Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  Fuck!

  Her hand flutters to her face, pushing a scream back into her mouth.

  I almost lose my load right there, a roar in my throat.

  “Dammit, Brina,” I sigh. “You do that again and I’ll tie you to this desk. I’ll find a way. I’m not losing my shit before it’s even started.”

  She smiles, her eyes still glowing like gemstones.

  I throw my jacket off and take a firm hold of her hips, the better to hold her in place, and hold her down in case I need to stop a premature explosion.

  But I let my hips do all the talking, thrusting hard and fast, grinding her deep, raking her clit every time with my pubic bone.

  Her legs fold around me. Brina leans into ecstasy.

  My movements come in savage bursts.

  She tries to match me thrust for thrust, and it’d be adorable if it wasn’t so sexy I have to fight back my release the first time she comes on my cock.

  I hope to hell the cleaning company listens and doesn’t send any nighttime janitors, per my instructions.

  If they do, they’ll think there’s a crime scene happening in my office from the way I make her shriek. And I love it loud, I love it dirty, I love the crescendo when her sweet pussy fuses to my dick and tries to suck me off.

  I just love the fuck out of her.

  Did I just think that? Love?

  I don’t have time to ponder. Her legs climb up my back as her body takes me deeper, ankles pressed into my ass, insisting I give her half my soul when I give up my load.

  She’s shaking, her whole body a full, seductive vibration.

  “Mag, Mag, Mag!”

  It’s the last time that gets to me in my frenzy, slamming into her, rattling the desk—hell, maybe the whole building—with deep, controlling strokes that almost edge her womb.

  “Brina!” I belt her name back and my unfastened tie falls over her neck.

  The weird, possessive splash of color reminds me how far gone I am, how I’d give up my fortune to spend every damn night inside her.

  Fuck yes, I explode.

  Magnificently.

  The surge of my seed sends her off again, and we spend the next few minutes quaking in rapture, entangled, our bodies locked as I empty myself until she overflows.

  My desk is properly christened by our sex when I finally pull away, giving her one last kiss, watching the hot mess I’ve left behind leaking out of her.

  I scoop her up off the desk and seat us in my chair, her on my lap, cradling her so close I feel her heartbeat under her skin. I find my jacket on the floor and fold it around her bare shoulders, leaving us skin-to-skin, with nothing else between us.

  “Thank you.” She drops her head to my shoulder.

  I chuckle. “For what?”

  “How I feel right now.” Her voice is still low, her words one soft moan.

  I hold her tighter.

  “That’s not something to thank me for. You were an equal player.” I kiss her. “Besides, that was primal and savage. You also deserve sweet kisses under city lights.”

  And I do exactly that, laying a heavy kiss on her lips, turning her chin softly to look out the window.

  I’m almost expecting fireworks any minute, the whole city of Chicago celebrating our fuck. Or, more importantly, the moment I dared to think I’m in love with this woman.

  “Fine, give me all the kisses,” she giggles. “I’m not sure how that could’ve been better.”

  I don’t know either.

  The L-word confession lingers on the tip of my tongue as I stare into her eyes, but just when I’m about to say it, my phone goes off.

  I glare at the screen.

  “Shit, sorry, sweetheart. I better take that. It could be Jordan.”

  She stands so I can find my pants and fish the phone out of the pocket.

  The call hits me like an arrow through the chest.

  It’s amazing I can even pull up my briefs before the phone disconnects.

  I drop the cell on the desk, my fingers numb.

  “Get dressed,” I say, hating how her curves tempt me even now, and hating that I hate it.

  “Mag?” She plucks her clothes up off the ground, a worried crease in her face. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Maybe? I don’t know,” I say. “Marissa Quail just woke up. We have to get Jordan now and go to the hospital.”

  “Holy crap!” Her eyes go huge and she grins. “That’s fantastic! He’s going to be so—”

  “Excited? Let’s hope so.” I pull my pants up and fasten the belt like my life depends on it.

  What I don’t tell her is the sudden dark gut punch of worry that hits like a premonition. Apparently, I’m outdoing Miss Superstition tonight.

  Still, I can’t relax until I see Marissa alive and well, with her brain intact.

  Anything could go wrong.

  * * *

  When the elevator opens, Jordan runs ahead with Brina and I trailing behind him. He darts into Marissa’s room before we catch up.

  She looks at me. “Are you ready for this?”

  “It’s now or never.” I take Brina’s hand. “I’m glad she woke up. If everything seems normal, it’ll be a huge weight off Jordan’s shoulders.” I squeeze her palm, tracing a circle on the top of her hand with my thumb. “And it also means we’ll be talking to Ruby soon.”

  She beams up at me.

  We’re a few inches from the door when Jordan pops his head out.

  “She’s asleep?” he asks, wearing a deep frown.

  “Hit the nurse button,” I say. “They told me she was awake twenty minutes ago.”

  We step into the room together.

  Sabrina sits in the chair and I stand next to Marissa’s bed with Jordan. The boy hits the call button on the bed just as a nurse and doctor stroll through the door.

  “Sorry, I guess we shouldn’t have hit that,” I tell them.

  “No problem,” the nurse says.

  The doctor looks at Marissa, crumpled in the bed, totally inert and breathing slowly.

  “You just missed her,” he sighs, adjusting his glasses. “I was in this room five minutes ago, and Miss Quail was fully conscious and talking to us.” He turns his head to face Jordan. “She asked about you. I told her you’d been here almost every day, and you’re well taken care of.”

  “Why’s she asleep again?” Jordan asks, thorns in his voice.

  “She’s on a lot of medication, I’m afraid, and she’s been unconscious for some time,” the doctor says kindly. “It’s not like it is in the movies. Some coma patients can only stay awake for a few minutes, gradually recovering their stamina over weeks. In this case, some of her sleepiness is a response to the pain and medications in her system.”

  He gives an encouraging smile, but I also want answers to the question Jordan asks a second later.

  “But she’s okay?”

  “She’s on the mend. Her vitals look great. The brain tissue doesn’t seem to be scarred. Of course, we’ll be able to give a full assessment when she’s feeling better. If she doesn’t wake up before you leave tonight, she’ll likely come around tomorrow,” the doctor says.

  “Thank you,” I say, finally a bit relieved.

  The doctor leaves, and the nurse checks Marissa’s vitals again, scribbling something on the digital board before she exits.

  “We’ll hang out for a few minutes until the end of visiting hours,” I say. “But if she doesn’t wake up, we need to let her sleep and come back in the morning. She needs rest.”

  “Damn, I just wanted to talk to her, but...I’m glad Mom’s okay.” An unsure smile brightens his face.

  “Me too, Jordan,” I say with a smile.

  For him, I manage, but I’m still not relaxing totally until I see how Marissa acts.

  Thankfully, Brina’s smile in the corner is a lot more honest.

  Jordan spends the next fifteen minutes at her side, doing nothing but watching her, gently muttering a few words.

  I’ve never se
en a kid his age more intent on anything that wasn’t a cell phone.

  I hate to even walk up and lay a hand on his shoulder.

  “Okay, bud. It’s time to go.”

  Jordan stirs, almost as if he forgot we were there, and kisses his mom’s cheek. “All right. I’m ready. I’ll be back soon, Mom.”

  “Should we grab some ice cream on the way home?” I ask, searching for a happy distraction. “We all needed some good news.”

  “Yes!” Both Brina and Jordan say it together.

  I chuckle at their shared enthusiasm. It’s hard as hell not to kiss her right then.

  Jordan goes out the door first, heading into the main lobby.

  “Jordan?” A man calls his name.

  A voice I know.

  It can’t fucking be.

  I burst through the door, leaving Sabrina trailing behind me, hoping to everything holy I’m hallucinating.

  I wish I were so lucky.

  Baxter goddamn Heron sits in a waiting room chair, right by the door, a polished expression on his face I want to rip right off. He should be grateful this is a hospital.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarl, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

  Sabrina comes through the door a second later and stands beside me, staring at the stranger she’s never seen before. I’ve seen him, though, and damn it, I wish I never had.

  “Mag, what’s going on?” she asks quietly.

  Baxter stands, straightening up, only a few inches shorter than I am. He looks at Sabrina.

  His frigid blue eyes meet mine and a cocky grin crosses his face, heavy with a few more wrinkles than I remember.

  “Ah, both my sons are here, I see. Perfect.” A slow, serpent smile twists his lips.

  My fist tightens into a rock.

  “If you have any sense left, old man, you’ll shut the fuck up, turn the fuck around, and walk the—”

  “I still check the company website from time to time,” he cuts in, his voice horribly calm. “She’s your executive assistant, isn’t she? I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.”

  I’m going to strangle him with my bare hands.

  His eyes flick past me to Brina.

  Then he makes a tsking sound and shakes his head. “So hypocritical, but I do understand. She’s a delightful creature, and perhaps you’ll have a chance to make Jordan here an uncle very soon.”

  The rage inside me goes volcanic, and I pity anyone nearby, because I know how this ends.

  I’m going to jail. Right after I beat the ever-living shit out of this man right here on the hospital’s tiled floor.

  “If you so much as look at her again, I’ll scoop your eyeballs out,” I roar, my voice ragged. “Call her delicious again, Baxter, and you’ll be having a second nose job. Good thing we’re in the right place.”

  “How pathetic. Threatening me like the emotional little brute you are.” He waves a dismissive hand at me. “I didn’t come here to squabble over your whore of a secretary—”

  Up until now, I always thought the expression seeing red was an exaggeration.

  Not anymore.

  I’m living it, seeing the world through such a neon blood-red crimson tint, I wonder if I’ve ruptured something in my head.

  “Listen,” I bite off. “I’m using every bit of discipline I learned in the Corps to not break your face in front of a kid. Mention her again, and I’ll bounce your head off the ground until your skull splits. I watched you treat my mom like shit and then wipe your stinking feet on the women who worked for you. I’ll be damned if you talk to Sabrina that way.”

  “Yes, yes, I heard what happened. That’s why I came here all the way from Saint Thomas to check on Marissa and my boy,” Baxter says, a cruel smile slowly dragging across his reprobate face.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Why is he here? He never sets foot on the mainland since he fled to the Virgin Islands. I’ve kept tabs on him for years.

  I look over at Jordan with another shot through my chest.

  The wheels are turning in his head. He’s not an idiot.

  “So you’re the infamous Baxter Heron? I thought you’d be taller,” Sabrina sneers. “Everyone at HeronComm hates you.”

  She never minces words, but this isn’t her fight.

  I put one arm around Brina and another around Jordan, trying to steer them both to the elevator.

  Oh, I’ll be back.

  I just don’t want them to see me assaulting Baxter Heron, plus the kid will have to stay with her and Armstrong if I get hauled off in handcuffs.

  “Wait. Wait, wait, wait!” Jordan says, twisting, struggling away from my grasp. “Hold up...”

  We all look at the kid as he draws a deep breath.

  I reach for him again, but he swats at my hand.

  “Dude. No. This is bullshit,” he growls, a hatred in his eyes that spears me alive.

  “Jordan, ignore him. He’s a liar. Go with Brina. We’re going home,” I say, trying my damnedest to keep control.

  “Is your mom okay, son?” Baxter calls behind him, his footsteps echoing as he approaches. “It’s so good to finally meet you. They’ve tried so hard to cut me out of your life.”

  Jordan glares hellfire at me.

  “You...you fucking lied to me. You told me he was dead.”

  “He is dead,” I snap, shaking my head. “You don’t understand what he is, what he’s done. He’s dead to us, and he’s caused your mother nothing but agony.”

  Jordan takes a step back, still glaring, trying to figure out the truth.

  “And he was just leaving, weren’t you, old man?” I jerk my head at my father. “Either you go, or we do.”

  Jordan’s eyes don’t soften.

  He still hates the shit out of me, and why shouldn’t he?

  I had weeks—months—to spill more about our family. I didn’t.

  Not when I thought it was keeping him safe.

  Baxter shakes his head. “You always did think you were the boss. Sometimes I wish I’d taken you down with me, you sad, hotheaded brat—”

  “Your shareholders don’t. But you didn’t have a choice, did you? You were about to fuck everything up. Remember, Dad?” I spit the last word.

  Baxter’s gaze shifts to Jordan.

  “You can’t trust this one. He was born with a forked tongue.” He gestures toward me. “He stole my entire company. Why, I bet he even told you I was dead, didn’t he, son?”

  Jordan nods, his lower lip trembling. I think he might cry.

  Shit!

  “Jordan, listen to me. You’re fourteen,” I growl. “You’re not his son. He gave up the right to call you that years ago. Why didn’t he find you before now? When your mom could’ve held her own and told you the truth?”

  Jordan meets my eyes, and for a second, I think it might be okay.

  His hell-gaze swings to Baxter now.

  “W-why didn’t you?” His voice is small, shaking, confused.

  My demon father shakes his head. “I always tried. It just didn’t work out between your mom and me. She wouldn’t let me see you. Hell, she wouldn’t even let your older brother into your life. But you’re my son, and I love you, and now that she’s in a bad way...I’m here.”

  Damn his lies.

  Damn the fact that he’s breathing.

  I want to shout the whole truth. Your mom was sexually harassed by her sicko boss who tried to convince her she didn’t deserve her job or support for the child he created. Don’t go. Don’t walk away with Lucifer.

  But there’s no good way to explain that to a very confused, very upset eighth grader—especially to an eighth grader who’s been aching for a dad his whole life.

  Not without flaying him alive.

  I meet Jordan’s eyes.

  “Look at me. I’m his son, too, and I wish to hell I wasn’t. I’d rather be an orphan, Jordan.”

  Baxter moves between me and my brother, his back to me. I want to shove him aw
ay, but I can’t deliver his well-deserved beating now. Jordan won’t understand, and I’ll definitely be the bad guy then.

  “Don’t listen to him, son,” Baxter hisses. “Come back to my hotel and have dinner? We’ve got fourteen years to cover that I missed out on.”

  The prick has no shame, he can’t possibly think that’ll...work?

  To my horror, Jordan nods, moving closer next to my dad. They start for the elevator, and I’m on their heels, catching a frenzied receptionist standing and watching us out of the corner of my eye.

  “He’s not going anywhere with you,” I grind out.

  Baxter grins. “Yes, he is, Magnus. You aren’t his guardian. Legally, there’s nothing you can do. He’s coming with me.”

  He’s right.

  Fuck.

  “Jordan, don’t go!” I howl. “For the love of God, don’t—”

  “You lied to me,” he flings back, turning, fists flung down at his sides. “Everyone always lies to me! Mom wouldn’t tell me shit and you outright lied.” Jordan’s eyes are so much worse than the familiar, untrusting, sullen look he wore when we first met.

  Now, he looks like he hates me with a vengeance.

  I can’t fucking blame him.

  This day is pure trauma.

  First his mom was awake, then she wasn’t.

  Next his supposedly dead dad shows up here.

  I never should’ve lied. A stupid mistake, and I’m paying the price as I watch them moving, and a man with a badge cuts me off from following.

  “Sir? If you could please step back,” the security guard says.

  Jordan gets in the elevator first, with Baxter right behind him. I’m still looking past them, desperate, willing Jordan to stop, come back, think about this.

  “Bye, Mag,” Jordan says with a scowl before the elevator doors snap shut.

  Shut him off from me.

  I don’t know how the fuck I’m still standing and not falling straight to the floor.

  Somehow, I stagger back, away from the guard who has one hand on his radio—if it isn’t a taser.

  A woman’s delicate fingers touch the back of my arm near the entrance door.

  “Mag...are you okay?” Brina asks.