Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

“And most bosses wouldn’t follow their freaking assistants around on dates.”

  “I need to know your thoughts on the airline campaign.”

  She surveys the parking lot and pokes me in the chest. “You’re such a bad liar. I was at work the whole day and you didn’t ask once. You had hours to pick my brain. You don’t give a shit what I think about that campaign, you just want—never mind.”

  I don’t say a word because she’s got my number.

  She turns to me slowly with a pained look. “Let’s get something straight right now. I do your filing, make your phone calls, check your emails, and execute your contracts. I bring you coffee, clothes, and whatever the hell else you need during business hours. No part of that gives you control over my love life.”

  “I did you a favor with that boy. He almost shit his pants when he saw me. He ran off without his coffee. Who takes a girl to a coffee shop on a first date anyhow?” I bring the regular cinnamon latte to my mouth, take a big gulp, and instantly spit it out on the pavement, where it steams in the winter air. “My God. Now I get why you spit on me—it’s sugar milk. How do you drink this stuff?”

  She laughs, puffy white wisps of dragon smoke curling out of her mouth.

  “Does that mean I can have it? It’s the least you can do.”

  “Will you still be mad at me?” I grumble, holding the drink out of her reach.

  “Yes, but I might not kick you.”

  “Kick me, and I’ll fire you on the spot.”

  She holds out her gloved hand, and I slide the cup in it.

  “Firing me will punish you, not me,” she says, taking a longish sip.

  Damn, she’s figured too much out.

  I’m screwed.

  When we reach the car, I open the door. “Get in.”

  “You win this one, I guess. My date didn’t hold my door open either,” she says, sliding in.

  I get in behind her and shut the door.

  “You’re a lucky woman. If I hadn’t shown up, you could’ve died from boredom.” I pass Armstrong his drink as the privacy screen goes down.

  “So if coffee shops aren’t first date material, where would you take a girl?” she asks, chugging her latte like it’s beer.

  I look at Armstrong with a raised eyebrow. He puts the screen back up.

  “Somewhere nice. An exotic restaurant with an unpronounceable menu. I’d share my tastes in refined food beyond Taco Colita. I can’t see how a bad cup of coffee convinces any girl to see a man again.”

  “Newsflash: You’re supposed to convince her. Not the coffee or food so expensive you’d scare any normal gal.”

  “Adventure is priceless,” I say. “And without adventure, love hits a brick wall.”

  She snorts. “If you paid thirty-seven dollars for bite-sized appetizers and raw fish, and I had to make a burger run afterward, I’d so drop you.”

  I chuckle. “I’d order for you like a gentleman, and pay the head chef for his very best. You wouldn’t need fast food, believe me.”

  “God, you’re undateable. Do you know how many women hate it when guys order for them?”

  “I don’t order for girls, Sabrina. I said I’d order for you—key difference—because you don’t do a good job of ordering for yourself.”

  She purses her lips and settles back in the seat.

  “You can’t even deny it,” I say, feeling a smirk digging at my face.

  “Tell me this. Why do you feel this insane need to go somewhere expensive on a first date?” she asks. “It’s nothing but pressure.”

  “Hm. No one’s ever asked before.” I shrug. “It’s the experience that counts, and money often buys experience.”

  “You’re dating the wrong women, Mag,” she says, rolling those chocolate silk eyes.

  Not possible.

  Frankly, I can’t remember the last time I dated anyone.

  Soon, Armstrong pulls up to Brina’s apartment.

  “That was a quick ride,” I say, sliding out so I can hold the door open for her. “I’ll walk you up.”

  I know Wolf Boy wouldn’t have purely from the goodness of his heart.

  She shifts the keys back and forth between her hands as we stand in front of her building’s main door. “I’m not thanking you for the ride after you interrupted my date, but...it could’ve been worse. I guess.”

  Yeah.

  I could’ve stolen you away and found somewhere dark to kiss until you moaned my name.

  “It’s cold,” she says. “I’m going in.”

  “Since I’m here, we might as well talk about your ideas for the airline project. The creative pitch with Hugo isn’t far off.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Cool. Because there’s nothing I’d rather do on a Friday night.”

  “Well, someone slipped out at four to go on a bad date. We’re usually still at the office right now.”

  “Come on,” she says with a sigh.

  An invitation. I’m shocked.

  Once we’re upstairs and inside her apartment, I look around the place. Her décor is a weird mashup of cat posters and artsy images of sculpture parks.

  “Would you like a glass of wine or are you happy gawking at how the little people live?” she asks.

  I glance at the bottles on the counter, perched in a corner.

  “How about something stronger? Bourbon?”

  “That’s Paige’s stuff, and from the label, it looks expensive.”

  “Paige?”

  “My roommate.”

  I take out a fifty and throw it on the counter. “Paige can have a whole new bottle as long as I get to drink from that one.”

  She laughs. “I still feel like making you drink cheap wine just to prove the world doesn’t revolve around you, Mag.”

  She pours her wine into a dainty glass.

  “I’ll be less demanding with bourbon,” I tell her, clenching my teeth.

  She takes out a glass four times the size of a shot, fills it, and hands it to me.

  I can’t blame the liquor because I haven’t taken a drink yet, but the way that innocent, beautiful woman looks at me makes my blood roar.

  Forget the airline talk.

  I’m already in full flight, and it’s not just a bad fucking pun.

  My entire body tingles below my waistline. It isn’t the bourbon I want. Seeing her with that college prick made me regret walking away after our stolen kiss in the Phoenix sunset.

  Her chest rises and falls, and with each breath, her breasts bubble up against her crimson neckline and flutter down. Calling me. Taunting me.

  They bob against her neckline again like they’re aching to be free.

  My dick hurts, spiking this physical ache through my whole system, like a man deprived of what he needs most when it’s right in front of him.

  I’m done with this torture.

  Setting the glass on the counter, I close the space between us, dropping an arm around her waist. I steal her wine glass away with my other hand, and then before she knows what’s happening, I press my lips to hers so hard she moans, melting in my arms.

  Fuck.

  She tastes like cinnamon and red wine and everything I shouldn’t want.

  Of course she does.

  What little prayer I ever had of pulling away goes unanswered the second her leg winds around mine. Brina’s tongue flicks against my bottom lip.

  A low, animal noise falls out of me like approaching thunder.

  Snarling, I trace my finger over her neckline, just enough pressure to ease her top down.

  I’ve developed a sudden hatred for her red dress when it’s concealing everything I want to ravage.

  Thankfully, I don’t have to push much against the strained cloth to release one plump, warm tit into my palm, her nipple perked against my hand.

  I break the kiss, suck in a harsh breath, and chuckle with lust.

  “No bra?” I growl, drawing a circle around the edge of her areola, bringing my finger in closer until I’m brushing against her nipple. />
  “Oh,” she moans, her shoulders rolling with this seductive little hiss. “Mag.”

  Sweet fuck.

  The way she whimpers my name says she already wants this as bad as I do.

  I can’t wait to get my tongue inside her, to fling her legs apart, throw her against the wall, and eat her delicate pussy until she’s nothing but a wet, simmering mess of pleasure.

  She draws in a breath, then moves her lips back against mine. My tongue sweeps inside her mouth, desperate for another taste of her, but she tilts her head back, chin up.

  So she wants to play hard to get? Happy to oblige.

  I push my face forward, kissing down her neck, adding a stinging nip of teeth at the cusp of her cleavage.

  She falls back, and I pull her forward in my arms, holding her up as her knees weaken. Then I take that rosy nipple in my mouth and make her sing.

  Soft, almost lyrical need floods the room, echoing off the walls, igniting new fires in my blood.

  Her hand flies into my hair, her fingernails rake my scalp, already begging for every hot, bestial thing on my grand list of fuckery. A list I’ve etched in stone only for Sabrina Bristol.

  The leg around my hip tightens, and her other leg tucks behind my ankle.

  Shit.

  My cock jerks, lurching against my zipper, screaming to be deep inside her, wrapped up in shuddering curls of this woman driven to rapture.

  Growling, I pick her up, grinding her warmth over my hard length, making her feel every seething inch of me.

  Goddamn.

  I’ve wanted this for so long. I’ve been starved for ages. I’m barely even human as every potent kiss makes me want to shear off her clothes, flip her over, and fuck her until her eyes roll white.

  I blink my eyes open and spot a couch. With our lips still locked, I fling her up in my arms and carry her across the room.

  Her lithe body bounces against the sofa as I lay her down and stretch over her, careful to keep my weight off of her as my fingers fly below my belt to my zipper.

  She pulls away from me as soon as the unfastening buzz breaks the silence, breath ragged, one hand still tangled in my hair.

  “Brina?” I whisper, my eyes so hot I’m sure they glow.

  “Mag.” She cups my face in her free hand. “It can’t be like last time. Not like Phoenix. You can’t just do this and then say—”

  No.

  I cut her off with a feral kiss, sinking my teeth into her bottom lip. My tongue glides against hers, rubbing the inside of her mouth until she moans, and then I pull away.

  “I promise you, it won’t happen. No more second guesses. No more retreat.”

  For a second, our eyes are fused.

  Hers are amber-brown whirlpools, so dark with desire and heartache.

  “Then kiss me again,” she whispers finally. “I’m...I’m yours.”

  “With pleasure,” I rumble, tearing at her dress, setting her other breast free as her eyes go wide. “You didn’t say where.”

  I close my mouth around the new pink nipple, lashing it with my tongue, teasing her with my teeth, sucking her until I feel her toes curl against my ankle.

  My shaft strains against the hole in my pants, raging to be freed, but she’ll come for me at least once before we get that far.

  When I leave tonight, she’ll be as desperate for the next time as I am.

  I slide a hand under her dress, hoping to find her as bare as she was on top.

  No dice, but of course she’s fucking soaked. I swear, I can feel her pussy throb for me under her silk. I trace her panties delicately with the tip of my finger for several seconds before I flip the cloth back to tease my fingers against her entrance.

  She moans, pushes her hips into my hand, smearing her hot slick need against fingers eager to make her mine, mine, and also mine.

  I draw more vicious circles around her nipple with my tongue, holding my fingers just out of reach below, gingerly exploring her inner thighs and the slit I’m about to claim.

  “Mag...please!” She arches up and down against my hand, her breath hitched, begging for every unspoken promise offered in teeth and fingertips.

  My cock throbs so hard I almost lose it on the spot, coming in my pants.

  Then my phone rings.

  I pull my mouth away from her breast. She whimpers, staring up at me through lidded eyes.

  “I’ll put the bastard thing on silent.” I move my hand to my pocket with a grin. “I know how bad you need this, baby. Hold on.”

  I plan to power the damn thing off and get back to what matters, but the words Memorial Hospital flash across the screen, catching my eye.

  What the hell?

  Slowly, I back away, leaving her red-faced and gorgeous and exposed.

  Damn if it isn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  “Sorry. I need to take this.” I stab at the talk button. “Yeah?”

  “Can I speak with Magnus Heron?” a bubbly voice on the other line says.

  “Speaking,” I grind out. “Who’s this?”

  “I have you listed as Marissa Quail’s emergency contact.”

  My gut sinks and confusion whips through my head like a gale.

  “Emergency contact? Is this some kind of goddamn joke?” I snarl, turning away from Brina’s questioning look as she sits up.

  “No, sir, I have you listed as Marissa Quail’s emergency contact and—”

  That’s interesting. I thought she wanted nothing to do with me. Is this about Jordan?

  “Repeat that back to me?” I ask, my mind wandering.

  “I said, unfortunately, if you don’t pick up her son soon, I’ll have to call protective services until she’s able to care for him,” the voice continues.

  “No! Don’t do that. I’ll be right there. Is she okay?”

  “We can give you more details about her medical condition once you arrive. For now, I can tell you it would be best to pick up the child. She won’t be discharged from this hospital tonight.”

  Shit.

  When I turn around, Brina’s already made herself presentable again, but her eyes are glued to my face.

  “What’s wrong?” she mouths, her big brown eyes staring.

  I shake my head and end the call.

  “I have to go,” I say.

  “But—”

  I duck my head down and kiss her. “This isn’t like Phoenix. I promise you, it’s a real emergency. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Yes, I’m aware I’m walking out of her apartment with a hard-on that could be considered a deadly weapon, but the frigid Chicago air will remedy that by the time I’m in the town car.

  So will the sharp boulder in my throat, and the lead heart pounding in my chest.

  I don’t understand what the fuck’s happened.

  I’ve got to get downtown ASAP.

  15

  The Kid (Sabrina)

  Rat.

  Bastard.

  This is the second time he’s kissed me—okay, it went a lot further than kissing—and he acted like it was nothing. He went from a hundred miles an hour to zero in point six seconds like that Ferrari in Arizona, leaving me gasping for air and wondering what just hit us.

  And the worst part? The very worst?

  I wish—or at least my body wishes—we’d reached the final destination.

  What am I doing?

  I almost had sex with a guy who left me high and—well, definitely not dry—without giving me the simplest reason.

  Not to mention the fun fact that he’s still my boss.

  A caveman in a suit who never learned to speak emotions.

  And after this shitshow tonight, I’ll still have to see him again come Monday morning.

  What’s our score again? It must be something like:

  Unpredictable Sexy Boss McGrump: 10.

  Girl who gets her heart kicked around: 0.

  I’m so stupid. That stunt in Phoenix tried to warn me.

  Paige isn’t home. She left me the
place for tonight, so I can’t even vent. Or maybe I can. I grab my phone and send her a text.

  Hey, I wish you were home. You have no idea what a ginormous buttwipe my boss is.

  She pings me a minute later with a laughing emoji. Yes, I do! You’ve told me! But I thought I was out of the house so you could get laid? Why are we talking about your asshat boss? Get laid!

  I don’t have the guts to tell her I came very close to getting laid with a normal, if boring guy, and then my “asshat” boss and almost-booty buddy turned into one in the same.

  You don’t have to stay out if you don’t want to. No laying tonight, I text back.

  A few seconds later she sends back an angry face and Why? What? Brina Bristol—get laid!!!

  Thirty minutes later, I flop down on the couch in front of Netflix, stuffing an overcooked frozen pizza into my mouth.

  I wish I had a picture of Magnus Heron and a dartboard.

  I should start applying for other jobs soon. But where do you find other jobs with my pay? I don’t want to see the screwball again, but I also don’t want to give up six figs a year.

  Three episodes of Schitt’s Creek later, a lot of angry pizza chomping, and so many bad thoughts, my phone rings. I grab it without looking, thinking it’s Paige.

  But Magnus Heron flashes across the screen.

  God, I’m so tempted to ignore it.

  But he did get an odd call before he left, didn’t he? Also, I’ve never heard him use the word promise until right before he bolted out the door.

  What if he has a real excuse?

  I want to smack myself in the cheek, wondering why I’m lending him the benefit of the doubt.

  I take the call anyway. “What?”

  “I—I’ve sent Armstrong to pick you up—” His voice is gravelly, strained, this low scraping like he’s been beaten and dragged raw.

  I’ve never heard him like this.

  I sit up straight. “Are you okay?”

  He sighs into the phone. “I’m fine. But I need you, Brina. Right now. It can’t wait.”

  “For what?” I’d assume he just wants to finish the hookup, if only his voice didn’t sound so...odd.

  “Just be ready as soon as Armstrong gets there, and I’ll see you soon.”

  “Maybe you won’t,” I say.

  “What?”