. It should be here at six thirty as usual. See you Monday.”

  He glances at the clock and then me. “You’re really leaving early?”

  “Yes,” I say. “You gave me a week off, remember? Have a good night.”

  I’m almost out the door when he calls after me again.

  “Where’s this boy taking you?” Mag growls, not a hint of real interest in his voice.

  Hello, Mr. Hyde.

  His chest heaves, his nostrils flare, and I can hear him breathing.

  Nice to know he remembered my plans.

  “I’m not sure yet. We’re figuring that out soon,” I lie. “Goodbye, Mr. Heron. Have a peaceful, productive evening.”

  His face hardens like stone, and I can feel the brimstone shooting out of his eyes on my back, fiery as smelted metal.

  I grab my coat and leave, humming to myself.

  14

  Wolf Boy (Magnus)

  Damn Sabrina Bristol and that sizzling red devil’s dress.

  This is my fault. I shouldn’t have avoided her after kissing her. Making out with her.

  No matter how many times I tell myself, it wasn’t just some random kiss.

  I haven’t been able to pry it out of my fucking skull for a month. Every night since Phoenix, I’ve clenched my teeth and wrapped my fist around my cock, feverishly wishing it was her.

  And now she’s out with someone else.

  Some kid her own age, probably, who won’t know what to do with her.

  Damn it straight to hell.

  Ruby comes strolling in through my office door, interrupting me mid-brood.

  “What are you doing here?” I snap, then sigh, running a hand over my face. “Sorry. Holiday stress.”

  She turns her face up and gives me a cutting look. “Holidays. Really?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Did you at least see my email about the new marketing hire for our PPC campaigns? I don’t think it’s going to work out. He’s failed the blueprint courses three times and he’s showing up late. I’ve documented enough to get rid of him now, if you’d like. Since the manager, Trudeau, isn’t in this week, I thought I’d bring it straight to you.”

  I have no idea what she’s even talking about.

  Not cool. It’s my job to know what’s going on.

  “Whatever you think, Ruby. Throw him out the door, give him more time, put him on probation...or wait for Trudeau.”

  “Jesus.” She crosses the room and sits in front of my desk. “What’s wrong, Mag? You’ve been distracted for weeks.”

  “Nothing,” I say coldly. Maybe if I can sell her, we’ll both believe it.

  “You haven’t read any of my emails today, have you?”

  She’s known me for so long, lying to her is pointless.

  I meet her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve been locked away planning our January initiatives.”

  She shrugs. “Don’t apologize to me. It’s your company paying dead weight, which I know you hate. It’s not like you to overlook things. What’s eating you?”

  I walk over to my wall of windowpanes and look out at the sprawling Chicago skyline. Skyscrapers stab above a freezing fog drifting off the icy lake, like Jack Frost blowing his bitterest winter kiss through the streets.

  “You already know. This time of year, with my family shit...” I swallow hard for effect, hoping she’ll buy it.

  She follows me across the room and stops two steps behind me.

  “You must mean your other family, I assume. What’s new with them? I know you don’t talk to Baxter.”

  I say nothing.

  This was a bad cover story. Now that I’m thinking about it, a depressing weight punches me in the gut.

  “Pardon my language, Mag, but why don’t you grow a pair and talk to them?” Ruby asks sharply.

  I turn, wondering what’s gotten into her.

  No one ever gives me advice on this, not even Ruby Hunting.

  “Excuse me?” I growl, my brow furrowed.

  “Stop with the anonymous rich uncle stuff, I mean. You’ve been taking care of that kid for years. Just talk to them,” Ruby says, her face tightening before it relaxes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so harsh.”

  “You know better than anyone why I’ve sworn to stay the hell out of their lives and try to make things right the only way I can. Jordan Quail shouldn’t carry around Baxter’s sins. It’s bad enough for me,” I snarl, my jaw clenching like a vise.

  “But you don’t, Mag. You can’t do this Atlas thing forever, holding up the world. You’re two different people. You’ve made your own choices, and they’ve been very different from his.”

  Have they?

  If only she knew how similar they were. If only they knew Miss Bristol—Brina—is all I think about, jerking off in the shower and under my sheets like a smitten dolt.

  I stare out the window because I don’t have a response. Where do I even start?

  I kissed my fucking beautiful, smart, and too good for life EA in the middle of the Sonoran desert, and I enjoyed every second of it.

  Her moans are branded on my g
rey matter. They still raise the hair on my arms like a wild beast, and if I hadn’t realized how close to that evil bastard I was behaving...

  ...things wouldn’t have stopped there.

  “Look, Mag, I’m sorry. This is a weird time of year, not just for you.” She lets out a hefty sigh and takes a step back. “I’ve been digging around my own family tree. Turns out, I had a lost sister. I found some records that came out recently after that big bio-tech company fell apart out west. Galentron or whatever? I guess she spent her life in this freaky espionage thing before she disappeared, and...I’m rambling. Forgive me.”

  “Do you need anything else?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I wish I could help with your sister.”

  “Forget it.” She clears her throat. “Are you sure it’s just Marissa and the kid you’re upset about?”

  “Positive.”

  “Because if you’re upset about someone else, someone in this office...I don’t think you should be. I don’t know what happened with you two, but a talk could probably clear it up.”

  Fuck. Has she noticed?

  “Who are we talking about, Ruby?”

  Her lips twist sourly.

  “No one. I’m just going to get back to work. Happy New Year to you, too.”

  She can’t know what really happened in Phoenix.

  If she did, she wouldn’t have told me, I’m not like my old man.

  Ruby finally gets the hell out of my office, and I plod back to my desk and sit down. My computer shows the time. Twenty minutes after four.

  She’s only been gone for twenty minutes.

  Who is this guy taking her out? What’s he like? Does she like him?

  That dress says she plans to.

  That dress says she wants to fuck his brains out.

  Who cares?

  Me, apparently, because I’d need a hole through the head to stop my fingers from pulling up her contact and punching out a message.

  We’re pitching Arrowpoint Airlines next week, I type. I need five ideas to keep Hugo’s concepts organized ASAP. Your next bonus is riding on this.

  No answer.

  I try five or six more times before I see my scowling reflection in the screen.

  Whatever. I’ll text one more time, but this is it. I’m not this goddamned desperate.

  So what if I even write Urgent! at the beginning of the message?

  She’s ignoring me, and I deserve it.

  I did the same thing to her after Phoenix.

  If only I knew it feels worse to be on the receiving end.

  * * *

  I climb in the town car, almost tripping over my phone, throwing my briefcase down with a thunk.

  “Whoa, boss, you should’ve told me you needed a hand. Where’s the fire? You’re heading out early today,” Armstrong says, looking back with concern.

  It’s not even five yet.

  I’m usually here half the night.

  “Take me to Sweeter Grind. It’s in the shopping center across from the park where we did the Jazzle Razzle shoot months ago.”

  “You drink cheap coffee now? Did I miss the four horsemen?” he chuckles. “Is everything okay, Mr. Heron? We’re not going under or anything, are we?”

  “I’ll never drink cheap coffee. It hasn’t come to that.” I laugh. “Everything’s fine with the company, so don’t worry.”

  Everything except my sanity, I mean, spoiled by one wicked woman in a cursed red dress.

  I’m going to hell for this. I don’t even know if she’ll be there, it’s just a hunch.

  It’s not like she said she was going to Sweeter Grind. If she’d just answered my texts, I wouldn’t be resorting to this.

  Armstrong parks in front of Sweeter Grind a few minutes later.

  I scan the large windows at the front of the shop, trying to catch a glimpse of her, when my eyes catch on soft curves sheathed in scarlet red. She’s at a table, just inside, glowing like the firecracker she is.

  By herself?

  A thousand pounds lift off my chest.

  I don’t know why I care.

  Until a twenty something blond punk in shorts, a jersey, and a scraggly beard struts up to the table and hands her a cup.

  A cinnamon latte, no doubt.

  He grins at her like a wolf ready to pounce on its prey. His lanky, muscular build only deepens the impression.

  If I had three wishes, I’d burn one on flamethrowers for eyes.

  What the hell does she need with a fuckboy in gym shorts? And who wears gym shorts to a coffeeshop in the dead of winter to take a girl out? Did he even shower before he crawled out of the gym to meet her?

  Put some thought into it, you little prick.

  Wolf Boy’s mouth never quits flapping.

  Sabrina rests her elbow on the tabletop, planting her chin into her hand.

  Good. She’s bored.

  Why do you care? a voice inside me screams.

  “Armstrong, you want a coffee?” I ask, my voice pure frostbite.

  He looks up, his forehead wrinkled, and lets out a nervous laugh. “I wondered if you were ever getting out of the car. Sure, boss man, that’d be great.”

  I nod. “Regular with heavy cream?”

  “I’ll take a sugar free cinnamon latte,” he says.

  “You drink cinnamon lattes too?”

  He nods. “Brina bought me one the other week. They’re pretty good, and since they have sugar free syrup, I can have it.”

  “You call her Brina?”

  “She told me to, man.” He laughs, flashing me a whimsical look in the rearview mirror.

  Damn. Since when?

  Has the whole frigging office been calling her Brina while I’m still dancing around Miss Bristol, hell-bent on keeping that stick up my ass?

  I’m such a fool.

  She told me I could call her Brina before the kiss, but with the way I’ve ignored her for the past month, I’m sure that offer was revoked.

  I slip inside unnoticed since she’s facing the other way.

  After ordering a sugar free cinnamon latte and a regular cinnamon latte—I’m going to find out what the big deal is about this drink for myself—I sit down in the empty chair behind Wolf Boy.

  Sabrina’s eyes are glazed over. She looks like she’s about to fall asleep in her drink, nodding every so often like she has invisible puppet strings attached.

  Poor girl. She’s so bored she can’t hold her head up.

  “Why did it take you so long to message me back?” Wolf Boy asks with a shitty grin, smug and punchable.

  “I’m usually busy running around for my asshole tyrant boss,” Brina says, catching her face as it slouches in her palm.

  The movement shifts her eyes, though. I love the spark of recognition, turning them into burning wood circles.

  I wave so she can see me.

  She perks up, alarmed, back straight, head up, but her lips are a savage line.

  Her eyes are alert but not friendly.

  “Surprise,” I mouth, hoping she can lip read.

  Is she happy I’m here, or pissed? Or maybe she’s just embarrassed because she practically called me an asshole tyrant to my face?

  “What’re you doing here?” she mouths back, shaking her head.

  Her college boy turns around to find out who she’s looking at, raising an eyebrow when he spots me.

  “Dude,” he whispers with mixed curiosity and annoyance.

  I extend my hand.

  He shakes it limply.

  “Magnus Heron, CEO of Heron Communications.” I use my full title with great pleasure. “The asshole tyrant boss Sabrina works for.”

  “Heron? Oh. Oh, shit!” He drops my hand and slides closer to the table. “My dad used to work there, in the mail room.”

  “Ah, I thought I recognized you. Who’s your old man?”

  “Joe...” He trails off, looking at Sabrina. “Uh...sorry to cut this short, but I just remembered I need to let the dog out!”

  The kid damn near runs out
the door, leaving his coffee on the table.

  I smirk. “Where’d you find that winner?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Tinder. My roommate helped.”

  “You two sure know how to pick them.”

  “You know, you’re right.” She cocks her head. “I have pretty bad taste in men. I did let you kiss me, after all.”

  I glare at her.

  “We weren’t supposed to mention that again,” I growl.

  “True. But I also don’t recall inviting you on my date. Did you have to go all stalker?”

  “Funny. I didn’t know I needed an invitation to save you.”

  “Save me from what? I was having a good time.”

  “Of course you were. People in the morgue are livelier,” I tell her. “And you weren’t answering my urgent texts. Part of the reason your salary’s so high is because you’re always on call. You understand?”

  “Are you a doctor?” she asks, twirling her hair, strands of cinnamon in the light.

  “What?”

  “Do you stop people from bleeding to death for a living?” she asks.

  I narrow my eyes. Where’s she going with this?

  “No, of course not, I—”

  “Are you an attorney, Mag? Do you request emergency stays on death row convictions or get kids out of abusive homes?”

  This has to be a trap.

  “No.”

  “Okay, then there’s nothing at that office that can’t wait a couple hours for me to have a life on a Friday night right before the calendar flips over. Got it?”

  I stare at her, magma in my veins, so hot it’s intoxicating.

  “You realize I’m the boss, right?”

  “Sometimes. Right now, you’re acting more like a crazy stalker.”

  I ignore the remark.

  “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “Nope. I’m so pissed at you I’d rather walk home in this zero degree weather. But these heels are killing my feet, so...maybe.” She shrugs and looks me straight in the eye as she stands. “You’re actually clueless, aren’t you? You have no idea how big of an asshole you are. That’s the worst part.”

  I stand. “Most people wouldn’t say that to their boss. Let’s go.”

  She follows me out the door.