Bossy Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Dammit, Nick, why are you making sense today?

  Success breeds success. Momentum is king. Unfortunately, the opposite is also true.

  I slump in my chair, pulling angrily at my tie.

  “Exactly,” Nick nods, reading my misery.

  “We’ll figure it out. There has to be another way. Besides, Paige wasn’t even interested. And I’m not sure we could ever keep some random chick quiet long enough to seal the deal.” I shake my head, dumbfounded that I’m even entertaining this insanity. “Plus, if word ever got out that I hired a fake fiancée to con some old man into dealing with us, that’s a kiss of death.”

  “That’s what nondisclosure agreements are for,” Nick says. “Jane Nelson works in accounting. She’s bubbly and gets along with everyone. I’m sure she’d be willing.”

  “Who?”

  “Sandra Nelson’s granddaughter.”

  “Again, who?” I stare.

  “The old blond lady who used to give us oatmeal cookies when we started here with Grandma. Gah, you’re lucky I’m the people person around here.” He stabs his thumb at his chest proudly.

  The original accountant. Right. But I don’t follow.

  “Why would I fake an engagement to her granddaughter?”

  “She’ll keep her mouth shut for Grandma, if nothing else. She’s got family roots at the firm.”

  I can’t picture this girl. I don’t even know who she is. I’d rather drink decaf for a solid month.

  “Nick, this is more batshit than faking it with Paige.”

  It’s also infinitely less exciting, but of course I don’t say it.

  He grins. “Yeah? I wonder why, brother.”

  “Forget it.” I roll my eyes. “Let me figure this out. We’re not getting anywhere by lying about marrying some poor girl.”

  Nick shrugs. “Pay her well. She won’t be poor then.”

  Before I can rip into him, there’s a soft tap at my door.

  Nick stalks over and opens it.

  Speak of the gorgeous devil.

  Paige comes strolling in, deliberately avoiding my eyes. She’s still fuming about yesterday.

  Without missing a beat, she sails to my desk, but she leans too far forward.

  “You’re wearing stilettos again.” It slips out of me before I can stop it.

  I don’t need to look.

  “I read the entire dress code front to back, three times,” she says, folding her arms. “There’s nothing against heels in there.”

  “Whoever wrote it expected people who couldn’t walk in stilettos not to wear them.” I meet her eyes with a blaze.

  “Well, I’m code compliant.” She drops a slab of files on my desk, flips one open, and puts her finger above a line. “You’ll want to sign this one. It’s due by noon, Mr. Brandt.”

  My fist tightens.

  I shouldn’t hate that we’re back to Mr. Brandt so much.

  “What are you so mad about now?” She sighs, her brows knit together as she rests a hand on her hip.

  “No idea what you mean, Miss Holly,” I growl back.

  “Shit. I already believe you’re married,” Nick mutters, waving his hand in the air and chuckling as he closes the door behind him on his way out.

  Paige keeps looking at me with those bright-green, all-too-expectant eyes.

  “What? The shit Nick said yesterday was all on him,” I grind out.

  “Yes, you made that very clear. Oh—wait, I think you actually blamed me for it.”

  “I didn’t mean—it was just—an inappropriate suggestion,” I try, hating how easily she knots up my tongue.

  “Can’t disagree with you there, Warden. As soon as you scribble your signature, I’ll get this sent out.”

  I pick up a pen and slash my name across the contract. “We had a truce.”

  “We still do. I didn’t even forget your coffee this morning.”

  She’s right.

  She’s doing her job. She didn’t poison me with a blob of sugar. She’s acting like a pro.

  So why am I so enraged about it?

  Bah.

  “Change your shoes,” I order.

  “Yeah, no. It’s inappropriate to wear slippers in the office. When I’m on the clock, I’d rather be completely professional, including my attire.” She shrugs. “I mean, unless I’ve had a glass of wine before the art museum. Then I’m—what’s the word?—oh, yeah...fireable.”

  “Paige.” I stand, ready to grab her if I need to, and talk some goddamned sense into her.

  Even if I’m well aware I’m fooling myself, and the only person in this room who deserves a dressing down is me.

  Too slow.

  Before I can round my desk, much less say a single word, she grabs the signed file and storms out.

  Grandma adjusts her hospital bed so she’s sitting up, a striking silhouette even when she’s down for the count.

  “I thought you’d forgotten me,” she jokes.

  I smile. “Grandma, you know that’s not possible.”

  Someone knocks on the door.

  “Food services!”

  Before I can move to open it, the door opens and a cart rolls in.

  “Lunch is served,” a lady behind the cart says before rushing out the door again.

  “Hm. Lunch,” Grandma says, as if she has some doubt what they’re serving is edible. “Now, if one of you were visiting me in the middle of the workday, I’d expect Nick. What’s wrong?”

  My eyes meet hers slowly.

  “What makes you think something’s wrong?” I ask, remembering how impossible it is to hide anything from this silver whip of a woman.

  “It isn’t obvious?” She cackles. “You’re not working, Ward. How’s the weather in Hades, anyway? I’m a bit worried it’s below freezing.”

  “You want me to push your food over, Grandma?” I ignore her quip.

  “I want you to scrape it into the trash and bring me a milkshake.”

  I do a double take. Her smile says she’s serious.

  “Grandma, no. You’re on a special heart healthy diet.”

  She puffs out annoyance and looks away from me.

  “I’d do it for you, son. No hesitation.”

  “You’re all we have left,” I try, keeping my voice calm. “You’re doing the dash diet until your doc says otherwise.”

  “Nick’s right, you know. You’re a walking, talking, fun-sucking rule book. He’d bring me a milkshake.” Her eyes grow wide. “Where’s my phone? I need to summon my other grandson.”

  “Grandma, I’m texting him right now. Not about your damn milkshake,” I growl.

  “Buzzkill. Why don’t you at least tell me why you’re really here?”

  “I just came to visit.”

  “I know that. But what’s wrong?”

  Damn her sixth sense. Folding my hands, I put my phone down and try to be delicate. It’s not easy when you’re all iron and no velvet to spare.

  “I’m not sure the Winthrope deal’s going to hold up. He asked for time to reassess after we announced your retirement,” I say slowly, delivering the bad news as lightly as I can.

  She’s quiet for a minute, then purses her lips and nods. Typical Grandma.

  “Well, reassessing doesn’t mean backing out—unless you’ve given him a reason to? Have you boys told him to stop dressing like a rodeo clown?”

  “No, ma’am,” I say with a chuckle.

  “But?”

  “He thinks we’re too scandalous. Not up to snuff.”

  Her thin lips pull into a smile. “Well, Nick does make the papers quite often, and you know how Mr. Osprey loves a salacious story. But no one ever gave you kids a fair shake after that dreadful affair on the yacht...”

  I cringe when she mentions it. I don’t dare go there, especially not now with her heart.

  “Grandma...”

  “Let me finish. It’s not fair. Just do the best you can, Ward,” she says, reaching for my hand. “If we don’t snag this deal, the world won’t
end. I promise.”

  I’m not so confident.

  “Nick’s worried that if this contract slips away, we’ll lose a lot more,” I mutter.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I’ll...honestly? I’m still working it out.”

  “And that’s why you’re here.” She smiles, her eyes so kind and bright.

  “No. I’m not here to worry you over this. You need to rest,” I say sharply. “Nick says my reputation is salvageable, but his—”

  “What reputation? You were in the Army for four years, you worked with us while you were in college, and other than some drunken parties, you’ve never done anything wrong. Unless there’s something I don’t know about?”

  Her eyes bore into me. I hesitate.

  “The whole Maria thing—”

  “Oh, Maria-popea. She’s a snob and a bitch. You’re better off without her.”

  I can’t help but smile at her bravado, even if I don’t believe it.

  “Everyone thinks I cheated on her after I yelled at that prick from The Chicago Tea. I never bothered to correct them. Osprey called me personally for a comment and I told him where to go.”

  She snorts with amusement. “Back in my day, we had a word for that. You want to know what it was?”

  “What, Granny?”

  “A gentleman. That’s what we called a man who took the fall and never corrected anyone on the details. Particularly a certain anyone who makes his living peddling hogwash and schoolyard rumors.”

  “Well, when those rumors are about the rich and famous, a lot of people drink his swill. I just didn’t want to help him brew more.” I sigh, blinking a second too long.

  “You’re a good man, Ward. Never let anyone make you doubt it.”

  I’m not. If she knew what I did to Paige...

  Another repressed sigh.

  “Want to hear something funny? Nick thinks I should hire Paige to be my fake fiancée so Winthrope will believe I’m all grown-up and responsible. Like two degrees and a solid decade grinding away at the top of the industry doesn’t prove it,” I tell her.

  “Oh, I love it! That boy comes up with brilliant ideas when he buckles down and puts his mind to it.”

  What?

  My jaw almost dents the floor.

  I stare at her. What exactly are they giving her for the pain?

  “Come again? Grandma, what do you—”

  “Do it!” she cuts in. “Fake marry Paige. Live it up and give the world a show that’ll blow their hair back.”

  I cock my head, studying her.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” She flicks a hand in midair. “The way everyone judges you boys for what your parents did isn’t fair. Desperate times call for desperate measures, desperate justice. Fake an engagement to Paige, but make it look real, I say. If people don’t think you’re smitten, it will never work.”

  Smitten, huh?

  “There’s a problem. Actually, there’s a hundred problems, but here’s the big one—Paige isn’t interested,” I say.

  “Oh, Ward.” She reaches over and pats my hand again. “I’ve never met a woman disinterested in one of my grandsons.”

  I smile because she’s being polite.

  Maria was interested, at first, and it wasn’t enough to keep her around.

  “You don’t believe me, do you? Such a shame. You’re knight material. Handsome, wealthy, brilliant, and civil.”

  Now she’s just blowing smoke up my ass. Mostly because she doesn’t know I pushed our assistant against the wall right outside this room not so long ago and kissed her like a savage high on lust.

  “What more could she want?” Grandma asks.

  “It’s fake, remember? She’s not an actress.”

  “I do, dear. It’s just my ticker that’s broken, not my memory. So, tell me, you’d really walk away from a billion-dollar contract and your grandfather’s legacy over having to be seen with an intelligent, beautiful woman for a few months?”

  Boom.

  She would go for the guilt trip, wouldn’t she?

  “How long do you think it would have to go on?” I ask, knowing I’ll regret this question.

  “I don’t know. A few months? Everything about it has to be real, even the breakup.” She shakes her head. “Then again, as hard as you took Maria...I’m not sure I want you enduring another broken engagement, fake or otherwise.”

  “I could be the one to break it off,” I say.

  She twists her lips sourly. “No one will believe that, Ward. But if you’re opposed to fake marrying my assistant, why doesn’t Nick? I’ve never known him to turn down spending time with a gorgeous lady. Perhaps Paige could teach him a thing or two about how to behave.”

  My blood sizzles.

  The mere suggestion that Nick—fucking Nick—pose as Paige’s fiancé bothers me more than the original dumb idea.

  “I think we agree Nick’s reputation is...a work in progress,” I say, trying like hell to be tactful. “Still, I’m not throwing Paige to the wolves over a sham.”

  Grandma flicks a hand at the air again.

  “Since I’m not getting my milkshake today, will you be a dear and push my cart over here?”

  I go to the cart and roll it to her bed. The wheels squeak against the hard floor.

  “Take that stupid cover thing off for me, please.”

  I smile. It’s the reverse of when we were kids, a memory of my tonsil removal recovery flashing back. I get her set up so she can eat in peace.

  She picks up her plastic fork and scoots food around the plate.

  I can’t blame her for not wanting to wolf down that stuff.

  “Well, it’s your choice if Paige wants to help Nick’s reputation, I suppose,” she says with a disinterested tone.

  Lady, you’ve been on too much morphine.

  “My choice?” I echo, wondering what she’s getting at.

  “Oh? Didn’t you say you couldn’t make it work? If Paige changes her mind and wants to help, I think she should have the chance. She’s fully capable of making her own decisions. She’s a headstrong young woman.”

  I shake my head until it might fall off. “Grandma, Paige doesn’t want to fake it, and Nick agrees no one would ever believe he’s getting married.”

  “You said she doesn’t want to fake an engagement to you. For Nick, well, that might be a different story. She might just get along with him easier.”

  My stomach knots.

  “She’s not getting engaged to Nick,” I snarl.

  “Why’s that?” Grandma asks pointedly, her eyelids fluttering.

  Checkmate.

  I don’t answer.

  I’m too busy hating the fact that she’s convinced me to consider this appalling fuckery—an illusion of love with Paige damn Holly.

  Paige is at her desk when I come in. I throw down a giant Macy’s bag with a whump.

  “Excuse you?” Her eyes dart up at me, annoyed.

  She shouldn’t get to be so deliriously sexy.

  “Pick a pair. Reese assures me they’re fashionable.”

  “Huh? You bought me more shoes? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Not bought. We’re going to trade.”

  She props her feet up on her desk. “And what makes you think I’ll turn in all my heels for flats? The growly schtick and unenforceable rules aren’t really doing it, boss.”

  “Adding ten thousand dollars a year to your salary.” I pause, watching her mouth fall open. “Fully worth it to reduce the liability.”

  She glares at me. “God, why don’t you harass anyone else about their footwear?”

  “Everyone else can walk in their chosen shoes without risking permanent injury.”

  Nick runs out of his office and skids toward the elevator, barely catching his balance. He points both hands at me like they’re guns.

  Paige stares at me blankly.

  “Okay, make that almost everyone,” I mutter. “Once you’ve changed into safer shoes, can y
ou come to my office? I need to talk to you.”

  “Is Beatrice okay?” Concern fills those big green eyes.

  I blink at her. “How’d you know where I went?”

  “She called and said that if you forgot to talk to me before you left today, I should call her back and she’d fill me in. Apparently, it’s of the utmost importance. I laughed a little at first because I thought we weren’t bothering her with work, but then...I wondered if it was serious.”

  My jaw clenches.

  So now Grandma’s meddling directly. Fuck.

  I can’t help wondering if there’s something going on here that I’m missing.

  If she and Nick are both willing to ride this crazy horse to the station, without giving me a chance to back out, maybe it’s as ludicrous as it seems.

  “I’ll fill you in. Just hurry up,” I say, nodding at Paige and then heading to my office.

  I barely have time to decide if I need to invent something else to talk to her about when she glides in wearing pastel-pink flats. A smirk pulls at my lips.

  “Close the door, please?”

  She gives me a skeptical frown but obeys.

  “I must be in trouble. Awesome.”

  “Nah, this is actually a salary renegotiation...of sorts.” I wave to the chair in front of my desk.

  She bites her bottom lip and sits down.

  “Let me guess. You want to cut my pay because you think we’re going to lose the Winthrope deal?” She asks bitterly. “If you want me to stick around earning less for my misery, then I get to work with the design team once a week in lieu of compensation. Beatrice was teaching me a lot, but she won’t be here so—”

  “Will you just listen?” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

  She closes her lips with a glance like a sheathed sword.

  I never realized she’s such a team player. I also didn’t know Grandma was teaching her design intricacies when she doesn’t have the education.

  “There’s a bigger reason than shoes why I’d like to enhance your pay. I want to give you a significant raise for a very special assignment.”

  “Raise?” she whispers. “Wait. How horrible is this 'special assignment?'”

  She’s so cute. Was I like this at twenty-four?

  “Yes. We’d up your salary to the tune of three hundred thousand dollars per year.”