Grumpaholic: A Grumpy Boss Romance

by Cole, Jagger

  Ella is shaking. I mean really shaking, like she’s having a seizure or something. I growl and move to her. Forget the guy. I’ll find him later. But there’s something that compels me to rush to her. I move into her and wrap her in my arms.

  “Ella…”

  “He… he…” she’s stuttering, her green eyes wide.

  “It’s okay…”

  “He had a gun! He had a gun!”

  “And he’s gone now. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

  My thick arms circle her much, much smaller body. I pull her into my chest. She clings to me like she’s holding on for dear life.

  “It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re safe,” I repeat.

  She nods against me. She grips me tighter. Slowly, I look down. She looks up. Fuck, she smells amazing. Her small body is so warm in my arms. Her lips glisten in the dim streetlights, and her eyes shine.

  I’m captivated—captivated like I haven’t been in, well, ever. My hands hold her tighter. My pulse beats thicker in my ears. I inhale the scent of her and feel the rush of adrenaline from what just happened.

  There’s no stopping this.

  I lean in as she leans up eagerly. My mouth crushes to hers, and I taste those soft, plump lips. I growl as she whimpers. I kiss her deeply; savagely. For one second, it feels like the world has stopped turning.

  And then, it all falls apart. With a gasp, she pulls away. So do I. I blink in shock. She glares at me with fury and embarrassment. Suddenly, she’s shoving me hard in the chest and backing away from me.

  “Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you!!?”

  My mouth curls into a snarl. “Me?!”

  “Yes, you!” She snaps.

  I scowl. “Excuse me?!”

  “You can’t just kiss people!”

  I stare at her. “Me.”

  “Are you deaf or just an asshole?”

  I glare at her. “Listen to me, sweetheart…”

  “Do not call me that.”

  “No?” I snap. “How about inmate?” I jab a finger at the mural of me taking it in the ass. “Because I just caught you red handed, you little shit.”

  She balks. “Excuse me? I was just walking here.”

  I roll my eyes. “With spray paint?”

  She glances around. She’s the fucking textbook picture of guilt. “That’s not mine.”

  I laugh coldly. “Right, well, let’s get the cops down here so they can find the rightful owner then, shall we?”

  “Great!” she snaps. “And I’ll tell them how you forced yourself on a girl alone in an alley!”

  I glare at her. “This is actually private property. How the fuck did you even…” I shake my head. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. I’m calling the police.”

  “Go right ahead! Who do you think they’ll believe?”

  I glance at her. She’s in ripped jeans, Doc Marten boots, and a Ramones t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. She’s wearing too much eye makeup. She’s got a nose ring and about seven others in her ears. I glance down at my suit and smirk.

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” I pull my phone out.

  “I’m just saying, forcing yourself on young women in dark alleys… that’s not a good look for aspiring rich douchebags.”

  I glare at her. “Don’t flatter yourself. You threw yourself at me.”

  She balks at me as I dial. “Why you arrogant motherfucker!”

  I smile sardonically at her. “Yes, security? It’s Cormac Heath… yes, hi… Listen, I’m outside on the side patio. A man just tried to attack me with a gun. No, no, I’m quite fine, thank you. He’s gone, but the gun is here if you could call the police. Listen,” I grin smugly at her again. She’s glaring at me—fuming, but also looking terrified. I turn away. “I’ve also just apprehended a trespassing graffiti vandal. Yes, and I’d like to press charges—”

  I turn to grin at her. But then my smile drops.

  “Motherfucker!”

  She’s bolting. She’s got the backpack of spray paints and is running across the patio area away from me and the enormous mural of me getting pounded in the ass by the devil.

  I glance past her and tense. “Hey!” I yell.

  She whips her head around to grin smugly at me. She flips me off, and I’m pretty sure I hear “eat shit.”

  “Hey! Watch out for the—!”

  She hits the potted hedge plant with a grunt. The bag scatters, and she goes head-over-heels with a crash into the plant, just as the police sirens wail closer.

  I sigh and pinch the tension in the bridge of my nose. And this is exactly why I don’t fucking date.

  4

  Ella

  “Just a bruise, you’re going to be fine.” The medic smiles at me.

  Yeah, just a bruise on my shoulder. And a huge one on my pride. I glance over at Cormac. He’s talking with some police officers who clearly know him. They’re smiling away and chuckling with him.

  My stomach sinks. I’m so fucked. I just got busted, almost literally red-handed. And now, he’s going to roast me for it. He glances over at me. He’s still smiling at something one of the cops just said. But his eyes burn into me. I tremble. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m about to be arrested. Or if it’s because Cormac Heath looking at me like that makes my body behave in ways I wish it wouldn’t.

  And I just kissed him. I can’t actually believe it. But that definitely just happened. I kissed Cormac Heath. I mean, I really did, too. I want to pretend it’s the opposite. Or, what, that we just fell into each other and bumped lips?

  Yeah, no. I kissed him. Because I’m insane. Or maybe the fear and adrenaline did something screwy with me.

  I cringe and blush when it replays in my head.

  Cormac is back to talking with the cops. He pats one of them on the shoulder and shakes all of their hands. Then he turns and glances at me again. I tremble. His jaw tightens. He starts to head over to where I’m sitting with the EMT.

  “How is she?”

  The EMT turns and beams at him. She brushes her hair away and blushes. “Oh, Mr. Heath!”

  I roll my eyes. Yeah, lady, we get it. He’s absurdly good looking. Too bad he’s the devil.

  “How’s our patient?”

  “She’s just fine, sir,” she titters. “Just a bruise.” She frowns. “How about you? I heard one of the officers saying there was a shooter?”

  “Just a crazy guy with a gun,” he shrugs.

  “Do you need to be examined?”

  I roll my eyes. Cormac spots it and grins. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  “Yes, Mr. Heath actually chased the guy off!” I gush.

  The medic looks like she’s just witnessed an actual biblical miracle. She stares at Cormac. “My God, seriously?”

  He glares at me past her. “It was fine,” he mutters at me. He glances back at the medic and smiles. “Could I have a moment with Ella here?”

  She grins. “Oh! Of course, Mr. Heath! Of course!” She blushes and almost trips over her own first response bag before scurrying off.

  “Oh my God, Mr. Heath!” I gush sarcastically. “Please, can I examine your boo-boos? Can I touch your muscles? Can I have your babies, Mr. Heath?”

  He doesn’t look amused. I grin anyways.

  “You okay?”

  My look sours. “The fuck do you care?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  I tense “For?”

  “Take your pick,” he mutters. “Not telling the cops that the new art on the building is yours, or chasing off the creep with the gun,” he growls.

  I blush. “Oh, yeah… I thought you… never mind.”

  He smirks. “You thought I was saying you’re welcome about that?”

  He means the kiss. He obviously does. Because he’s right, that’s exactly the smug prick comment I thought he was about to make.

  “We’re not talking about that,” I snap.

  He shrugs casually. “Works for me.”


  “Fine.”

  “Excellent.”

  I glare at him. “Okay first of all, that guy was after you. If you hadn’t been there, I’d have been fine.”

  He glares at me. “Right, just breaking the law by illegally vandalizing my goddamn building.”

  “But not getting shot.”

  “And again,” he hisses. “You’re welcome.”

  I chew on my lip. I look at my hands. “Thanks,” I mumble. I look up at him. “That happen a lot to you?”

  “What, girls throwing themselves at me?”

  I roll my eyes at his smug grin. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He keeps grinning. I glare at him. “And you know what I meant. The guy with the gun.”

  “No.”

  I frown. “Huh…”

  Cormac frowns. “You seem surprised.”

  “I honestly am. You’re like the most hated person in New York, and that’s kind of saying something.”

  His mouth tightens. He arches a brow. “Years of practice.”

  I almost grin, but I hide it away.

  “So, your Sistine Chapel back there.”

  “Oh, you like it?” I throw back, dripping in sarcasm.

  Cormac just glowers down at me. “I’m just confused on your artistic message.”

  I laugh. “I thought it was pretty clear.”

  “No, it was. But you’ve called me the devil.”

  “And?”

  “And that was the devil…”

  “Bending you over and having his way with you, yes.” I smile. “Any other questions?”

  “So I’m the evil, but the devil is also sodomizing me.”

  I shrug.

  “I guess I’m not clear on your message. Am I fucking myself? Is that the commentary?”

  I frown. “You might be reading too hard into this. It’s not Picasso.”

  “No shit,” he growls.

  I glare back and give him the finger. Cormac smiles back.

  “Listen… “

  “Are you going to apologize for getting me fired now?”

  His smile grows. “Not at all. You got yourself fired.”

  I glare at him. “You are a staggering asshole, you know that?”

  “Yes, I do, actually. Now ask me if I give a single fuck. “

  I roll my eye and stand. “Well, this has been super fun, but I’m going to go—”

  “Like hell you are,” he growls. “I’m ending this spray-painting vendetta of yours right now.”

  “How, exactly?”

  He frowns and gestures at the cops all over the place. “Gee, I don’t know. I figured I’d start with the police and your fingerprints all over those spray cans.”

  “What fingerprints?”

  “I honestly can’t wait to see how funny your jokes are through bars.”

  I shrug. “There won’t be fingerprints. And there’s no cameras back here. I checked.”

  He glares at me. “No fingerprints?”

  “Gloves,” I smirk. “And before you run off to the cops, no, they won’t find those.”

  He rolls his eyes. “What’d you do, swallow the evidence?”

  “More like stuffed them into my bra.”

  His eyes drop to my chest. I blush. “Yeah, get a warrant,” I mutter through the heat that pools in my core. “So anyways. This has been fun, but I have to go.”

  “Got some more property of mine to vandalize?” he growls.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll press charges,” he grunts. He moves closer, looming over me. “Try me, Ella.”

  I shrug. “See, you have to catch me to press charges.”

  “Then I’ll catch you.”

  I grin. “No, captain douchebag, you won’t.”

  “Watch—”

  “And if you do, I’ll just go ahead and tell the press and all of these nice police officers that you cornered me here all alone in this scary dark side garden to try and force yourself on me.”

  Cormac bristles. He bares his teeth angrily.

  “You did kiss me, after all.”

  “Or did you kiss me?” I shrug. “He said she said gets really tricky when she happens to be a lot younger and prone to crying in court. And when he happens to be the most hated man in New York.”

  Cormac slowly shakes his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

  “Thanks, douchebag, that means a lot.” I smile sweetly, I pat his chest. I make a very valiant attempt not to get all antsy about how freaking rock-hard that chest is under that suit. I turn on my heel, and I saunter off smugly. It’s a clean exit, except for two teeny problems.

  One: all I can think about as I walk away is the feel of his kiss. The taste of his lips. The touch of his big strong hands on me. It’s more than distracting. And it’s more than a small problem.

  And two? I blush as I walk off, determined not to glance back at him. Two is, there’s more that a small part of me that hopes a man like Cormac would catch me. And pin me down and….

  Yeah, okay, that’s enough of that.

  5

  Cormac

  I should be paying attention to this. The meeting I’m currently in the middle of is actually pretty important. The head of the West Manhattan Iron Workers Union wants me to grease some palm to get one of my developments back under way. A structural issue involving the foundation overlapping an abandoned subway tunnel has things shut down right now. At the tune of one-point-six million a day, expediency is the name of the game right now.

  And yet, I’m distracted. I’m nodding when I should, agreeing when I should. And then being a prick when I should, too. One of the reasons I’ve done so much better than most developers is my background. I’m not a trust fund shit trying to make his money grow. I’m not some investor looking to get his shoes dirty here and there visiting construction sites.

  I do well because I fundamentally click with guys like the head of the Iron Workers Union. Blue collar recognizes blue collar. Even if that blue collar has upgraded to Italian wool and Seville Row stitching.

  But just the same, I’m not all in the game right now. Because most of my thoughts are squarely where they shouldn’t be—on Ella.

  I growl to myself. My fist clenches on the tabletop, even as I smile at the union guys. All I can think about is her big green eyes. That soft, petite, curvy figure. Those pouty, sassy lips.

  The way she tastes.

  My desire surges inside. The need to have her, and taste her again, is as overwhelming as it is insane. I want her. I want her in a way that almost scares me. But what the fuck am I thinking? Ella? Fucking what?

  Look, hated or not, I’m one of the wealthiest single men in New York. I’m also not blind to my own genetics. Believe me, they might label me “the guy everyone hates.” But there’s a certain class of women who readily approach me in bars or out in public. And believe me, it’s not to tell me that they hate me.

  The problem is, I don’t want that class of woman. “Gold Digger” is a shitty label. Hell, we’re all digging for gold in some way. But the name does fit sometimes.

  I look down at my hands. I frown as my thoughts shift back to Ella. Christ, I mean how old is she even? And why the fuck do I desire someone who’s making a pretty dedicated hobby of drawing pictures of me chocking on dick or taking it in the ass?

  I shake my head at myself. Maybe it has been way too long.

  Somehow, I get through the meeting. I shake hands with the union guys, I make some off-color jokes I know they’ll like. They agree to talk to the city planners who need to be talked to. As I’m leaving, Alan steps in and takes me aside.

  “Talk to me.”

  Alan’s been on recon all morning. Maybe not my proudest moment, but I’ve been having him dig deep into Ella. On the surface, it’s to collect intel on an enemy. She’s out to hurt to me, after all. I need to know how to take her down.

  But obviously, I have ulterior motives that Alan isn’t aware of. I don’t want to know everything about Ella because
I want to take her down. I want to know everything about her because she’s got me twisted up and dwelling on her unlike any other woman in a very, very long time. Maybe ever.

  “Veers,” Alan says somberly. “Ella Veers.”

  I stroke my chin. I resist the urge to smile. I like knowing her full name.

  “So, we dug deep.”

  “And? Why the fuck is she after me like this?”

  Alan pouts. “It’s… not good, boss. Publicity wise.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “The Hell’s Kitchen project?”

  “What about it?”

  “There’s a nursing home over there called the Sisters of Saint Bartholomew home for the elderly.”

  I frown. “Okay?”

  “It’s included in the parcel slated for demo.”

  “What, does she work there or something?”

  Alan slowly shakes his head. “Worse. Her grandfather lives there. He’s her only living relative, and they’re very close.”

  I groan and turn to swear. “Shit.”

  “Yeah,” Alan bemoans. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

  Fuck. Bad news is putting it lightly. She’s not after me to jump on the Hating on Cormac Heath bandwagon. It’s personal for her. Things get messy when it’s personal.”

  “Okay, thanks, Alan.”

  “How do you want to play this?”

  I roll my eyes. “Working that out.”

  Alan looks like he wants to say something. But then he wisely closes his mouth. I know the basic idea of his thoughts, though. He’s curious why I’m hesitating here. Shit, so am I.

  If this was any other scenario, it wouldn’t be an issue in the slightest. A mild pothole in the road. A cheap speeding ticket maybe. I’d find a number that works and pay her off to stop harassing me. And that’s if I was in a good mood.

  If I was in a foul mood, I’d simply destroy her. Public character assassination, scandal, whatever I had to do. This idea people have of me as the most hated man in New York? Well, it’s not unearned, let’s say that.