Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  A note on the first page tumbles out as I flip through it.

  Cat art and superstitions are just a few of my favorite things. Merry Christmas, Miss Bristol.

  Holy hell.

  I stare at it so long it becomes a permanent part of my retinas.

  I’m equal parts hollowed out and flooded with this strange heat.

  I wonder what ghosts paid Scrooge a visit last night and knocked the Christmas spirit into him?

  Let’s be real.

  I’m ecstatic. I want to hug it and dance around, but I’m also in public, in the office, so I set the planner on my desk and go about my day. My cheeks hurt from smiling by the time eight o’clock rolls around.

  As I print contracts to check for missing items and finish the filing, I keep glancing at it, wondering how to thank him. Wondering what it means, if it isn’t just one more of his silly games.

  As long as I’m yours, I’m lucky.

  Does he mean it?

  I don’t see Mag the whole evening. He snuck out for a meeting across town and never came back. So before I leave the office, I fire off a quick text.

  Thanks for the planner. You caught me by surprise. Of course I add a black cat emoji and a Christmas tree.

  Mag: Planner? I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  Yeah. Because anyone else on the planet would tease me with my own cat art and superstitions?

  Liar, I fire back.

  Mag: Prove it.

  Sabrina: That’s basically a confession.

  Mag: So you’ve joined my legal team now? Shame, you’ll be taking a pay cut.

  I send an emoji with the tongue out and type, Whatever, boss. I already do a better job than they do saving your ass.

  After work, I go back to the apartment, still getting barraged by messages from the Grump Who Gave Christmas and trying not to laugh.

  Paige dances into the room with a green elf hat on and the world’s ugliest sweater.

  “Um...you have jingle bells over your nipples,” I tell her, doing a double take.

  “Oh, put that thing down, Brina!” she belts out, passing me a glass of mulled wine she just made. “The big man says no working whatsoever. It’s almost Christmas Eve!”

  “The big man?”

  “Ho, ho, ho!” she rumbles. “Word on the street is, he’s a lot higher up than that Magnum d-bag.”

  Oof. I should’ve known.

  “Need help wrapping stuff for your folks?”

  She dives down on the sofa next to me and we talk about our holiday plans, never missing an opportunity to tell me to go out and get laid. I just tell her I need to get away.

  Since she’ll be staying in the city, Paige lends me her car, and I drive home to the ’burbs. If I’m not going into the office every day, I might as well spend some time in my old bedroom. Except for Thanksgiving, I haven’t seen my parents nearly enough ever since Dad’s heart appointments.

  I swing the front door open—still unlocked, sigh—and step inside.

  It’s warm and cozy as ever with a crackling fire. My nostrils bristle, gingerbread and sugary goodness everywhere. I grin.

  “I see Mom made cookies already,” I say, turning to lock the door. For the next few days, at least, I’ll know they’re safe.

  Mom bolts in from the kitchen and hugs me, practically lifting me off my feet.

  “This is the best Christmas ever! My baby is home, and I’m a bestseller!”

  Oh, Magnus Heron.

  You thought you were helping, but you’ve created an author-monster.

  “Congratulations, Mom. And I come home for Christmas every year.”

  She pats my cheek. “Oh, I know you do, because you’re the best daughter ever. Aren’t you pumped for my big win with Farm Love? Everybody adores Sir Oinkswell! My next book is gonna sell even more!”

  She scrunches up her nose and makes this obnoxious pig noise.

  Moms. Gotta love ’em, right?

  I hug her again. “I know, and I’m so happy for you. But I’m just saying...don’t be surprised if it’s a while before you hit the list again. They can’t all be blockbusters.”

  “Well, since I hit the list, I’ve been selling like a hundred more copies per day! And the reviews don’t lie. The people want sexy Marines taking down evil clowns and winning the girl.” Mom moves away from me and claps excitedly.

  My smile falls. “You’re selling that many?”

  Oh, crap. Heron, what the hell are you doing?

  Because I haven’t been buying them. I find her book on my phone, and the reviews look genuine enough...

  I’m just as surprised as anyone this boost might’ve been the kick she needed to hook a real audience. And if it’s all thanks to my beast of a boss, I have all the more reason to thank him.

  She smiles so huge her face lights up. “Some of my other books are trickling in sales, too. The backlist is fired up and catching readers. I’m a real author, Brina. You’re going to see my stuff on Netflix and cable someday! It’s so exciting. I’ve been at this for twenty years.”

  “I know,” I say stiffly. Yes, it’s so nice to see her happy, but I still can’t help feeling a little dishonest. “You deserve it, Mom, and so does Sir Oinkswell. Every last dollar.”

  I oink back at her and she laughs. I’m just trying to squelch the firestorm in my head.

  Also, I can’t decide if I want to crucify my boss or kiss him to death. But since the latter’s off-limits...

  I go to my room to drop my bag down and text Mag where Mom can’t see.

  Sabrina: Quit buying my mom’s books. She thinks she’s on her way to movie stardom or something, and I can’t buy enough books for her not to be crushed. I’m just your EA. You wanted it that way. Plus, I’m sure you’ve never purchased another assistant’s mother’s books.

  Magnus: Don’t get your panties in a twist. I haven’t bought her books since we were in Arizona that day. It was a one-time thing.

  Uh-oh. Worst hopes and fears confirmed.

  But how do I know he’s telling the truth?

  Sabrina: Then how, pray tell, is she still selling 50-100 copies a day??? I add a lady shrugging emoji.

  Magnus: Sales beget sales, Miss Bristol. Marketing 101. Let your dear old mom be a lesson.

  Maybe he’s right.

  Maybe.

  But I’m still not sold on her freaky hot Marine-prize pig-serial killer clown thing screaming success.

  Sabrina: Yeah, okay. Funny how I always bought her books, and that never got her sustained sales.

  Magnus: You never put her on a list. Visibility is king with these online retailers. Books are the same as every other product. Research the algorithms yourself and leave me to enjoy my scotch.

  Sabrina: Your poor liver, snarlypants. I add a smiley face with its tongue hanging out.

  Magnus: Don’t worry about my liver. You’re just my EA, remember?

  I don’t point out that only one of us got a choice in that.

  Dear God.

  No one infuriates me like this walking trope of a man.

  In the morning, Mom piles the table high with all my favorites: cinnamon apple pancakes, sizzling bacon, and homemade hot chocolate.

  My favorite part of being home might be the company, but the food’s a close second, and so is the nostalgia.

  She used to do this every day of Christmas break when I was a kid. And just like then, Dad sits next to me, the newspaper open with a heaping gas station cup of black coffee at his side.

  I keep the comments about caffeine and his heart to myself, filling my belly up and planning on being rolled out of here when my phone goes off.

  Heron flashes across my screen.

  Mom clears her throat. She hates me having my phone at the table.

  “It’s my boss,” I whisper, smiling sheepishly.

  “He bothers you over the holidays too?” Dad grumbles, looking up from the news. “Jackass.”

  “Nolan, no.” Mom’s voice is warm and excited. “He’s not
bothering her. He’s just keeping in touch.”

  I haven’t even gotten the message open yet. I glance at Mom over my phone.

  What the hell does she mean?

  “Honey, you call me at least three times a week and mention him by name every time. I know he’s not just your boss.” She takes a bite of her pancake. “You can be honest with us.”

  “He’s what?” I echo back, distracted by a photo in my messenger. It’s Mag’s hand, holding a steaming cup of coffee, and it fills my screen.

  Magnus: It’s no Heron blend, but it’s good.

  I smile helplessly.

  “Seeee?” Mom whispers.

  Dad chuckles, hiding behind his paper.

  I groan. I’ll set them straight in a minute. But for now...

  Better than your scotch? I type back, breaking into a blush.

  Magnus: No. But it’ll do since it’s the wrong time of day for scotch. Thank you, and Merry Christmas again.

  I giggle, my heart doing this wibbly swing.

  I power the phone off and look at Mom. “He’s my boss. Nothing more. I promise.”

  “Sweetheart, you smiled bigger than I do over my books when you saw his text.”

  I sigh. “Mom, you live for love stories. This isn’t a romance. I work for this guy and he’s kind of a demanding ass...I just need to keep my job. Staying on good terms is part of it. Besides, he’s a shameless workaholic. He isn’t interested in anything else.”

  “Oh?” Mom asks, quirking an eyebrow.

  “Oh, what?”

  She shrugs and purses her lips. “How do you know he’s not interested in anything else unless you’ve talked about it?”

  Oh my God. That red sunburst on my cheeks burns hotter.

  I shake my head. “Drop it, Mom. Please?”

  Her forehead creases. “I’m sorry.”

  Thankfully, she goes back to her pancakes, and I’m left alone with my thoughts of the sexiest and most insufferable billionaire mogul in the universe.

  * * *

  Christmas morning comes and we all gather around my parents’ tree.

  Dad hands me a heavy box to unwrap.

  I tear the paper off and lift the lid.

  “Wow, nice!” I pull out a leather briefcase. “Thank you so much, guys. I love the retro look.”

  “It’s even got a built-in pocket for your laptop or your art,” Dad tells me with a smile. “Looks like you’re ready for Wall Street.”

  “There’s one more this year.” Mom hands me a gift the size of a shoebox.

  When I open it, I scream.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. How did you afford these?” I take out one of the red-soled shoes and stare. Even Paige doesn’t own a pair like this.

  “The books have been selling so well,” Mom says quietly. “We couldn’t help you as much as we wanted to in college, so—”

  “And I hate that you have all those goddamn loans,” Dad adds.

  “But we’re so proud of you, Brina. You landed this high-powered job on your own, and it’s sad that you had to borrow shoes from your friend when you started. Next year’s gift might not be so good, but you deserve this,” Mom says.

  I love my parents so much.

  What would they think if they knew I only got the job because I spit on a grumpalicious stranger in the park?

  “I have something for you too,” I say.

  I pick a white envelope off the tree and hold it out.

  Mom reaches for it first, so I hand it to her.

  She tears the envelope open.

  “What is it?” Dad asks.

  “A receipt...for the property taxes?” Mom says, bewildered. “Paid in full. Even the back taxes we owed the county...”

  They both look at each other and then stare at me wide-eyed.

  I grin and shrug. “I’m getting paid well now, and my expenses haven’t really gone up, so—” If anything, they’ve gone down because I’m always at work. “I thought I’d give you guys something you deserve, too.”

  Dad gets up, stomps over, and hugs me so hard I shake. “Thank you, Brina babe.”

  There’s nothing more satisfying than feeling like you’ve been able to give your parents something that counts.

  Christmas dinner is just as wonderful, and I stay for one more pancake breakfast. When I leave, my parents rush out to the car and watch me drive away. Mom wipes tears from her eyes. They wave at me from the gate, and I wave back.

  It’s all a little overdramatic. I’m just going into the city not even an hour away, but...I’ll miss them hardcore, and I know it’s mutual.

  Back at the apartment, Paige greets me from the couch. “You’re home early! And it’s not even midnight—I thought you’d be right back at the grind. What do we owe this honor to?”

  I shrug. “Heron kind of insisted I take the week after Christmas off. There’s only a skeleton crew at the office. So, are we getting Chinese or Italian today?”

  “Chinese,” Paige says, bolting up. “I need a break from the Christmas sugar rush.”

  “Okay, but it’s on me. You paid last time.”

  Paige bounces up and puts her shoes on. “Good. Christmas broke me, and so did the studio. Turns out, four people wanted brand-new sculptures in time for presents. I barely had a week to get them together. Now I know what it’s like for you, minus Mr. Scary Hot.”

  I giggle at her latest nickname. She’s a bottomless pit.

  “The seventy-hour workweeks are tough,” I say. “But I’m glad I don’t have to worry about being broke anymore. I’m so glad you’re home today and free from art hell!”

  We go out the front door, and Paige pulls it shut behind us.

  “Hey, when we get in the car, I have to talk to you about something,” I tell her.

  She locks the door and looks up, squinting. “Oh, just tell me, Brina.”

  I follow her downstairs, scanning the area. The coast is clear, and even if it wasn’t, I know I’m being ridiculous for assuming anyone else would care about our drama.

  “What? What is it?” she hisses, tugging on my arm.

  “I’m just kind of mortified. I don’t want anyone overhearing,” I say.

  “Ohhh,” Paige says, her eyebrows flying up. “This has to be good...or terrible.”

  Once we’re in her car, I take a deep breath.

  Here goes.

  “I kissed him,” I blurt out, feeling the instant punch of red-faced shame.

  “Whaaat?” Paige laughs, clapping her hands to her cheeks comically. “See? I knew this would be juicy. Who did you kiss?”

  Crap. It isn’t obvious?

  I stare out the passenger window, my throat tightening.

  “Heron.” I have to push the word out and even then it’s barely audible. “In Arizona on that conference trip. I...I kissed—”

  “Heron? Like the Magnus Heron? King of pissing you off and robbing you of sleep Magnus Heron? Holy—you kissed the flipping boss? You freaky little girl!” She draws the last three words out and bursts out laughing, bouncing in her seat. “Sorry. You know me. Joking! But go on.”

  “Well, technically, I kissed him back. He started it,” I say into the window. “It was so sudden. He kissed me hard and I wanted more. When he pulled away, I shook, Paige. But that was a month ago in Phoenix. He said we’d never speak of it again, and he’s ignored me ever since. Up until this week when we swapped presents...”

  “Insane. Is Zen Garden okay?” Paige asks, shaking her fist at a van that cuts us off in the traffic so hard her gold locks bounce.

  “Perfect,” I say. “I need something yummy enough to forget I ever told you.”

  “Aw, c’mon!”

  She laughs and we travel the last few blocks, then pull into a parking place. She kills the car and turns to look at me. “Brina, if he said you’d never speak of it again and just ignored you...forget it. He’s playing you, and it’s a huge pain in the butt when regular guys do it. When it’s a billionaire boss? Screw that. Who needs drama with dudes who al
ready think they’ve got it all at their beck and call.”

  I turn away from the window and meet her eyes.

  “You’re right, and I wish it was that easy. But I can’t get him out of my mind. It’s crazy, intense, and yes, I know, dumb. It sucks that I have to see him.”

  She lets out a breath. “Yeah, he’s your idiot boss, and you need your job. Hmm. You can’t really distance. The problem is, he’s got you working so much you aren’t dating anymore. You’re probably lonely and he’s a jerk of jerks for stringing you along. We’re getting on Tinder and getting you laid.”

  Her eyes gleam like she’s on a mission. I love serious Paige so much my laughter makes me bang my head off the back of the seat.

  “You don’t get it, Paige. It was the best kiss ever. Getting laid with some rando won’t get my mind off Magnus Heron. It might even make it worse.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Wanna bet? Getting laid will so get your mind off Boss Killjoy. But if you doubt me, there’s only one way to find out. I’ll even leave you the apartment to yourself on Friday night so you have the perfect chance.”

  “It’s been more than a month since Arizona. I’m still riled up about it and the mountain of work that’s always there doesn’t change it. I’m not sure a close encounter of the sexy kind will help.” I sigh.

  Paige smiles and does this funky chest pop from side to side.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, side-eyeing her.

  “Dancing until you let me work my magic. You convinced yet or should I plan on doing this all night?” She sticks her tongue out, wiggling a brow.

  “Seriously. Why do I take advice from you again?” I laugh, knowing full well what her superpowers are. If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s raising the mood through the silliest, most embarrassing antics ever.

  “Give it a chance,” she insists, flopping back in her seat.

  What can I say? If her bizarre fix works, I shouldn’t turn her down.

  We spend our whole time over noodles and wantons with her showing me the ropes. Every trick in existence to land a perfectly hot date to knock Mag off his growly pedestal.