Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance
Page 17
Sabrina
Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.
He replies immediately.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Priority: HIGH
Subject: RE: Worried
Miss Bristol,
You are my EA. You’re not my counselor. Or friend.
M.
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
My mouth drops when I read it.
You’re such a dickhead, I type out, stopping with my cursor over the send button. Then I delete that and go to bed. I still need my paycheck and this cruel joke of a job.
My phone pings again with another email, though, roughly twenty minutes later.
Nope.
Leave it on the counter.
Let boss prick send demands to someone else all weekend. But two hundred thousand dollars a year pays those student loans off a lot faster and keeps my parents afloat.
A shrill groan boils up my throat.
Whatever. I pick up the phone, scowling, and open the latest flaming bag of dog poo in my inbox.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Priority: HIGH
Subject: Jingle Bells
Sabrina,
Do you want to take several days off around Christmas so you can spend more time with your parents? Business slows to a crawl after the big ecommerce campaigns wind down, and we’re in limbo before the new year. Who knows when you’ll have another chance to take a vacation.
How’s your old man?
M.
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
Huh? Whatever else I expected, it wasn’t that.
Is this his way of changing the subject? Deflecting from the fact that he acts out like a rampaging grumpasaurus when I offer a second of comfort?
I sit on the bed, tapping the phone lightly on my chin.
Yeah. I don’t know how to respond.
Between Mag’s wild mood swings and Ruby’s warning, I really don’t want to give him any personal info about me or my family. I feel like a complete idiot for ever mentioning Dad’s heart issues.
Still...I also recognize an olive branch.
However pathetic, this is his thinly veiled, uber masculine attempt to apologize—you know—without actually apologizing.
Part of me revels in his pseudo-apology anyway.
How sad.
I haven’t known Heron that long, but I know he thinks he’s always right. He never lies, he’s brutally direct, and anyone who deals with him needs to take the same approach. Because Magnus Heron does not like to apologize.
To: Magnus Heron
From: Sabrina Bristol
Subject: RE: Jingle Bells
Mag,
My dad is fine. Thanks for asking. My parents will get by.
S.
Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.
Time off would be nice, but I’m not sold on his sympathy. His reply pings my phone less than a minute later.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Subject: RE: RE: Jingle Bells
Sabrina,
I hope so. Truly.
Retirement can be hard, especially for a former machinist and an author. If you want the extra downtime, say so, and I’ll approve it.
M.
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
What the hell? When did I tell him my parents’ careers? Never?
To: Magnus Heron
From: Sabrina Bristol
Subject: Bad Santa
You checked up on my parents? Creepy.
S.
Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.
I bite back a smile. Yes, I’m half teasing, but still.
The man needs to learn boundaries, and snooping around after my family—even for a good cause like offering extra PTO—isn’t normal.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Subject: RE: Bad Santa
Miss Bristol,
Always so quick to jump to conclusions. Watch where you land.
Of course, I had a full background check done. You’re part of my C-level team. It’s only appropriate, and you signed the consent form. Maybe some holiday time off with eggnog would help your holly jolly memory.
Mr. Claus
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
Damn him. I can’t help laughing at his signature.
I’m actually starting to be a little more flattered than weirded out. He has a million things on his mind, and yet he remembered a micro-detail about my life? That’s not entirely horrible.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t give him a hard time about it.
I hit reply and swipe my fingers across the letters on my screen.
To: Magnus Heron
From: Sabrina Bristol
Subject: RE: RE: Bad Santa
Very funny, Santa. /sarcasm
So I guess you’ll be peeping down my chimney next?
I didn’t know I was signing up to work for the alphabet with HeronComm, and when did I sign this consent form, anyway?
S.
Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.
Not even thirty seconds later, he blows up my inbox.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Bad Santa
Sabrina,
It was in the batch of paperwork you signed with Ruby the very first day. What alphabet?
M.
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
I roll my eyes, wondering what else I agreed to in my wild rush to accept this job. It feels like forever ago. I fire off another reply.
To: Magnus Heron
From: Sabrina Bristol
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Bad Santa
You know, like CIA, FBI, NSA, etc. Maybe you can hook me up with a national security clearance too?
S.
Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.
He’s back in my email a second later, and I can totally see the amused smirk pulling at his face in my head. I also laugh at seeing Miss Bristol. So we’re back to Captain Growly, I see.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Subject: Your Spy Career
Miss Bristol,
We manage huge accounts that supply technology and security to every alphabet agency keeping this country safe. I believe my Marine credentials go a long way toward making those clients feel comfortable. We’ve even assisted digital recruitment campaigns for the FBI.
We always land our clients huge government contracts. You should know that, and you’ll thank me someday when you’re being lauded for your service as an undercover agent.
I’m sure I’ll be disappointed to lose you to the CIA, but I’ll manage, Miss Bond.
M.
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
Oh. My. God.
I don’t know whether to clutch my sides at how dumb he’s being or feel touched that he admits he’d miss me if—no, when—I move the hell on from this company run by a crazy man.
Since I’m no longer worried, just amused, I change the subject line.
To: Magnus Heron
From: Sabrina Bristol
Subject: Nope.
Magnus,
OMG. There’s literally no end to your God complex. How did you get so arrogant? Will you at least tell me that?
S.
Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.
My breath stalls in my lungs. Then my screen lights up with a shiny new email.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Subject: RE: Nope.
Miss Bristol,
No. You’ll have to let your imagination run wild and love it. Just like I know you enjoy my immense confidence and off the cuff banter about big hoses.
M.
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
Holy crap. And here I hoped he’d forgotten that awful ex
change in L.A. on my first miserable week slaving for this company.
His email sends a shiver down my spine because damn him a thousand times, he’s right.
A sick part of me enjoys this.
Ugh.
I need to end this before I get us both in trouble.
To: Magnus Heron
From: Sabrina Bristol
Subject: Bye
Goodnight, Mr. Heron. It’s been a long day and I’m turning in early to get ready for the send-off tomorrow.
S.
Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.
By some miracle, I catch myself and hit send before I type out, I have zero interest in dreaming about big hoses.
His reply rockets back a second later.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Subject: RE: Bye
Sleep tight, Tinkerbell. Pleasant dreams of tattooed firemen wearing Santa hats.
M.
CEO of HeronComm Inc.
Dead. He just slayed me.
I can’t even enjoy the shameful, heated snicker that makes me blush. I just head for the shower and try to focus on Mom’s hunky firefighters.
Not Magnus Heron and his catastrophically oversized ego—or any hose he might have.
* * *
Finally.
It’s the last day of the conference and time feels like it’s back to moving normally. Thank God. It’s been a long few days, and I’ve never been so ready to leave a place.
We’re about to start another marketing session with speakers and panels. The room fills up with people fast. I stick with Angie and Hugo again, sitting behind Magnus when some starry-eyed seductress walks up to him.
Okay.
So, technically, I don’t actually know anything about her. She’s skinny, beautiful, and blond, dressed very professionally, not like a bimbo at all.
Still, I’m overwhelmed by the sudden urge to rip her hair out and feed it to her when she sidles up to him, planting herself right in his face. Way too close for comfort.
She grabs his lapel. “Is that an Italian coat?”
I roll my eyes, then glance from Angie to Hugo to make sure no one noticed.
“Yes, from Lombardy.” Mag’s feet turn slightly out, and he shifts so he’s a bit further from her.
“An Armani?” She doesn’t seem to notice he’s trying to get away from her. Her hand lingers on his lapel, that same wicked smile on her face.
“Canali,” he says, swatting her hand away gently.
You’d think that would do it. But this lady doesn’t fold easy. She just smiles like he hung the stars.
“It’s gorgeous. It brings out your eyes,” she whispers, pulling at her loose hair and winding it around her fingers.
“Thanks.”
He’s clearly uninterested, and I almost feel bad for her.
Now it’s just awkward for everyone involved...including me as I realize I’ve been green with jealousy.
My desire to pluck this chick’s hair out dissolves as fast as it came. I’m not sure what I was so pissed about. But I can’t help but giggle behind them.
Angie’s brows lift up and she almost chokes on the water she’s sipping from a bottle.
“Mag has a girlfriend,” I try to whisper, but the words come between giggles, so I’m not sure how loud they actually are.
I know it’s a twelve-year-old thing to say, but I can’t help it.
“Brina! He’ll rake you over the coals if he hears that,” she hisses, casting me a warning look, her eyes darting around.
Mag turns his head to glare and then swivels back to his admirer. “My team is here, miss. If you’ll excuse me, we have a discussion.”
“Oh, of course, but...do you have a card?” she asks.
“Not on me, but if you have one, I’ll take it,” he says.
She pulls a card from a binder tucked under her arm and hands it to him.
“Thank you.” He turns to face us. “Let’s all step out in the foyer.”
Once it’s just the four of us, I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to giggle.”
Mag shrugs. “Liability of hiring college kids.”
I glare at him. “I’m not a college kid and you know it.”
He shakes his head. “Garlic with a face on her Macbook, all giggles at a conference. Prove it.”
That wipes the smile right off my face.
At least now I know what kind of mood he’s in.
“I’m getting a coffee. You three stooges can wait here for fifteen minutes, and go back to the session,” Magnus says.
“Wait, Mr. Heron. I thought you wanted to discuss something?” Angie asks.
He grunts. “I don’t remember. It’s not important.”
I look at Hugo, confused, my eyes trailing his tall, broad shoulders as he walks away.
“Was he speaking in code?” I wonder, blinking.
“The boss just needed a reason to get rid of that touchy-feely woman. He doesn’t like being fawned over, much less hit on by strangers at professional events.” Hugo chuckles and shifts awkwardly. “If only we all had that problem.”
The rest of the morning goes smoothly enough.
The main session ends early for a luncheon followed by some early afternoon socials. The HeronComm team takes up two tables. Mag and Ruby are at the one behind us with most of the marketers. I’m with our office intern and the creative team.
“So, Brina, how’d you like the conference?” Hugo asks.
“I’ve learned a lot. The sessions have been great, really an eye opener for how this whole industry operates.” I don’t say the obvious, though. It might be a good, long while before I forget about that crazy formal the first night. “I just wish we had more downtime. We could’ve seen more of Phoenix. It’s my first time here and we’ve been cooped up at the conference and the hotel every day.”
“That’s the bad thing about these conferences,” he says with a frown, repositioning his glasses on his nose. “We visit so many nice places and never really get to see any of them.”
“Such a shame. I’m grabbing dessert.” I push my chair away from the table and head for the buffet, deciding to make the most of my last time here.
Mag passes by, holding a scotch.
When he sees me, he stops. “Did I hear you say you’d like to see more of Phoenix, Miss Bristol?”
I nod, wondering what protocol I’ve broken now.
“Want to skip the rest and go for a desert cruise?” he asks.
I smile. “Really? You mean, the whole team?”
“Just us.” And Armstrong, I assume. “I’m not sticking around and waiting for a dozen more advances now that the drinks are flowing and everyone’s ready to party their last night away.”
“You’re so conceited,” I huff out.
“And I think you’re forgetting your place.” An odd thing to say, considering he just invited me out with him, alone.
“Someone has to be honest with you,” I grumble.
He steps closer and leans in, dancing blue flames for eyes. Up close, his good looks are intimidating, far too effective at rendering any normal woman speechless.
“Are you going to ditch this place with me or not?” he whispers.
Ruby walks by. “Mag?”
He straightens up and clears his throat, adjusting his tie. “We were just talking about a confidential account. What’s up?”
That’s right, Mag. Don’t let anyone know you’re flirting with your lowly secretary.
My heart kind of skips at the reality.
“Oh, nothing. As soon as I’m done here, I’m checking into the spa.” Ruby moves past us to go eat with one last look over her shoulder at Heron.
I can’t help but sense some unspoken message between them—a warning, maybe.
“Confidential account?” I ask.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he tells me, clearing his throat.
“On this desert cruise?”
“If
you’re coming?” His eyes reach down inside me and set loose a hurricane of butterflies.
Dear. Freaking. Lord.
I mean...what could a ride through the desert with an egomaniac hurt? I don’t want to socialize with most of these people, anyway, and I definitely don’t want a rerun of the formal.
We leave the dining room and go into the hall.
“Are you going to call Armstrong?” I ask.
“How high are your heels today?”
I turn my knee in and pick up my heel to show him.
“Long enough?” I venture, watching the amusement lash hot in his eyes.
Then he gives a small shake of the head. “Can you walk a block in those, Miss Bristol?”
I nod.
“We’re going to rent a car, then,” he tells me. “I hardly get a chance to enjoy driving without the city traffic.”
“So, it’s going to be just—”
“You and me. Totally optional. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?” His eyes sparkle when he smiles.
And just like that, I’m heading off into the desert with my boss, wondering if I’ll come back with my pride intact, much less my heart.
12
Tie-dye Sunset (Magnus)
It’s like I’m on cruise control and I can’t pull out of it.
The black Ferrari I’ve rented is sleek, ready, and practically begging for some Arizona sun.
“How do you like the ride?” I ask my pain-in-the-ass EA.
“It’s cool! Never been in one of these before.” She climbs in the passenger seat with this wide awe-struck grin etched on her face.