Bossy Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Her mouth twists and she bites that ripe strawberry of a bottom lip.

  “Umm—I just wanted to see the signature. I had to know if it was real.”

  “So you risked breaking your neck to inspect my artwork? Glorious. You could’ve just asked, Paige.” I try not to laugh but it slips out anyhow. “It’s real, by the way. The piece was authenticated by the Smithsonian.”

  Grayson lifts the chair and returns it to the table.

  Paige’s head darts toward him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I would have done that.”

  “Not necessary. I’ll get the chair repaired promptly, sir.” He passes me on his way out of the room.

  “Thanks, Grayson. Now, let’s sit.” I wave her to the table and an undamaged seat.

  We sit side by side there.

  I place the contract I’ve had in a binder under my arm between us.

  “The terms are crystal clear, no legal mud to wade through. Twenty percent up front, plus monthly installments. Nick and I threw together a list of events we should attend together, so the scheduling’s taken care of too.”

  She looks up, and I catch a flicker of fear, uncertainty dancing in those lush green eyes.

  I steel my voice, trying to be reassuring.

  “Don’t worry. We’ve taken the guess work out of it, as much as possible. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Paige. You’ll need to move into my penthouse temporarily. It’s closer to the office than your apartment and makes the most sense.”

  Her hand balls into a fist.

  “Jesus. Moving in with you is part of the deal? I guess I should’ve realized...”

  She stops and a small, strangled sound flits out of her.

  She’s as flustered by this situation as I am.

  And she should be.

  I’m not sure either of us understand what we’ve gotten ourselves into.

  “You’ll have your own quarters,” I say. “Comfortably removed from my presence when we’re not working together.”

  “Oh, joy.” She laughs. “Quarters! Sounds like something out of one of those billionaire romance books Brina’s mom writes. At least I’m consenting to a hostage situation.”

  I spear her with my gaze.

  “You’ll have a whole set of rooms at your disposal, at least four times as big as your apartment. You’ll never have to see me if you don’t want to. All of my properties have plenty of guest spaces,” I say, assuring her my horrible presence won’t be clouding her constantly. “Everything in the contract was reviewed by a team of lawyers. It’s fair, thought out, and perfectly legal.”

  “How many properties do you have?” she asks quietly.

  “A few. But that’s hardly relevant.” I slide the contract closer and hand her the pen from my pocket.

  “I wasn’t expecting that, but I guess it’s no big deal,” she says slowly. “I mean, we technically shared a room already when you took care of me that night.”

  “For barely an hour,” I say, clearing my throat.

  I try not to think what might’ve happened if she’d been less hurt and I’d been less of a hulking prick.

  She takes the pen and touches it to the paper but doesn’t sign.

  “So, hold up. What do we tell people when they ask about us? Everyone at the office, I mean?”

  Her beautiful face grabs me, innocent eyes lit by the soft glow of the gas fireplace.

  “I’ll handle it. I’ll tell them I wasn’t planning on it, but when I met you...you captured my heart. I had no choice.”

  She raises a skeptical eyebrow and her cheeks glow red.

  “Like it’s that easy? They’d just believe it?”

  “Office romances happen all the time. I’ll tell them...that I knew you were mine the first day you walked into the office. I’ll say you’re brilliant, graced with Cinderella good looks, and we both have so much in common with our interest in art. Besides, how could I possibly resist falling for the woman who saved Grandma’s life?” I never break eye contact.

  Shit. This is coming out heavier than I intended, but it’s convincing.

  I think.

  Her eyes widen like jade discs as I’m talking, bright and lively and dangerously mesmerizing—and then her gaze drops to my lips.

  My dick stirs in my trousers, and I hate the ragged breath I take.

  Knock it the hell off, Ward. You’re not relationship material and this situation is already awkward enough, a voice warns me.

  She blinks and shakes her head for a moment. “But my parents? What am I supposed to tell them? We’ve had so much drama in our family, what with Milah and Liv and their misadventures. If Mom thinks we’re really engaged, she’ll be heartbroken when it’s over. She’s been after me to get married since the day I graduated college.”

  I smile. “That old-fashioned, huh?”

  “Nah. She just loves reminding me she won’t live forever and she wants to know there’s someone to keep me company. But in a country with a fifty percent divorce rate, that’s delusional. Nothing keeps the guy from dropping me for his secretary seven years later. Mom just needs to chill on the wedding fever.”

  My blood heats and I look at her too intently.

  “No man with a brain would drop you for anyone, Paige Holly. Never.”

  She looks away.

  Fuck.

  I can tell she’s fighting the blush braising her cheeks, and losing.

  “Whatever. The point is, I can’t tell my mom we’re engaged and with all of your planned appearances...she’s going to find out sooner or later. And then she’s gonna be pissed I not only didn’t tell her, but moved in with you and left her to hear about it from the Chicago press.”

  Her lips twist sourly.

  Dammit, she’s getting cold feet.

  I have to gag her voice of reason, and fast.

  “There’s an addendum, a solution to this very issue. You can tell the truth to anyone willing to sign an NDA and not talk about it for an entire year. That should take care of your parents, plus any nosy friends.”

  “And the media? They’re going to be hounding me nonstop. You’re always so composed, but...I’m not used to the attention. I don’t hide my emotions well.”

  “Just keep your distance from shit-hounds like The Chicago Tea.” I clench my jaw. “Look, I’ll try to keep you out of the limelight, unless you’re with me. Even then, I’ll toss them the red meat they want. But if I didn’t have faith you could handle it, you wouldn’t be here, Paige.”

  She smiles, small and fragile and luscious.

  “If you can think of something nice to say about me that’s also true, say that,” I continue. “Maybe don’t tell them I’m a Wardhole. Refuse to answer questions about how we met. I’ll take care of that part. Here.” I slide the contract toward her again. “Sign this and you’ll have your deposit tonight.”

  Shoulders square, I sit up so straight my spine aches.

  I should probably give her one last chance to change her mind. If she’s in over her head and can’t handle the situation, that would be the opposite of helpful.

  I cast her a heavy look, folding my hands, drilling my eyes into her.

  “I’ll be brutally honest. This will be difficult. Reporters will want to draw contrasts between this—our relationship—and my parents’ joke of a marriage. Being a Brandt comes with a certain history, and not all of it pleasant. There are scandals in my past that may—no, that will come up. Frankly, this might be ninety days of hell for you.”

  Her eyes widen. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, a blond lock spilling over her ear.

  “Scandals? Like?”

  “The less you know about it, the better,” I bite off. “And the more honest you’ll be when answering their questions. Let me do the talking if—when—they become relevant.”

  She gnaws on her lip again, a gesture that’s very nearly my undoing.

  “Ninety days,” she says softly.

  “Ninety damn days. That’s the duration, with negotiable extens
ions. It’ll probably take at least that long to close the Winthrope deal. But there’s an addendum to push this beyond the ninety-day period. Of course, in that event, you’ll receive additional compensation.”

  She nods, flicking at her hair, destroying me one second at a time.

  For a monstrous second, I regret not adding an option in the contract to consummate our fakery with one very real night alone if we both consent.

  Also, I regret like hell not kissing her since the hospital every time my eyes land on her pink lips.

  “Still, I have to wonder...what scandal could anyone find in a Warden’s past? You seem so vanilla.”

  “Not important. Nothing as interesting as Nick’s antics, I assure you.”

  “You’re the opposite of Prince Scandal, Ward. You make narcoleptics tired.” She gives me that smart-ass grin I want to tame with my teeth.

  “And you tell pathetic dad jokes,” I fling back. “The biggest blotch on my family is my parents. I’m not getting into that whole incident. I don’t have the time or patience. Google it. That should give you a good idea what you’re getting into.”

  She frowns, slowly picks up the pen, and starts signing.

  Thank God.

  I put my hand over the top of the paper, brushing her hand.

  “Hold it. Do you want to wait until you’ve had a history lesson so you’re not blindsided for the next ninety days?” I pinch my mouth shut.

  Why am I trying to talk her out of this deal everyone’s counting on?

  “You could just tell me what happened so we can get this over with,” she says.

  “A man should only take so much punishment. I’m not rehashing it.” My voice is harsher than I intend. I clear my throat.

  “Jeez. Growly much? Do you ever choke on that tone?”

  “I am a Wardhole.” I shrug, flashing her a bitter grin.

  “Who’s telling dad jokes now?” Those humored green eyes might roll right out of her pretty little head. “You said it this time, not me. Glad you’re finally admitting it, though.”

  “Last chance, Paige Holly. Do you want to do your due diligence before signing away your life?”

  For a second, our eyes fuse. My fingers grip hers automatically, squeezing, something forbidden igniting the air between us.

  Then, slowly, she shakes her head and scrawls her name across the signature line.

  “It’s only ninety damn days, remember? And whatever happened, it’s your folks, not you, right? Besides, I’ve gotten kinda used to thinking about having one and a half million clams. I want my studio, or at least a quiet little place to think on a low-key beach. But you know, you’ll have to tell me sooner or later.”

  She sets the pen down with a deafening clack.

  “Story time isn’t part of the contract. The filthiest corners of the internet will tell you everything you need to know about my demons, and we’ll never speak of them again.” I pick it up and remove the checkbook from my pocket.

  “What are we going to tell our coworkers?”

  “I’ll take care of that.” I write out her check and stab my signature into it.

  Her cheeks go scarlet.

  “I hope you have a good story. What if they say I slept with the boss to get a promotion? What if they start gossiping just like...” She doesn’t finish, just bites her delectable lip, catching my burning eyes.

  “Like you all gossip about my sorry ass already, you mean? Yeah. Those types of rumors will not only be squashed, but likely met with terminations. I won’t tolerate any less than noble speculation about your professionalism.”

  Again, that gravel-churning growl tears out of me. Fuck if I care.

  No one’s disrespecting my temporary wife-to-be.

  I hand her the check.

  “Thanks,” she says before looking at it. Her mouth drops and her hands tremble. “Holy cheese and rice. Three hundred thousand smackers. I...I’ve never held this much money in my life. That’s more than my dad makes in several years. Thank you.”

  Don’t thank me yet.

  At least this gushing over money keeps her from asking more pointed questions about how complicated this could be. I’m exhausted thinking about it.

  I hate that if the truth ever comes out, it could tarnish her life, too.

  “Thank you. It’s money well deserved, I’m sure.”

  I wish I could still get that excited over a few hundred thousand dollars. I hate money at this point. It just fuels power plays and reckless greed.

  Grandma spent her entire life designing beautiful buildings because it’s what she loves. The compensation was always secondary, and she was rewarded quite well for sharing her passion with the world.

  Nick and I run the company because we grew up in the office. It’s second nature to us. We don’t know anything else.

  We work hard for happy customers.

  That should be enough, but in a world where millions of dollars exchange hands like postage stamps, it barely scratches the surface. You need the pedigree and designer shoes to go with it.

  Paige still stares at the check, mouth partially open.

  I hold in a sigh.

  She’s so unbearably cute. It’s going to be excruciating remembering this is all just an illusion.

  A ploy to secure a dream hotel that puts a big, beautiful exclamation mark on my grandparents’ careers.

  “Paige?”

  She meets my gaze.

  Now for the awkward part.

  “One more thing to sweeten the deal. I talked to a dealer downtown yesterday, and I picked up this.” I pluck the ring box from my pocket and flick it open for her to see.

  “Ohhh, I get a real-life ring too?”

  It’s a teardrop and barely a carat. I take it out of the box and slide it on her finger.

  “You need a ring. This has to look real.”

  She holds her hand up and examines it. “How’d you know my size?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “I’m surprised it isn’t a big flashy rock. I thought that was your style.”

  “And this is your style. Beautifully modern. Sophisticated, but modest. It seemed similar to some of your favorite work at the museum. If you hate it, there’s certainly time for us to exchange—”

  She shakes her head. Her eyes are soft and that firestarter smile stretches from cheek to cheek.

  “No. It’s perfect, Ward. I love it.”

  “You do?” My voice is barely audible.

  Goddamn. Why do I care so much what she feels about a fake engagement ring?

  “Yes, it’s beautiful and sleek and just the right kinda glittery. You did a good job.”

  She looks up with a smile that blows my heart to kingdom come. I reach up, fidgeting with my collar, wishing this damn shirt had a release valve for steam.

  “Enjoy it while you can. If this works out, if we’re that lucky, we’ll never have to see each other again,” I say.

  “How romantic!” she sputters, laughing. Then she studies the rock on her finger like it came down from the stars and spontaneously joined her hand.

  I lift a brow. “Well, would you rather we share a bed like you suggested the night we met?”

  A dark rosy color fills her cheeks.

  I would rather share a bed, of course, or at least settle for her lips again.

  Her face gets redder, but she grins.

  “Does it matter what I prefer?”

  I can’t help but grin. Damn her. She’s got me, alright.

  “You’re so red, you’re almost purple. Cute.” Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.

  Way to not make things more awkward.

  She rolls up the contract.

  I’m about to protest. She can’t back out of this. It’s too late now. But she doesn’t crumple it up and tear it to shreds the way I expect.

  Instead, she taps me on the nose with it. “Bad bossman. Very flipping bad.”

  I grab at the contract.

  “Enough. I’m not a dog, Paige.”
r />   She pulls it farther back, just out of my grasp. “Depends on who you ask.”

  I reach for the rolled-up paper again, this time managing to grasp it between my fingers.

  She doesn’t pull away.

  “Careful. You don’t get the check back if you rip it,” she teases, those green eyes set to rain forest sunshine.

  “The contract gets invalidated if it’s torn,” I snap, glowering. “Let go.”

  She shakes her head. “No exchanges and no refunds.”

  “I’ll cancel the check,” I warn her.

  “And I’ll take you to court.”

  “You and what lawyer dealing in damaged legalese?”

  “I don’t know. This girl Brina and I used to hang out with in college is about to graduate law school. I’m sure she can come up with something,” she says with a pout.

  I shake my arms like I’m trembling.

  “How awful. I’m so petrified of an almost-attorney.”

  Paige stares at me with a firm face.

  “It’s JD to be, dude.”

  God, I’m breathing fire, my veins churning blood so hot it burns.

  I want to shut her up.

  I want to do bad things to her cursed mouth.

  I want to show her exactly what kind of Wardhole I am.

  I could grab her and kiss her right here. Right now.

  Hell, I won’t be able to resist if I don’t get my ass up now. So, I stand and take a few steps, forcing some space between us. “We should head out soon.”

  She nods but makes no effort to get up.

  “I’ll text Reese. She’ll be here soon,” I say.

  “You’ll drop me off?”

  No. We’ve talked about this.

  She doesn’t want to move in with me. I can’t blame her and I hate that she has to.

  She twists the ring I placed on her finger between her thumb and forefinger of her right hand. “Reese said she’d take me home.”

  “Right. We’ll make a pit stop at your place to collect your belongings,” I say.

  She does a double take, whipping her head around so fast that blond hair gleams in the light.

  One more fatal blow to my sanity.

  “Oh. I know we talked about having a room at your place, but I didn’t realize it meant, um, tonight.” She’s quiet for several seconds. “I thought I’d have an evening to get used to the idea.”