Bossy Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Read online

  Oh, no. The imminent spider feeling zips across the back of my neck so fast it’s almost my turn to get tipsy.

  “So he...pawned me off on you? Gross!” My voice is too loud and too high-pitched, echoing off the high ceiling.

  I can’t help it.

  Confirming my worst suspicions also confirms my total stupidity for giving Nameless way too many chances. He’s not even the guy I set up a date with!

  “Babe, calm down,” he says.

  His clammy hands fall on my shoulders. Only for a second, thank God, or I’d have punched him for sure.

  He pulls the heavy wooden door open, waving his hand with a dramatic flourish, and we enter the architecture exhibit. I so don’t want to be here with Dumb Date Guy Who Doesn’t Even Like Art. But my brain locks up, burned out past the point of how to end this gracefully.

  The sight in front of me also steals my attention like it always does.

  Soaring three-dimensional models of buildings flank every wall covered with photos of local buildings designed by famous architects. Some of the creators are natives. Chicagoland has everything, just enough awe to beat out its drawbacks.

  I think I’m smiling my first real smile since we got here.

  Then Dumb Date Guy clears his throat like he has a bone caught there and dulls the magic.

  I’m about to suggest we leave again, but since he wasn’t open to it the last time, I pull my phone out. If he isn’t cooperating, I’ll text Brina for an emergency SOS while he’s not paying attention.

  He grins. “I see why you like this room.”

  I finish punching Brina’s number in and glance up from my phone. Is my dread showing?

  “You do?” I ask quietly.

  “Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He tugs on my hand that’s suddenly in his grasp.

  I stumble forward on my toes and barely catch myself before I fall. My phone slides out of my hand, facedown.

  Fuckity. Can this day get any worse?

  Before I can bend down to grab it, he’s scooped it up with another one of his all-too-punchable laughs.

  “Chill. I’ll hold this for you, so you don’t have to worry about dropping it again.”

  I reach for it with my free hand. “It’s okay. I’ll just shove it back in my purse.”

  “Relax, babe. I’ve got it. I told you, didn’t I?” He pulls me forward again with a harsher yank.

  I definitely don’t like the odd shift in tone.

  Before I realize what’s happening, we’re heading straight to the corner of the room with black-and-white shots of the Sears slash Willis Tower, an architectural feat in its day.

  “You like the Willis Tower?” I ask, hating the spring in his step.

  “Huh? I mean, I guess. It’s like, the tower. What’s not to like?”

  “It’s not going anywhere,” I say. “Slow down. It’ll still be there for us in a few seconds.”

  “What will?”

  “The photo.”

  Holy crap. I’ve never been so ready to slap another human being.

  “You’re nuts, babe,” he says with that insufferable smile.

  What is happening?

  Literally the only thing in this corner is the massive black-and-white photo of the once Sears Tower and a photo booth that lets you take a picture against it. But no one ever does that since you could just go take a picture outside the real tower for free. The dude is acting like a tourist.

  Except he doesn’t stop dragging me along until we’re on the other side of the photo booth.

  The room is dimly lit. There’s a photo booth on one side of me, a wall behind us, and another wall on the other side. Only my back is visible to anyone else in the room—the empty room—and that’s when my pulse picks up with fear.

  He’s cornered me. He has my phone. Heat climbs up my cheeks.

  “Nothing back here. We should rejoin the exhibit,” I say, halfway in denial about my dumb predicament turning scary.

  He’s a friendly drunk. He’s probably just being stupid, I tell myself. Surely, he wouldn’t be crazy enough to try—

  Nameless lets go of my hand.

  Sweet relief.

  I’m about to back away and lead us to the center of the room so I can get my phone back and fly out of here. But his arms close around my waist before I can make a move.

  He pulls me closer, and his lips drop toward mine, falling below my ear instead. Sloppy whiskey lips.

  Jesus, no!

  I keep my lips tightly closed and back away from him, mustering up a scream. “What are you doing? Are you insane? We’re in public.”

  Again, that sickening laugh.

  “Babe, you’re so uptight. Trust me.” His lips go for mine.

  Aaand I lose it.

  I’m boneless, jerking and wiggling, trying to break out of his hold, but he’s freaking strong. I stomp on his toes and lurch back, but he must have released the pressure of his arms because this time I spring backward.

  My ankle turns almost all the way around. “Oww!”

  Then I conk my head on a sculpture.

  It hurts too bad to move, and my ankle starts throbbing. I linger there for a minute on my knees, head leaned against a marble statue, because I’m in too much pain to move.

  I inch my head back and rub it, forcing my eyes open to see what I hit.

  Only, all I see is rock covered in smooth black cloth.

  Not good.

  I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I’m seeing things.

  If there was a human statue in this room, I’d remember it. Even weirder, the sculpture slides back at the same time its powerful hands hook under my arms and bring me to my feet.

  “Can you stand?” a deep voice asks.

  A man.

  The words swirl in my head for a moment. I blink a few times and realize this is my chance to get away from Nameless the Psycho and get my phone back.

  I hope he plays along. “Oh! Oh, Max. Thank God you’re here. I haven’t seen you since that day with Angela.”

  “Angela?” he asks.

  Crud. He’s not young and hip enough to know the common code for help, get me out of here. I turn my head to face my rescuer for the first time.

  My stomach drops.

  King Grumpyface with the princely brown hair and scourging eyes is holding me.

  He still has his arm swung over one of mine, steadying me. He is young enough to know it, I think, maybe in his early thirties. I hope.

  I try again, this time with wide eyes and raised, wagging brows. “Max, my man! I haven’t seen you since the day we went to the rooftop bar with—” I pause to emphasize the next word. “Angela! Angela, remember?”

  He studies my face for a moment like he’s trying to decide if I’m crazy.

  Sigh. Can anything go right?

  Nameless finally steps out of the dark corner, his eyes scanning and then landing on me with an ugly grudge. “Dude. You wanna get your hands off my girl? Thanks for helping her up, I mean, but I’ll take it from here.”

  Grumpyface nods slowly. “Angela. It’s her birthday, isn’t it? I’m glad I found you here; I was looking all over. We’re going to be late for her party.”

  Nameless takes another step toward me—us.

  I hold in a gasp.

  His eyes trace from me to the unexpected dark knight who showed up right on time. His gaze cools. “Not nice, lady. First I’m hearing about this party. Tell him to split.”

  Dark Knight gently pushes me behind him and steps forward, putting his wall of a body between us.

  “Back up, dude,” the stranger spits, something feral in his voice. “We’ve all been friends for years. It’s my cousin’s birthday. Angela forgot about the big day, and we need to get going.”

  “Gah, do you have to move in on other guys’ dates because you can’t get your own?” Nameless snorts, taking another step.

  “No. I move in because you’re drunk as hell and leering like a snake. I can smell your whiskey stink from here. Leave,
or I’ll escort you out.”

  Holy crap.

  My heart climbs into my throat, stunned and afraid that Grumpyface is willing to come to blows to protect me.

  “What the fuck ever. You don’t scare me, dude, but you’re not worth the shit,” Nameless snaps, scuffing his shoe on the floor. “Who the hell spends a Friday night at a stuffy-ass museum, anyway?”

  “People who don’t need a pint of hard liquor to get through the night,” Dark Knight growls back, his fist clenched into a club at his side.

  Wow.

  Wow.

  Still cursing under his breath, the idiot starts dashing for the door.

  “Wait!” I call out, safely tucked behind my knight.

  Creepo looks over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

  “My phone. You can give it to my friend.” I keep my voice as nonconfrontational as possible.

  “You took her phone, too?” The bullet-like accusation in Grumpman’s tone is clear.

  And honestly, I feel crazy lucky that gruffness is on my side.

  Nameless glares at me as he turns to hand over my phone. “She dropped it. I just picked it up.”

  Right. And wouldn’t give it back.

  My tall, dark, and handsome friend stands in front of me like a sentinel until Nameless is out the door at last.

  With the threat gone, Dark Knight turns to face me, his eyes teal storm clouds in the dim orange light. “So are you really okay?”

  I manage a split-second smile, dropping my phone into my purse so I don’t have to meet his eyes.

  “It hurts to stand on my ankle, but I’ll survive. Thank you, thank you so much for your help. You have no idea what it means to—”

  “You’ve been drinking, too, haven’t you?” he cuts in, cocking his head, assessing me with that razor-sharp gaze. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

  “Please. I just had one glass of wine because that loser insisted on going to a bar before we got here—”

  He rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. “Sure.”

  Okay. Woof. So maybe he’s a dud knight in expensive shining armor if he’s calling me a liar.

  I shrug. “Look, I don’t care if you believe me. I’m here to celebrate my new dream job at Brandt Ideas and I’m not leaving until I’ve had a little fun. This is my favorite place in the world, and I’ll be damned if I let a twisted ankle or creepy date keep me from celebrating.”

  Crankyface stiffens, his royal jaw turning up, regarding me with wide eyes like I’ve spontaneously turned into Bigfoot in front of him.

  “What did you say?” he asks slowly, his voice pure smolder.

  “Umm—I said this is my favorite place in the world and...let’s celebrate?” I venture, unsure why he’s so freaked out.

  “No. Your new job, where is it?”

  “Brandt Ideas. The most incredible architecture firm in the city,” I say with a smile. Does this mean he appreciates art like I do?

  He shakes his head, answering my question, and it’s not a happy head shake.

  I don’t get it. Does he have some beef with them?

  How could an art admirer—one who ended up in the architecture exhibit, no less—have anything against Beatrice Nightingale Brandt?

  “Have you seen their work? You must know how talented she is,” I say, stepping closer, trying not to go all giddy.

  “Who?”

  I smile up at him. Surly or not, the way he towers over me is kinda hot.

  “You wouldn’t have reacted like that if you knew how talented Beatrice Nightingale Brandt is. Have a look.”

  I take his hand. After the way he picked me up off the floor, the motion feels natural. Smooth and soothing, unlike the clammy hand locked around mine earlier.

  Then I step forward and almost stumble before I pick my foot up and shake it out with a wince.

  “This isn’t necessary. I’m...quite familiar with Mrs. Brandt’s work,” he tells me. “It’s probably best we get you home.”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” I take another step. Dang.

  I’ll admit it, my ankle hurts, but I’m not going to let anything ruin tonight. I limp along to the 3-D model he has to see to get how big of a deal this is.

  I realize I’m being a little weird and imposing after what just went down. But God, is it a crime to try to get someone to appreciate a sliver of my life?

  Soon, we’re standing in front of a scale model, a towering glass office building. I take it in slowly and point to the iconic Arboretum Office she made her home base.

  “See how the lights are chandeliers? Every fixture, inside and out, is high-end handcrafted glass. I think the most beautiful part is probably the white flowering ivy hanging from the ceiling. It’s an office and a greenhouse. That’s what makes her work so special. It’s art people use in their daily lives, a place that’s functional and organic and just...so beautiful.” Trying not to squeal, I point to the roof. “It’s solar-powered and grows oxygen-rich plants. Beatrice is so brilliant. It’s environmentally sustainable on top of high-end, classy, and unique. And she gets to work there every day.”

  When I turn my head, he looks a smidge less freaked out. Maybe my little spiel is working.

  “I see.” He gives me a slow, almost knowing smile.

  “I didn’t know grumpy gods smiled.”

  “Grumpy gods?”

  Frick. Did I say that out loud?

  “You’re passionate, I’ll give you that.” He chuckles and quirks a thick eyebrow. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He’s said it a couple times now.

  I thought he was just being a buzzkill at first, but I’m not so sure anymore. Having a drink with this guy or some takeout might be a great way to salvage the night.

  “You’re right. We should grab a bite and head to my place.”

  “No food, and you don’t need another drink. But we should get out of here.”

  “Oh, straight to my place then?” I wink. “Even better, you devil.”

  I lean into the back of the leather seat.

  I haven’t been in a Tesla since Brina’s fancy wedding. It’s a smooth ride. Of course, I might be enjoying it so much because, rather than let me hobble along, he picked me up, carried me to the car, and plunked me down on the heated leather seat.

  “You know, I think maybe that glass of wine somehow made the twisted ankle worse,” I say, stretching my foot and wincing.

  He smirks. “You can drop the act. I’ll never believe you only had one glass of wine. Damn glad I showed up when I did, or else that worm you were with might’ve—”

  “Do you call everyone you meet a liar?” I cut in with a laugh.

  Apparently, everything is still funny when I’m this keyed up and the mood is set to awkward.

  “Only when I’m questioning the truth from girls I don’t trust with an Uber,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “Whatever. This is a nice ride,” I say, realizing how cushy the seat feels.

  He grins.

  “Watch this.” He takes his hand off the wheel and we stay in a straight line.

  “It’s self-driving?”

  He places his hands on the wheel again. “Close enough. Give it a few more years before you can take a nap at the wheel.”

  “Ohhh, sounds like a dream.” I close my eyes, my brain flicking to a terrible vision of me napping in his arms.

  When I open them again, I’m actually clutched in his embrace. We’re standing outside my front door and he’s carried me up a full flight of stairs.

  I hold my arms out to my sides, my head reeling.

  What is wrong with me?

  There’s no way it’s the wine. I think I’m just overwhelmed, slightly beat up, and trying to process how the night went from hell to heaven faster than the 2.4 seconds it takes his car to go from zero to sixty.

  “See how balanced I am? Not drunk!” I insist, pushing playfully at his shoulders.

  “Calm down, woman.” He turns my key in the door and pushes it open. “Where�
�s your room?”

  Uh-oh.

  Straight and to the point. I think I like this guy.

  Ever since Brina moved out and got married, I don’t even have a roommate to work around anymore. Win.

  “Down the hall, first door on the right,” I tell him.

  And then my excitement catches up with me and I let out a loud hiccup.

  Blushing, I cover my mouth. “Just air. Not drunk. I swear.”

  “Right,” he snorts. “You don’t have to impress me. I’m not in charge of policing chicks who like to party too hard.”

  We cross the threshold to my room and he lays me down gently on my bed. It’s like I’m floating on a cloud as another hiccup lurches out of me before I can clap a hand over my mouth.

  “Yikes. I’m not normally like this,” I whisper, hiding my face.

  “Be right back.”

  By the time I register he’s gone, he’s standing beside my bed again. Why isn’t he kissing me yet? Is he one of those “take it slow” guys? Is it the hiccups?

  Or is it the fact that we’re total flipping strangers?

  Ice prickles my face, and I jerk up.

  “Drink this.” He hands me the water bottle he’s just held to my cheek.

  “Water? I’m not that thirsty.”

  “Do it,” he barks.

  “Jeez. Fine, Bossypants.” I open the water bottle, a brand I recognize from my fridge, and take a swig.

  His knuckles brush against my free hand. I draw in a breath at the sensation. My palm opens and he places something in it. “Take these.”

  I glance down at my hand to see two Tylenol, then flash him a befuddled look.

  “You’re going to have the hangover headache from hell in the morning to go with that twisted ankle. The pills will help with both.”

  “Ugh, I told you, I only had one glass of—”

  “Whine? You’re very good at it. Less talking, more drinking,” he growls. His eyes are like hot teal-blue heat rays.

  Sighing, I gulp down the pills.

  He taps on my nightstand, drawing my attention to it.

  I glance over. There’s a sandwich cut into two neat triangles there. Wow, he’s thought of everything.