Bossy Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Somehow, I feel like it couldn’t be crappier than coming face-to-face with a grumpalicious bossman who saw me at my absolute flaming worst.

  “...Paige? You didn’t actually set the place on fire, did you?” she squeaks.

  “No! Nothing like that. I just...” I trail off, struggling to find the words.

  “Okay, look, I don’t think they’d fire you for a mistake you made on the first day if it happened on a spreadsheet or something. Even Mag wasn’t that big a tyrant when I started at HeronComm.”

  “I heard that!” Her hot tyrant of a hubby calls in the background.

  Where to begin?

  “Do you remember Dark Knight?” I ask slowly.

  “The guy you told me about last weekend? The dude who rescued you from the Tinder vampire and played doctor sexy but never left a number?”

  I smile at how good her memory is.

  “That’s the one.”

  “What about him?”

  “Turns out, I’m his flipping executive assistant!” I cover my face with my free hand, feeling heat pulsing in my cheeks, and trying not to cry.

  Deep breath.

  When I can talk again, I say, “Working with Beatrice Brandt is a dream but...I don’t know how I can face this guy. And I don’t want to be his assistant. I mean, not unless it’s like one of those eighties romance novels where 'secretary' really means 'take me against the wall.' And even then, I’d rather just skip to the fun parts and block off everything else.”

  Brina’s laughter fills the phone.

  “Not even trying to deny it, huh? You’re already smitten.”

  “I brought him home, Brina. I let him put me to bed right after I narrowly dodged a drunken mess. Kinda hard denying he’s attractive at this point. I think I told him to his face. After acting like a total damsel-in-distress idiot in front of him. And I think I was messed up that night, who knows, maybe Count Dick-ula slipped something in my drink.”

  “Not your fault. Ever,” she throws back.

  “Sabrina, whether I was in my right mind or not, I hit on my boss.” I wince and then shudder at how bad my night could’ve ended if said boss hadn’t come to my rescue. “God. How do I ever deal with that? Especially daily...”

  “I know. Working for Mag was hard. I had this weird kind of pull with him right away. You noticed, but he didn’t. It was tough working for him, because I didn’t think he felt the same vibe, and when I found out he did...then it got even harder because it had to be a secret. But I couldn’t ditch a good job, and neither can you.” She pauses. “Can you, I mean? I know your situation is a little bit different than mine.”

  “In the sense that I can survive on less, yes. But you know I pay my own way and I’ve never wanted anything to do with my parents’ cash. Also, it’s Beatrice freaking Brandt...I may never get a job this good again, much less a chance to work for not-so-starving artists.”

  We both pause, and I can hear the wheels in her head turning.

  “Then you just have to be professional about it. You have two choices: go to work and pretend like you have no idea who he is or approach him. Admit that you had a terrible night, apologize, and ask to start over. Blank slate.”

  “What would you do? Wait. You’re Brina. You’d do number two,” I say, cringing, and knowing it’s the sanest option. Also, the harshest.

  She giggles.

  “I don’t know if I can do it. You really expect me to, don’t you?” I ask, flicking my hair over my shoulder anxiously.

  “Paige. You pied my billionaire husband right in the face when he was being a dick. You’re a badass, you make pretty things, and you’ve got this.”

  I laugh. “I didn’t think I’d ever see Mag again.”

  “Yes, you did. You knew he’d come back groveling to win me over,” she says with another jittery laugh.

  “I did not grovel,” Mag snaps in the background.

  “Tell him I’ll pie him again if he keeps lying,” I joke. “I just...I wish I could pie my way out of this mess, too.”

  “Not sure that tactic would work here,” she agrees glumly.

  She’s right though.

  I need to face this with big-girl pants of steel. “Okay. So there’s this big design conference that’s keeping him busy and out of the office, but tomorrow’s the last day. I’ll catch him after he’s back and just try to clear the air.”

  “Let me know how it goes. Hey, I have to go. Mag looks pissed and I’m not gonna lie...he’s sexy when he’s peeved. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Before I can say bye, she’s already gone.

  I sigh.

  All of my friends have moved on with their lives since college. Husbands, careers, travel, kids.

  Me, I’m still here in this rented space with no adult attachments. Maybe I should buy a dog?

  At least then I’d have someone to come home to and wouldn’t feel alone when I lick my wounds.

  For now, I hope to everything almighty that I’m able to confront this office beast without taking too many arrows straight to the chest.

  I sit at my desk trying to finish up replies to low priority emails when Beatrice comes out of her office and stops by my desk. “I have a charity event this afternoon, so I’ll be out the rest of the day. You can keep working on what you’ve been doing, and if Ward needs any help, assist him.”

  I smile at her. “Sure, no problem.”

  She looks at her watch. “Make sure you get lunch. Don’t let my grandson work you to death.”

  I watch her float off in a hunter-green dress that looks like it was tailored for royalty. Everyone she passes by gives her authentic smiles, honest respect, and she stops to exchange a few words.

  Dang. When I’m a grandma, I hope I’m a fraction as cool as her. Then again, to be a grandma, first I have to be a mom and to do that—yeah, well, never mind.

  My eyes crawl to the door I’ve been dreading to look at since noon.

  The Warden is in.

  I didn’t see him come by, but he arrived sometime when I stepped away for the printer.

  His dark silhouette ripples behind the frosted glass of his office door, a giant of a man. Maybe he’ll be a gentle giant?

  I hope.

  Slowly, I spin my chair around and stare at the stack of files I’ve purposely waited to deliver until we could talk.

  Welp. There’s no good way to do this, so why wait?

  I swallow the bulging lump in my throat, take a deep breath, grab the files, and force-walk to his door. I stand in front of it and hesitate, trying to talk myself out of bolting for my desk and sliding the files under his door like a chicken when he’s out.

  But just like Brina said, I have to face the music.

  So I tap lightly at the frosted glass with my nerves in knots.

  “It’s open.” His voice is gruff, no nonsense, and charred.

  My heart hits my belly and bounces back up like it’s on a trampoline.

  Cringing, I walk through the door, closing it behind me cautiously, and approach his desk.

  Sweet bejeezus. He’s...

  Somehow, he’s hotter than I remember in his tailored suit, pressed to his body like a second skin. The man is a moving sculpture, so flawless it hurts. Bernini, eat your heart out.

  I’m paralyzed and gawking.

  Look, it was one thing knowing Mr. Dark Knight was my boss, but coming face-to-face with him in the torrid flesh is so not something I’m ready for.

  Sad memories of Friday night whip through my mind like my life flashing before my eyes.

  His powerful hand in mine.

  Being pressed against his marble-hard body as he carried me to the car, up the stairs, and tumbled me into bed.

  The way he took care of me like a bygone gentleman.

  Oh, I was stupid, thinking he actually liked me in my washed-out state.

  Ten thousand ughs.

  Paige, you’ve got to do this. Now or never, a voice nags in the back of my head.

  “Just put them wher
ever,” he growls without even looking up.

  Oh. My. God.

  “Right.” I lay the files down at the clear edge of his well-organized mahogany desk, but I make no effort to move.

  My words are stuck, so I clear my throat like an insanely awkward species of bird.

  He finally spares me a flaying glance. It freezes over into a proper stare a second later.

  Not like the way I can’t rip my eyes off him. More like he’s pissed that I dare even breathe the same air in his presence.

  “What do you want?” He stands, drawing up to his full imposing height.

  Eep. I rock from my heels to my toes, forgetting the mechanics of stilettos.

  Frick.

  I almost hit the floor, grabbing at the side of his desk to catch myself. I haven’t said anything yet and I’ve already managed to blow it.

  “Are you okay, Miss Holly? Watch your step. We’re not looking for a liability suit around here,” he clips.

  “Yes!” I hiss.

  I know. I have an amazing track record of forgetting how my feet work around him.

  He rolls his eyes. “Have you had ‘just one glass of wine’ today?”

  Blood pumps under my cheeks, and we haven’t even gotten to the part that should be uncomfortable yet. I jerk my head toward the wall, away from those punishing teal eyes.

  “Of course not. I just sometimes forget I have to shift my energy in heels. My roommate used to wear my shoes more than I did, but then she moved out and—” I clamp my jaw shut.

  Yep, I ramble when I’m nervous.

  His face tightens in this sneering smirk as he walks around his desk, assessing me. He glances at my feet, cocks his head, and seems to accept my answer.

  I hate that I have to convince this guy I’m not a drunk at work. I wasn’t even drunk on Friday night, unless it was really strong wine.

  I don’t know. What if Nameless really did slip something in my drink?

  “Kindly get to the point. I don’t have all day,” he says.

  “I think you know why I’m here, Mr. Brandt.” I focus on the pointed toes of my heels. “About the other night—”

  “You mean the night I witnessed your public intoxication?”

  I swing my head back and release a breath.

  He’s not going to make this easy.

  “I—um—I had no idea who you were, or that we’d ever see each other again. I didn’t know we’d be working together or that I’d morbidly embarrass myself in front of a partner at this firm.” I force myself to meet his eyes. I have to or the next part won’t matter. “I assure you, I don’t usually react that way to a drink. I’m painfully sorry. It will never, ever happen again. I deeply appreciate the opportunity to work here, and I’m going to do the best I can for everyo—”

  “So you want validation,” he spits.

  Holy hell. I’m rapidly finding out why the Warden name fits. He talks to me like I’m wearing orange.

  I bite my lip. “I was just hoping—if you’re willing—maybe we could just—”

  “What? Forget it ever happened?” He cocks his head, spearing me with those sea-storm eyes.

  “Yes! That!” I smile until my face feels numb.

  He crosses his arms, biceps barely contained by his sleeves. “No chance in hell that’s going to happen. In fact, I told my grandmother to fire you before I ever left your apartment Friday night since you were so stinking drunk.”

  He—what?

  It’s a fight to stay standing because of course he isn’t done.

  “For whatever reason, Grandma wouldn’t do it. You have her to thank for that. Not me. She sees something in you. I’m sure it’s because she’s not wearing her bifocals, but you don’t serve under me exclusively, and Miss Holly, you should be very, very thankful for that. If you did, I’d make sure you didn’t last a day.”

  Nice. Well, asshat, don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.

  I blink my eyes too fast. It’s either that or cry. I want to tell him he’s a colossal prick.

  If I could take it back, I’d have never left with him last Friday, and not because we have to work together.

  Because he’s horrible.

  I can’t reconcile the Warden with the image of the chivalrous grump I met at the museum.

  First impressions can be wrong. Irony of ironies, I know.

  That kind of works both ways here.

  “I’m only going to say this one more time. I had one glass of wine. One.” I hold my finger up, desperately wishing it wasn’t shaking.

  It’s not a snappy or punchy declaration. It’s tearful and pathetic and totally unlike me.

  I’m the girl who dishes crap out and doesn’t take it. Except—oh, right—I have to gag on humble pie if I want to keep this job.

  I’m so deflated the words are barely audible.

  Maybe I should’ve just gone with Brina’s first option and pretended like it never happened. I could’ve tried to deny it. A mistaken identity lie seems better than this shitshow.

  “You can quit lying to yourself because you’re not fooling me, Miss Holly,” he says coldly. “Believe me, if you’re ever such a lush on the clock, I assure you I will find out. And when I do, I’ll skip Grandma and go straight to HR. You’ll be promptly removed without an appeal—or even a sobriety test. We don’t dispense those here.”

  “Ha, ha,” I sputter bitterly.

  His eyes widen at the open disrespect.

  It’s too much. I need this job but I can’t stay quiet any longer.

  Now, I think I’m cool with the route I took.

  This Warden—this Wardhole—isn’t turning me into a coward.

  “Whether you believe I’m a drunk or not doesn’t change what happened that night.” I smile at him and keep my voice even. “I’m fine with arguing the truth. But then again, I don’t call my boss 'Grandma.'”

  The last word hangs in the air like thunder.

  Either he doesn’t get it or he doesn’t care.

  Clearly, I’m not accomplishing much here, so I think I’ll escape to the lunch Beatrice insisted I take and clear my head before I have a nervous breakdown.

  “Watch your mouth, Holly. I’m a partner!” he snaps, his pride and his ego showing its bruise.

  I throw my head back and laugh. “God, you’re funny.”

  “Excuse me?” His eyes bulge, and I can practically sense his blood pressure building like a mudslide.

  “Oh, nothing.” I shrug. “One, it took you long enough for my comment to sink in. And two, you’re a partner in a family firm. My sister works for my dad. I don’t. I freelanced for two years before landing this job and I earned it honestly.” I grin at him. “On my own.”

  His mouth drops.

  Now who’s speechless?

  I put two fingers to my head and move them away in a smart-ass salute before I pivot for the door. I leave it hanging open on my way out as I sail away.

  He can shut it himself.

  He’s a big boy, and a very thin-skinned boss.

  I came here to apologize, not declare war.

  If this Warden wants to play games, I’ll give him the jailbreak of his life.

  4

  Sloshed (Ward)

  For a nanosecond, I almost regret being so harsh with her.

  Almost.

  Then that damn woman and her barbed wire tongue went and accused me of benefiting from family nepotism. We’d have both been better off if she’d simply crashed her hand across my face.

  I’m a highly sought-after architect with years of experience as a CEO and two degrees from top-notch schools. I’ve added billions to this company. I fought overseas. I’ve made Grandma’s vision bigger and brighter than the sun. I’m worth more than most men can dream.

  And I absolutely do not need this shit in any way, shape, or form.

  Hell, I could’ve started my own firm if I weren’t here for Grandma. Not many people run a multibillion-dollar company at thirty-two.

  Yes, it’s my
family’s company I’m running, and after what we’ve suffered, no one would have blamed us for closing up shop and retiring to some remote island.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so blunt with her, but after Grandma’s last EA hit on me and then skipped out of the place without notice, I learned my lesson.

  It’s best to drag these issues out back and shoot them between the eyes.

  Plus, it’s bad enough I had to pretend to be someone else to rescue her from the grabby loser at the museum. I intervened on her behalf, drove her home, and set her up to deal with the imminent hangover.

  My reward?

  She repaid me by pointing out my lack of a ring—as if I drip pure defeated bachelor—and then had the fucking gall to imply I’m only where I am thanks to Grandma.

  Yeah, I get it.

  Girls go for fun guys like Nick who are better at concealing their baggage, but someone has to be the level-headed brain behind decisions hundreds of livelihoods depend on. Not to mention the family legacy.

  I didn’t need a nasty reminder of Maria, however innocent.

  I damn sure didn’t need her verbal lashing in my office, even if it was retaliation for the way I dressed her down.

  Most of all, I don’t need a pissing contest with a human porcupine working under me.

  There’s no room for mistakes right now. Everything about our company and this pitch has to be perfect.

  Ross Winthrope doesn’t play around.

  He’s always been impressed by Grandma’s class, wisdom, and impeccable designs, yeah, but that’s not the whole game.

  I can’t be distracted by references to my backstabbing ex or a sloshed-out wine-guzzling blond who looks like she just stepped off a magazine cover.

  That’s what makes this torture.

  Not just her shit, but how brutally attractive she looks while flinging it.

  If I was as reckless as Nick and as foul as my father, I might have bent her over my desk, hiked up her dress, and shown her exactly who’s in control.

  After I’m done with my inner zen of grumbling, I don’t see Pai—Miss Holly—the rest of the day.

  Thank fuck.

  With the peace and quiet, I’ve almost got the details of the formal bid for Winthrope nailed down. I’m working on tweaking it when my office phone rings.