Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  I jerk my arm away from her like she’s poison.

  “You should go,” I choke out, my whole brain on fire.

  “But—” Her voice quivers like she might cry. “But, Mag, I...”

  No.

  I can’t deal with this shit right now.

  I have to get Jordan home.

  I’m afraid to even look at her.

  “Are you deaf? I said go. Armstrong’s in the lot. He’ll give you a ride home,” I snarl, already sick at the scorn pouring out of me.

  “But—” she starts.

  “Sabrina. Go,” I say. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  “...you’re such a jackass!” She sniffles. “You shouldn’t have let him go.”

  Thanks, Miss Obvious.

  “I had no choice,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like the whole world’s tilting, spinning, shrugging me off. I pinch my eyes shut.

  What the fuck is happening?

  I’ve just lost Marissa’s son, my brother, to a monster. Now I’ve made an intelligent, kind, beautiful angel of a woman cry. I’ve given her this raw, scared look of betrayal.

  I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today.

  When I blink my eyes open, she’s disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a bitter not-quite-spring wind whipping through the open glass door.

  How long has she been gone?

  Long enough to decide I’ve hurt her enough, apparently. A text comes through that has me stumbling against the wall, holding out a hand so I don’t topple over.

  Sabrina: I can’t do this anymore. Lose my fucking number.

  23

  Red Convertible (Sabrina)

  I didn’t want to do it.

  I tried not to let him see me cry, but the tears were already streaming down my cheeks before I took off, racing around the corner, leaving him standing there like this pillar of pure venom.

  Somehow, I held it in until I was out of sight.

  I bit my lip until I was sure, and the second I was, I let out a long sob.

  For Jordan. For Mag. And, of course, for me.

  Winding through the hallway, I nearly collide with a young doctor.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

  Yeah, but you don’t have a drug for this one, Doc.

  “I-I-I’m f-fi-ne.”

  God, it’s hard to talk while sobbing.

  He lays a hand on my arm.

  “Did you lose someone?” he asks, his voice so gentle.

  I nod through the tears as his words bolt through me. I’m not just his EA anymore, and if that scene back there is how he’s going to keep treating me, we can’t survive.

  Yes, I’ve lost him. Hell yes, it’s over.

  The doctor squeezes my shoulders. “It’s okay. Everything happens for a reason, and there’s no grief that can’t be conquered with time.”

  “With any luck, he’ll burn in hell,” I strangle out.

  The doctor releases me and stumbles back, his mouth hanging open. It’s only then in my ruined state that I realize he thought someone died. I just meant they reverted back to their arrogant rich bitch self.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, but the tears are less heavy now as I crawl into an elevator down the hall.

  In no time, the elevator dings.

  Thank God.

  I want out of this elevator, out of this hospital, and out of this life.

  I wander into the parking lot looking for Armstrong. I don’t see him here, but it’s so dark the town car could blend in. A steady cold rain sleets through the night, making it hard to see anything.

  Just before I spot my ride, I shoot Mag a text, letting him know he can lose my fucking number.

  I’m as done as I am hollowed out.

  A horn honks. I glance up from my phone. The town car roars in right beside me.

  In the back seat, I’m instantly assaulted with the earthy masculine scent of Magnus Heron. I burst into tears again.

  “Brina, are you okay?” Armstrong asks, his eyes heavy with concern.

  “Y-yes.” I spit through the tears.

  He’s quiet for a minute. “Is Miss Quail all right? I thought she was getting better?”

  I wipe a tear from my face.

  “She...she’s fine.” I mutter.

  “Are you warm enough back there?” he asks, confusion growing in those eyes staring back at me in the mirror.

  I sniff. I hadn’t noticed before, but it’s fine.

  “Yes. Nice and toasty.”

  “All right. Say no more. I’ll get you to the penthouse as soon as I can.”

  Torture. This is a bucket of killing ice poured over my head. The moment it becomes real.

  “Take me to my apartment.” Another hushed sob flays me open.

  Armstrong leaves me be but keeps looking in the rearview mirror. I want to stop, for his sake, but I can’t.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks in a quiet voice, the only break in the light tapping of wet sleet.

  I shake my head.

  He drives in silence for a few minutes, then asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

  Well, maybe one thing.

  “C-c-cinnamon—” Sob. “Latte,” I whisper.

  “I knew you’d say that! Hang on.” When I look outside, I realize we’re almost at Sweeter Grind, even though it wasn’t on the way. He parks and goes in for the coffee this time. When he gets back in the car, he shakes the rain from his shoulders and hands me a large cinnamon latte and a box of truffles. “Here. I used the company card. That’s the least the prick can do.”

  “Huh? But I didn’t say anything about—”

  “Call it a hunch,” Armstrong says with a wink.

  It’s the last words we exchange before he parks at the curb in front of my apartment, the square building towering over the night like a mausoleum.

  With a fortifying sip of latte, I drag my heavy feet up the stairs, into my room, and throw myself across the bed.

  Sleep doesn’t come.

  Neither do calls or texts.

  And that’s fine.

  For once, maybe Magnus Heron learned to listen to someone else.

  * * *

  The following day, my head rings from all the crying.

  I watch the pale yellow sunrise through the horizontal blinds in my bedroom, still buried under a pile of blankets. With winter bleeding into spring, it hurts when it reminds me of a certain Arizona sunset.

  Another time when I thought I’d broken through, only to be Mag’s doormat.

  Never again.

  A knock at my bedroom door yanks me from the depths of self-pity.

  “Yeah?” I croak.

  Paige opens the door, a slightly disgusted look on her face. She peers around as if she’s expecting to see someone else here.

  “Holy crap. Are you okay? You were making weird noises last night and I wasn’t sure if you were fucking or crying—” Her eyes land on my bloated, red face. “Oof. So no sexy-times then.” She sits down on the bed beside me. “What happened, lady?”

  My eyes are so swollen I can’t see, but I haven’t been crying for a while.

  “We broke up.” My voice is small.

  “Shit.” I can tell she tries not to wince. “Because he doesn’t have to take care of the kid anymore?”

  I start to shake my head, but then stop.

  “Oh my God. You’re right.” I sink lower into my bed and hug a pillow. “I never even thought about that. But it came down so fast, so sudden, and he didn’t really have a choice, Jordan just...”

  I trail off, too sick at heart to relive that scene at the hospital.

  Losing Jordan wasn’t Mag’s fault. Not after that horrible man showed up and torched everyone with his lies. But losing me? Giving up? Shoving me away in his darkest flipping hour?

  Yeah.

  No question who pulled the trigger there.

  I stuff the pillow over my face. If I can just drown out enough light, then maybe my head will stop pounding like a
construction zone.

  “Brina, what happened? Don’t jump to any conclusions,” Paige whispers softly, laying a hand on my side.

  “Like you just did?” I mumble from under the pillow.

  “Come out of there and talk to me.”

  Fine. So maybe it’ll help to bounce it off her.

  I mean, just twelve hours ago, things were golden. I never imagined anything like the way he took me in the office, and hearing there was hope for Marissa...

  It isn’t fair how fast it all went to shit.

  I can’t even make sense of it. Not alone.

  “We—uh—we were working late and wound up together on his desk,” I begin slowly, my voice shaky. “It was perfect. Then the hospital called and said Jordan’s mom woke up from her coma, so we rushed over. Their dad showed up at the hospital out of the blue. He’s not a good man, and he told a lot of lies to get the kid to trust him. Mag was devastated. I tried to make sure he was okay. He shoved me away, told me to go home. But you’re right. He doesn’t have to take care of the kid anymore, and now he doesn’t need me...just like you said.”

  Hello, tears.

  Paige pats my back. “I did?”

  “At brunch that day. Remember?”

  She nods. “I was worried, but I hoped I was wrong. Are you going to work Monday?”

  “God, no.” I wince. How could I?

  I don’t have a job, and I don’t have a boyfriend.

  One night, and I’m right back at square one.

  “I don’t know, honestly. I don’t even want to see him again.”

  “I’m right there with you. I’ve got a date with my mom, but I’ll be home tonight.” She stands. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I settle into my bed and grab a big box of tissues. “It’s not like it’s my first breakup.”

  “Right,” she says. She rocks from the balls to the sides of her feet and back. “Do you want to come with me? My mommy has a ton of spa credits. We’re getting manicures, and she always pays for everything.” Paige grins.

  “No, no, I’m just going to stay in bed and maybe start job hunting. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “I’m not sure sulking alone will make you feel better. You haven’t had time for a manicure since you took this job. Just come on,” she begs.

  I sigh. “I don’t need to sulk. I need to sleep. Did you miss the part where I said I was up all night?”

  “Okay, take a nap. But then get up and do something. Go to Sweeter Grind. Hit the job sites. Adopt a puppy. I don’t care, but you can’t just lie here feeling miserable all day.”

  I roll my eyes. “Paige, I’ll be okay. Go have fun.”

  She stares at me for a long second, then finally nods. “I know, you’re too big of a badass to let this take you down. But seriously, Maggot and his dumb rich ass isn’t worth it. If I ever see the guy again, I’m kicking him in the balls.”

  I burst out laughing, imagining Paige making good on her promise.

  “Thanks for reminding me why we’re best friends. Go see your mom. If I don’t sleep, I’m going to barf.”

  “Try to have a good day.” She leaves my room, pulling the door shut behind her.

  I tug the blanket over my head, and somehow, I must nod off, because seconds later, I’m on a plateau in Arizona. A beautiful man with sandy-brown hair and sparkling blue eyes kisses me like it’s all he was ever made to do.

  Then he throws his hands in the air and says, “I needed to calm you down.”

  Dream Brina is no pushover. She picks up a desert rock and pings it off his head. He bursts into a thousand sea-blue butterflies.

  I run down the mountain in stiletto heels and cute shorts, jump into a red convertible, and drive away, laughing maniacally.

  Hugo and Angie can eat their hearts out at the images my brain comes up with.

  Then, somehow, I end up in Mag’s bed. We’re naked, breathing ragged, bodies tangled, his hands pushing me down into the mattress. He pulls me up while we’re still entangled and presses me to his chest. He holds me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.

  I’m back in the cute shorts and heels, free-falling through clouds spun with warm sun. I land on my feet in a room where light pours in through a wall of windows.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I don’t need your help, Miss Bristol.” he says coldly. “You’ve worn out your welcome.”

  A pool appears. I pick up a foam noodle and whack him into the water. He turns into a blue dolphin and swims away from me.

  Um, weird.

  Then I’m back in my red convertible, driving through a dark tunnel.

  No, not just any tunnel, a barely lit hospital hallway.

  Mag stands between me and the elevator.

  “Sabrina. Go,” he snarls, two fatal words I’ll never forget.

  My heel breaks when I try to launch toward him. I stumble, catching myself in a crouch on the ground. When I look up, he’s replaced by a stalking lion, which looks like it wants to tear me to pieces.

  “No!” I scream, jerking up.

  I breathe slowly, deeply, fitfully.

  Seriously.

  Screw dreaming.

  But I don’t need a date with a dream interpreter to make sense of that mess. The pattern is clear.

  Mag oversteps, overreaches, hurts me, and then he runs away.

  This isn’t the first warning from the universe, either. The same day Paige warned me, a black cat stared me down in front of the office. It wasn’t bad luck.

  It was an omen, and I ignored it.

  “Please be wrong,” I pray, grabbing my phone.

  No calls. No voicemails. No texts. No emails.

  He just doesn’t care. Or else he’s walled in, beating himself up over Jordan, or maybe assembling a crack team of lawyers and former SEALs to rescue the poor boy.

  Still. Not even a single freaking text?

  A dark voice in the back of my head says, you’re out, and he’s not letting you back in. How long are you going to wait around?

  But I’m not this time. I can’t.

  I don’t even care if I get a termination notice. I can’t deal with that man again.

  I need an exit plan.

  Sighing, I retrieve my laptop and check my bank account. In roughly six months at HeronComm, I’ve banked almost forty thousand dollars after taxes and living expenses.

  So maybe I can keep myself and my parents afloat for a while.

  On a whim, I check Mag’s email and snort.

  It’s overflowing rapidly. He’ll never be able to sort it all. Then I open my company email and begin typing.

  To: Ruby Hunting, HR Director.

  From: Sabrina Bristol

  Subject: Down and Out

  Hi Ruby,

  Due to unforeseeable changes in my situation, I need to use my vacation days. All of them.

  If you’re unable to fulfill this request, then I’ll put in my notice immediately and expect to be paid out for all remaining vacation days per the employee handbook.

  Have a good day.

  Sabrina Bristol

  Executive Assistant to Magnus Heron, HeronComm Inc.

  I don’t care if I get a response.

  I’ll burn my vacation before I quit, or they can pay me for it later.

  I’m not going back, and right now that’s all that matters.

  But I’m probably not going to have access to a town car and driver anymore, so I should start looking for a used car. Maybe a red convertible.

  Making plans helps manage the heartache, a distraction from the tragic fact that I loved Magnus Heron.

  I just wish all the self-empowerment in the world eased things permanently.

  Huffing out a breath, I text Armstrong.

  Sabrina: Is King Maggot keeping you busy today?

  Armstrong: Hey, Brina! Not so much. Do you need anything?

  For a second, I frown, right before disgust whips through me.

  No way.


  I’m not going to let myself worry over Armstrong sounding like he hasn’t seen Mag today.

  Sabrina: Any chance you could give me a ride to a car lot on the south side and maybe help me haggle? I’m thinking about new wheels.

  Armstrong: Heck yeah! I spend enough time on the road to know a thing or two about what’s good. Be right over.

  I have to make a forty-minute trip in a car that smells like Mag, but I save cab fare and don’t have to deal with the bus.

  It’s kind of incredible how fast it comes together.

  Armstrong argues the salesman down to eight thousand dollars like a pro, and suddenly I’m the proud owner of a shiny red convertible that seems like it was just waiting for me.

  My first real car. A lifeline to escape the city if I can’t get a lid back on my nerves.

  When it’s over, I grin at Armstrong. “Thank you so much. I owe you.”

  “Nah, she’s a beauty,” he says, beaming back a grin. “I’m happy for you, lady. Where are you driving her first?”

  “My parents’ place. I usually have to take a cab or bum a ride. It takes forever by bus.”

  “Have fun.” He gives me a thumbs-up and starts climbing back in the town car. “Hope this takes the edge off...well, you know.”

  I smile bitterly as he gives me an apologetic look.

  Oh, I know. And it’s not his fault.

  The only person who owes me a sorry is the awful perma-grump of a human being I used to call boss, the man I’m never taking back.

  If my new wheels are freedom, then let them set me free from all things Mag.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, I park the convertible in front of the old brick house.

  Of course, the door isn’t locked. Dad sits on the couch like he’s superglued to it, watching a game.

  “Welcome home, babe! I was starting to think you’re just a myth these days,” he says, throwing his arms out.

  “Hi, Dad.” Don’t sound sad, I tell myself.

  “Is that my Brina?” Mom calls from the kitchen, and I smile at her familiar catchphrase.

  I start walking to greet her, but she stops in the doorway before I get there. “Oh, honey, what happened?”

  “Huh?”