Bossy Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Read online

  “Eat.”

  “Why?” But all questions aside, I’m actually hungry.

  My stomach gurgles at the sight. The original plan was the art museum and then dinner or happy hour snacks somewhere nice, but Nameless kept us at the bar way too long.

  “Because your questions are annoying as hell. And you just might feel better having something solid in your gut,” he grinds out.

  Well...good answer.

  He pulls out his phone and starts tapping at the screen.

  Giving in to Mr. Congeniality, I pick up a triangle and devour half of it in one bite. Salami, cheese, lettuce, and mayo. Simple, but tasty.

  I’ll have to brush my teeth now, but I can’t deny it hits the spot. I swallow the other half of the triangle and recline back into my cloud.

  He’s frantically typing something on his phone now.

  “Done. Can we be less boring now?” I ask.

  But my stomach sinks as the reality hits me.

  Yikes. I must look like a total mess to this stranger who thinks I’m a lush in distress.

  Make that a lush who stupidly brought him home with a twisted ankle, offering to practically throw herself at him.

  What am I doing? I owe him an explanation.

  Heck, I owe myself one.

  “Listen, mister, I’m sorry if this is so...weird. It’s been a crazy evening. I don’t mean to string you along or make you think I do this with every guy I—”

  “Hang on. I need to finish a very important email. Why don’t you rest your eyes a minute?”

  I am a little tired, especially with the mood souring. I just wish I knew why one glass of wine and a miserable dud make me feel like I’ve been flattened by a bus.

  “...maybe a power nap would be good. Can you take a rain check on meeting up again?” Does he hear me? My voice feels faint.

  Opening my eyes again, I tug on his left hand, remembering I know nothing about this man except that he apparently rocks the dark knight aura like it was custom made for him.

  His eyes lock on mine. I trace his ring finger.

  “No ring. Nice,” I whisper.

  Who says all the good ones are married?

  He glares at me with something worse than annoyance, but when he speaks, his voice is eerily level. “Rest up, and I’ll let myself out as soon as I get through this email.”

  Is it the ring comment? What a weird thing to get mad about.

  Eyes like loaded pistols are the last thing I see before he leaves...or I fall asleep.

  I’m not sure which happens first.

  When I open my eyes again, it’s early morning, and I’m left wondering if my hero with the stormy gaze ever existed.

  And if he did, would I ever have the guts to see him again sober?

  2

  A Holly Headache (Ward)

  This is not how my night was supposed to go.

  I hit the museum to lose my edge and part of my mind, a ritual cleansing I do several times each month. I’d planned to get high on brilliant art and forget about the stress at the office and the void back home.

  Peace and quiet is a treasure, and apparently, I’m not worthy.

  Because stumbling into the obnoxiously drunk girl and shepherding her home before she could become a wolf’s dinner was a screaming slap to the face. Miss One Glass even looked cute demolishing my evening and trampling on every last nerve—at first—but when she flippantly mentioned her new job?

  When she announced she’d soon be a daily thorn in my ass?

  Fuck. I didn’t lose my shit so much as catapulted it into lunar orbit.

  I’ll just finish this email before I leave, make sure she’s peacefully asleep, and never lay eyes on her again.

  She dozes now in slow, rhythmic breaths, smacking her full pink lips, every now and then releasing this tiny hiccup of a snore.

  It might be cute if she wasn’t a loud, messy, butterscotch-blond kill shot to my sanity. But she’ll be fine soon, and so will I without having her up in my business.

  Hell. I went to the museum for a distraction, and maybe some inspiration.

  If I had to chaperone her away from booze and a pond scum little boy, what would having her in the office be like?

  We’re not finding out.

  Don’t get me wrong. I heroed her like any decent man would. I couldn’t leave her marooned with a potentially dangerous fuckboy, or have her stumbling in front of a moving bus.

  Unfortunately, it’s still possible to be a Brandt and have a conscience.

  But if you think I’m above nipping this problem right in its adorable little blond, green-eyed bud, and damn all the consequences?

  I never pretended to be a saint.

  Gritting my teeth, I shake my head, remembering how she insisted it was just one glass.

  Yeah, sweetheart, if glass means bottle.

  My thumb cramps from pounding at my phone. I move my hand away and shake it out. My left ring finger catches my eye.

  Did she have to point out there’s no ring?

  Do I walk around with an invisible dark halo that tells the world, ladies, run. This asshole is anti-marriage material.

  Maria breaking off the engagement was supposed to be the worst part. I didn’t think I’d have total strangers rubbing salt in the wound, or—

  No. I choke the thought off there.

  This isn’t the time or place to fall down that rabbit hole again.

  After all, that’s how I end up at museums on Friday nights alone, playing unwilling knight to drunk chicks being pawed at by losers I wish I could smash in the face. At least then I’d get a modicum of satisfaction for my trouble.

  Miss One Glass whimpers a little and rolls over. With a sigh, I stand up and throw the loose sheet at the end of the bed over her, securing it snugly over her shoulders.

  What the hell was Grandma thinking, anyway? I shake my head and read through my email to check for errors before hitting send.

  To: Beatrice Nightingale Brandt

  Cc: Nicholas Brandt

  From: Ward Brandt

  Subject: Houston, we have a problem.

  Grandma and Nick,

  I bumped into the new executive assistant at the art museum tonight. Quite literally.

  She was drunker than a grunt, had some handsy goon hanging all over her, and didn’t hesitate to loudly advertise the fact that she works for us.

  She went tumbling through the architecture room. Again, literally. Her hard head came close to busting my knee—that’s how we met.

  I did the right thing. I ran off her harasser, made sure she got home, and tried to pretend I wasn’t mortified when she hit on me.

  Frankly, I’m actually glad we met this way.

  We can’t have her starting next week. It’s a direct threat to our image, and I’m fortunate we found out before she ever stepped foot in the downtown office.

  I suggest moving forward with a backup candidate. This girl might be able to hold it together for a forty-five-minute interview, but she’d never be able to keep it together for the rigors of a sixteen-hour workday. And with the Winthrope contract coming up, we need all hands on deck without any grade-school distractions.

  Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

  Thanks,

  Ward Brandt

  Senior Partner, Brandt Ideas Inc.

  I glare down at Sleeping Beauty again. She’s out like a light, snoring with a dull purr.

  I’ll stay a few more minutes just to make sure she’s truly okay, and didn’t mix that wine with a bad medication or something.

  I check my investment portfolio between eyeing her.

  Yeah, she’d be cute if she wasn’t a lush with the sense of a rodeo bull.

  She’ll be fine.

  She’s got the pep to talk herself into another job that’s a better fit.

  The worst thing that’ll happen is the hangover she’ll no doubt have in the morning.

  Sometimes we all need a bitter schooling from life. The sooner the better, becau
se she’s too beautiful and brilliant to be acting this way.

  Damn shame. She’d probably make a good assistant, too, if she was just a little more mature.

  She’s friendly, warm, energetic as hell, and outgoing.

  I remember how she gushed over Grandma’s designs at the Art Institute. The woman has sharp taste, an eye for beauty that serves a purpose.

  And if she got through an interview with Grandma, she has to be smart.

  She just doesn’t have her shit together yet.

  And I’m damned lucky I was there when her true colors showed. If we’d met any other way, total strangers, I might’ve asked for her number.

  Either way, we don’t need a chatterbox who can’t lay off the sauce working for us, especially as a C-level executive assistant. She’ll be too involved with our business dealings that have zero room for error.

  Besides, the last thing my family needs—the very goddamned last—is more scandal. My parents filled the gossip mills for years, and so did my dolt of a brother.

  We’re not getting our feet muddy again.

  I flick through an email about new hires and find her, pinching my jaw shut. A part of me flinches and doesn’t want to follow through.

  Tough shit.

  Paige “One Glass” Holly is just going to have to plant her sweet butt at another job elsewhere. Ideally, far, far away from my family.

  Ready to end this torture, I march to the fridge and grab another water bottle, and the Tylenol from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She’ll need them in the morning. There’s a packet of multivitamins beside the Tylenol, so I leave it on her nightstand for good measure before I let myself out.

  It’s the least I can do as the jackass who’s firing her.

  Cymbals crash together so loud it rips my head off.

  What the hell is that? Oh, the most annoying alarm in existence. Snarling, I grab my phone and dismiss the hellish screeching that’s apparently been going off for three minutes.

  My head rings and my throat feels like cotton.

  Okay, so I may have had a few drinks after I went home last night, but at least I wasn’t traipsing around downtown Chicago like some kind of drunken idiot. I pick my phone up again at that thought.

  One new email from Nick.

  To: Ward Brandt

  Cc: Beatrice Nightingale Brandt

  From: Nick Brandt

  Subject: RE: Houston, we have a problem.

  Ward,

  You need to chill.

  You’re exaggerating like always and it isn’t even her first day. Lay off the extra espresso shots and get some fresh air.

  Leave the poor girl alone.

  Nicholas Brandt

  Senior Partner, Brandt Ideas Inc.

  For good measure—or to annoy the hell out of me—he’s embedded a link to Taylor Swift’s “You Need To Calm Down.”

  I’ll never comprehend why the universe gave me a little brother to piss me off.

  Nick thinks everything’s a joke by instinct. He’s a few beams short of a sound structure, that’s for sure.

  I think it comes from being the spoiled baby, first by our parents before they lost their minds, and then by our grandparents.

  Grandma hasn’t responded yet with the final word.

  Even though it’s Saturday, I need to make sure she’s at least seen the email. Far better we cut ties before the new EA ever shows up in person to get a nastygram from HR.

  I jump out of bed, and it’s like being beat in the head with a sledgehammer.

  Fuck. I didn’t chase the bourbon with enough water last night. I also forgot the joys of encroaching middle age that start to creep up in your thirties.

  I glug down a bottle of water and a pinch of pain pills, then get ready for work.

  There’s hardly anyone in the office today. Thank God when I’m not in the mood for people.

  Let’s be real, I never am, but with this bourbon and Miss One Glass induced headache?

  Double hell no.

  I pass a couple folks from marketing, but they’re so busy working on a showcase of our recent projects that they don’t even look up.

  Nick slumps over his desk as usual, his office door half cracked. The right thing to do is remind him it’s hilariously inappropriate for a partner to show up to work in a Hawaiian shirt and sleep at his desk in full view of our staff, but Nick is the last person I want to talk to before my head stops pounding.

  Too bad we don’t have an assistant here today. I’d send her for a coffee run.

  Before I’ve got my laptop up and running in my office, Grandma appears at my door like a quicksilver whirlwind.

  She’s only a few inches shorter than me, and today she’s wearing platinum heels, regal as ever. She has this lonely deep line in her forehead that she always jokes came from dealing with “her boys.” Her black business suit is custom tailored with a silvery shirt underneath.

  She looks just like she did when I was a kid, except the helmet of hair around her face is now mostly quicksilver. She’s gotten thinner and more breakable with age. Still, the grit in her eyes and sharp cheekbones warn the world to tread lightly.

  This is a woman who bleeds for her art.

  “How are you this lovely morning?” she asks.

  “Not as chipper as you.”

  She laughs. “Oh, Ward, must you be a cactus every weekend? Wrong side of the bed again?”

  “Headache,” I grumble.

  “Do you need something?”

  I shake my head. “Already popped a few pain pills. They just haven’t kicked in yet.”

  She nods. “Well, when you get settled, come straight to my office.”

  Huh? That weird look on her face says she’s holding something back.

  I’m a senior partner in the company and blood, so I won’t be fired. And I’m far too old to be grounded, so...why do I get the feeling I’m in trouble?

  Shit, I’m not dealing with this without more caffeine.

  While my computer wakes up, I plod downstairs and fetch a double espresso, then head straight to Grandma’s office to get this over with.

  I tap on her door.

  She peers through the long window beside it and waves me in.

  She’s perched at her desk like an empress waiting for her court. The soaring glass windows and lively vines behind her cast a backdrop that steals my breath even after years of working in this building and being inside her corporate throne room a thousand times.

  The Chicago skyline peeks in with a hint of orange early summer sun that makes Grandma glow like a creature that isn’t fully mortal.

  Sometimes, I wonder.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” I take the leather chair across from her desk.

  “Yes.” She smiles and nods. “I got your email.”

  “Oh, good. I didn’t get a response so I was afraid you hadn’t seen it yet,” I say with a nod. “Do you want me to send the note to HR? We can easily kill this before she ever gets started here. It’s only Saturday. We can probably still find someone to start training on Monday. I know the search wasn’t easy, but what about the temp agency? There might be someone in their pool who’d make a decent permanent hire if we just...”

  I trail off as her eyes narrow into bullets.

  That deep wrinkle in her forehead creases, and she tilts her head back and forth for a second. “Absolutely not. That’s hardly warranted.”

  Come again? The coffee cup dents in my hands.

  I don’t understand.

  “Grandma, she was at the museum—on the architecture floor, no less—drunk as hell, roaring loud, and had some guy hanging all over her,” I venture. “If I hadn’t been there to help, there’s no telling what trouble she would’ve found herself in.”

  She leans away from her computer, folds her hands together, and rests her chin on her fingers, looking at me like I’m this lost puppy.

  “She caught your attention, I see. I understand why. Miss Holly is smart, youthful, and vibrant. And fro
m what you’ve said, she sounds infinitely more fun than that Maria ever did.”

  I wince at that name, stifling my gag reflex.

  “She had everyone’s attention, Grandma. I wasn’t the only one concerned. People were staring, especially at the hell-date blundering around with her.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t exaggerating?” she asks with a yawn.

  I glare. “Your other grandson asked me the same thing.”

  “Well, you have been known to exaggerate. It’s in your nature, dearie.”

  “Not this time,” I grind out, anger-sipping the coffee. “When did this 'Ward exaggerates' crap happen?”

  She looks at me blankly. “I don’t know.”

  Her eyes say there’s some inside joke I just missed.

  Look, I’m used to people talking behind my back—it’s only natural when there are times I’ll work them half to death—but damn if this is a running joke. Hard truths need no exaggeration.

  “The whole room was staring,” I try again.

  “When someone’s making a scene, that tends to happen. And with this dreadful man after her, she had good reason to lash out, didn’t she?”

  I bite my tongue, giving a curt nod.

  There’s no fucking argument there.

  “But how did you find out she works here?” Grandma asks.

  “She told me.” I roll my eyes and look over her shoulder, trying to plead my case. “I never got her name, but there’s only one EA we hired. She said she was out celebrating her start here next week. Told the whole room, too, with how loud she was being. I was relieved to be the one who rescued her from the asshat—” I realize I’m talking to my grandmother. “Jerk, sorry.”

  Grandma nods.

  “I’m glad I saved her from the weirdo she was with before he could do any damage,” I continue. “And I don’t regret bringing her home before half of Chicago found out she works for us, no thanks to her mouth.”

  “Well.” A slow smile crawls over Grandma’s face. “You two certainly talked long enough for you to find out plenty about her.”

  “She mentioned loving your Arboretum Office, too.”