Bossy Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Reese pulls up to the curb at the museum and glances back at us. “Here. Party hard, guys!”

  Paige laughs. “Yeah, right. This Winthrope guy’s the only person I’ve ever met with a slower pulse than the Warden.”

  “Way to ruin our moment,” I whisper to Paige. “Knock it off, you two. I’ll lose a client with your big mouths.”

  Reese giggles in the front seat.

  I step out of the car and hold the door for Paige.

  She steps out and laces her fingers through mine. “I’m a little nervous. Your friends live in a different world than me.”

  “It’s an art fundraiser. You’ll have plenty to talk about. Your depth of knowledge impressed me from the moment we met.” I chuckle. “Actually, it more than impressed me then, because I thought you were drunk. I’d never had a drunk girl talk architecture before.”

  “One glass, dick. And had I known my art talk gets you all hot and bothered, I would’ve—”

  “I know that now,” I say, not giving her a chance to finish that sentence. “I didn’t think anyone could be so clumsy after a single glass of wine.”

  “I don’t need wine to be clumsy, Ward.”

  “I know. You’re lucky I agreed to one-inch heels today,” I say.

  The smile falls off her face. “Are you worried I’ll embarrass you today? I’ll try to sit out most of the night. Less of a chance I’ll plow something over.”

  I hate the deflated look on her face enough to wonder who put it there. What kind of losers does this girl hang out with?

  “I’m walking in with the most stunning woman in Chicago on my arm. Nothing embarrassing about that, even if I do sometimes worry you’ll break a bone in shoes taller than a centimeter.”

  Her grin wrecks me.

  “Who are you? That’s such a sweet thing for a fiancé to say. Almost like you’ve done this before.”

  My throat tightens.

  I don’t answer.

  “And for your information, I’ve only ever broken one bone, so I don’t think you have to worry about that, darling.”

  “How?” I can’t hide my curiosity.

  “I slipped on water, slid across a tile department store floor, and landed on my elbow hard enough to black out for a second. Um, it was just a second.” She shifts her weight awkwardly.

  A chuckle rolls out of me.

  “And this is what I worry about.”

  By now, we’re up the stairs, and I open the glass door for Paige. “FYI, everything’s way overpriced to support the art endowment. Not a bad thing. The more money we spend, the better it looks. Anything you want, take it. Just tell them to add it to Ward Brandt’s account.”

  “You’re paying me enough that I can support the arts on my own.”

  “Use my account,” I demand, wishing she’d listen.

  I spot Mrs. Winthrope sipping champagne next to a Rembrandt exhibit. The better half of the Winthrope couple looks decent, mostly because she doesn’t share her husband’s eccentric style. She takes a champagne flute.

  “There. We need to go talk to her.” I lead Paige over.

  “Mr. Brandt, it’s so good to see you!” Mrs. Winthrope squeezes my cheek between her thumb and finger like I’m still seven years old.

  So maybe I forgot her attitude makes up for her lack of flash.

  She looks at Paige. “You must be the fiancée I’ve heard so much about. Ward was practically raised at these events, so he’s like everyone’s grandson.”

  Maybe she thinks so, but her husband doesn’t.

  “How do you like working at Brandt Ideas? Oh, it can’t be that bad, right? You’re engaged to the boss.” Mrs. Winthrope beams.

  I force a laugh for her joke.

  Paige won’t respond well to that and I can’t blame her. I try forming a response, but she beats me to the punch.

  “The boss is the worst part of the job, actually. Everyone calls him the Warden because he’s a drill sergeant in a three-piece suit. His concern for work is also his only unattractive quality at home. But he’s a sweetheart, and he’s worried about protecting his company, so who can blame him? It was my dream to work for Beatrice Nightingale Brandt before I knew Ward existed.”

  Hold up. She just told my potential client the worst thing about me is that I expect hard work and care too much?

  My God, she’s perfect.

  “What made you want to work for Beatrice?” Mrs. Winthrope asks.

  “When I was in the sixth grade, my parents enrolled me in this fancy academy called Murchinson. The school’s in the middle of a lot of acreage with beautiful trees and flowers, and the building is glass, so you can always see it. There’s a hanging garden in the rafters and a waterway inside. The building was set up to never interrupt the natural scene.”

  “Does Murchinson have a boarding option? I think I’ve been there. One of my great nieces goes to school here in the States, because my nephew married an intolerable woman.”

  I like Mrs. Winthrope more than her husband. She’s warmer and blunt, if a little heavy at times.

  Paige nods. “There’s a boarding option, but my parents were local so I never took it. Anyhow, at first I thought the building was just beautiful, but then I realized with all the natural lighting and scenic beauty I thought better at school. I fell in love with learning. I had to know who designed it because I knew whoever it was—whatever company or person—I wanted to work for them one day.”

  “How lovely!” Mrs. Winthrope gushes. “You were blessed with an inquisitive mind.”

  “Better. I didn’t expect to find out the place was designed by a woman. That was just icing on the cake. I spent several years following her designs. Most of them are green, striking, and luxurious. That’s a rare combination. When you go the sustainable route, it’s really easy to come across as rustic or too drab. But Beatrice’s work doesn’t do that. She’s modern and sophisticated, in a class all her own.”

  “Wow,” Mrs. Winthrope breathes. “I think you might be the most interesting person I’ve talked to tonight.”

  “That can’t be true. There are so many people here with more experience than me.”

  “A lot of old windbags if you ask me.”

  Paige giggles. “I don’t know about that, but I really admire Beatrice. The arts can be cruel to women even now and she was a pioneer. I can’t imagine what she went through.” She shrugs. “I really wanted to learn from her, but she retired right after I started working there, unfortunately.”

  I draw Paige closer. “You should visit her. She loves you, and I’m sure she’d still teach you anything you want to know.”

  Mrs. Winthrope smiles at me. “Well, it seems Miss Holly would be terribly hard not to adore.”

  I plant a kiss on the top of Paige’s head. “I agree.”

  She looks up at me with blank eyes.

  “I think the mister’s in the corner. They have an old bottle of aged brandy back there they’re selling by the shot.” Mrs. Winthrope takes a sip of her champagne.

  I smile at her.

  “I could use a shot myself.” I look at Paige. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you.”

  She nods and we start toward the cash bar, but we pass Martin Walker on the way. He’s a major investor behind a lot of changes to the Chicago skyline.

  “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while,” I say.

  “That’s right. Not since the big downtown renovations. How are you doing, Ward?”

  “I’m good.” I motion to Paige. “This is my fiancée, Paige Holly.”

  “She’s a beaut,” he says.

  “She’s right here,” Paige says.

  I can’t help but chuckle.

  Martin holds out his hand. “My apologies, ma’am. Martin Walker, a pleasure to meet you.”

  She shakes his hand.

  “Are you just here for the alcohol, like me?” he asks with a snicker.

  “No, I think Ward’s place on the lake needs some fresh art, and I might be able to fit in a sculpture
or ten.”

  His laugh makes me grin...or is it just her wit?

  She can be wickedly adorable when she lets her guard down.

  “He’s been a bachelor until now. Lucky for him he has you to come in and spruce the place up,” Martin says.

  Paige thinks she’s from another world, but she’s better at mingling in this crowd than Maria ever was. Maybe because she loves art so much? Maria did well with politicians and investors, but art and architecture was my domain.

  “Paige! Oh my God, I didn’t know you’d be here.” A short brunette hugs Paige.

  Paige lets go and takes my hand again. “Brina! I feel a million times better now. Magnus! Hi. I don’t have any pies today, so relax.”

  She hugs Magnus Heron as he gives her an amused, somewhat painful quirk of his lips.

  Brina scans the room to make sure no one’s looking. “You get used to it after a while. Just fake it till you make it, girl.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him, shaking his hand. I don’t know him that well, but I know his image and his advertising empire, though I’ve never seen him traveling much in art circles. “Didn’t think this was your vibe, Heron.”

  Magnus shakes his head, his blue eyes sharp stars. “Trying to nail some contracts, between us gentleman. If nothing else, dropping some zeros is always good for PR.”

  His girl pokes him in the side. “Bloodsucker. Be nice.”

  “I’m nothing but generous,” he says with a wink and a booming laugh. “My wife has expensive tastes and I’m working hard to maintain them. And all of those tastes are charity and her damned lattes.”

  I actually laugh at that one because it’s too honest.

  I look at Paige, who’s only spoken to her friend, and then at Magnus. “I have to ask. Did Paige really pie you?”

  “Really, Ward? Here?” Paige cocks her head to glare at me.

  Magnus laughs again. “She did, and I fully deserved it.”

  “He’s not lying. He had it coming, but he’s still the love of my life.”

  Magnus pulls his wife closer and kisses her head. Then he looks at me.

  “Just so you know...” He wags a finger between Brina and Paige. “If you break up with one of them, you’re breaking up with both, and I think yours is the meaner of the two. Watch your step, Brandt.”

  I throw back a smile that’s half wince.

  Sabrina Heron meets my gaze with narrowed eyes. “Not this time. You don’t want to see me get mean.”

  Everybody roars, but I don’t think it’s an idle threat.

  “Well, I’m off looking for John Nations. Have you seen him?”

  I shake my head. “Sorry, not yet. I’m making my way to the brandy, though, so we’ll catch up with you later.”

  I introduce Paige to several more people. It’s effortless every time.

  The chatter flows too easily, and so does the charade as our hands stay glued and her fingers pulse in mine.

  The big moment has arrived.

  We actually settle into being a couple.

  The only thing I regret is that restrained peck back in the car. Hell, if I’d just kissed her like I wanted—free and hungry and unhinged—perfection wouldn’t be the half of it.

  “We haven’t made it to the brandy yet,” I say, suddenly worried about missing Winthrope.

  “Ward Brandt?” a voice calls.

  “Just a second,” I say to my grandma’s attorney. I look at Paige. Her face is tense, and she’s pale. “What is it?”

  “I’m just...thirsty. I’m going to get a champagne. I’ll grab your brandy on the way back.”

  I squeeze her hand.

  “Thanks, sweetheart. Don’t be away too long.”

  17

  Totally Orion (Paige)

  My mouth feels like sandpaper.

  We’ve talked to so many people and pressed so many hands I’m freaking dehydrated. I just need a drink and an intermission from high society.

  I step up to the cash bar.

  The bartender’s eyes linger on my cowl neckline the way Ward’s had earlier. Brina was right. This is a good look for me.

  “Nice dress,” the bartender says with a wolfish grin. “Don’t mind me.”

  I manage the kind of smile you save for men when you can’t tell if they’re being sweet or leering. “Thanks. Can I get a glass of champagne and a shot of your best brandy? Oh, and water!”

  “Will do, ma’am. Have you bid on anything exalted yet?” He slides a water glass over.

  “A couple postmodern nature paintings and a Napoleon bust with the mister,” I say, downing my precious H2O.

  “Interesting choice.” He slides the brandy over. “Here’s your shot, and I’ll have your champagne right out.”

  Someone taps my shoulder insistently, but I’m not bathed in warm mint.

  My eyes land on an unfamiliar man who stares with a murky smile. Definitely not Ward, so who?

  I’m beginning to wonder about the attention I’m getting with this dress.

  “How’d you manage to land a Brandt?”

  Frick. That voice. My head spins with horrible recognition.

  Austin Gifford.

  Older, spray tan, and more bloated looking than I remember him.

  How the hell is he here? The tickets to this event only went out to members and were a thousand dollars apiece. He’s clawed his way up the social ladder pretty far if he’s here.

  I want to die. The worst part is, his surprise is warranted.

  I haven’t landed a Brandt. Not really.

  I’m only good enough for coffee runs, small talk, and arm candy.

  Speechless, I look up at him, not sure what to say.

  The inferno on my face could bake a lasagna, but I have to find some witty reply, and fast.

  Ideally, before I toss my drink in his face.

  This ass has to believe I’m engaged. I can’t handle the humiliation of him knowing I’ve been a placeholder twice.

  Is “fuck off,” an acceptable response for a black-tie occasion?

  Probably not, but it’s all I’ve got.

  Especially when his lips curl with frustration and he leans in too close. “Paige? Don’t you recognize me?”

  But before the panic hits, I’m engulfed with sweet mint and dark shadows. Strong arms wind around my waist, sweeping me back off the seat, and pressing me against a rock-hard slab of muscle.

  Thank God.

  When I melt against Ward in my fudge ice cream cone of a dress, it’s because I don’t have the energy to deal with my flipping ex. Not tonight.

  He removes a hand from my waist, but I’m still held securely against him by his other arm. “Ward Brandt. Nice to meet you?”

  Austin shakes his hand. “Austin Gifford. The pleasure’s all mine.”

  Ward’s got both arms around me now. Probably sensing how I’m wound tighter than a drum.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re curious about how we met. Paige is my assistant. When a woman this luscious is in and out of my office all day, it was a date with destiny. Hell, the first time I saw her, I was ready to beat the hell out of any man who touched her.” He drops a kiss on my shoulder strap but brushes my bare skin with his lips, his stubble, his oh my God.

  I’ve become one big goosebump.

  I laugh and bite my lip.

  Ready to beat any man who touched me? Yeah, that’s one way to spin it. It’s also an unexpected harshness as he realizes our company isn’t welcome.

  Ward drops my shoulder strap down against my bare skin.

  Austin stares in disbelief. “How long have you been together?”

  “Not long, but when you’ve stumbled on the One, you man up and stake your claim,” Ward says, his voice a low smolder, so possessive my knees weaken. “Right, sweetheart?”

  “Thank you,” I mouth, but he moves a hand to tilt my chin further.

  Apparently, he wants to give me the world’s best distraction from Satan, and I’m not complaining one bit.<
br />
  Especially when he leans down, his lips ignite mine, and his tongue flicks against my lips with a feral need. My mouth opens, meeting the pressure of his tongue with my own.

  I probably overdo it since this is pretend—isn’t it?

  But Ward could fool me a thousand times with this kiss.

  His tongue mingles, chases, and mesmerizes mine in all of three seconds.

  Holy hell.

  I break away just long enough to turn, facing those dark typhoons for eyes, and meet his lips again. My hands clasp together behind his towering shoulders. His arms fuse around my waist, squeezing my hips with an intensity that sends my brain spinning off into forbidden, scary, and very dirty territory.

  Insanity, here we come.

  What started as my unlikely hero saving me again becomes raw passion.

  We’re full-on making out in the middle of the gallery. I’m vaguely aware it’s not just Austin’s eyes on us anymore.

  Ward breaks away after half a minute in paradise, leaving me gasping for air. My whole body trembles, but he holds me up.

  Good, because my legs aren’t stable right now, and I wonder if they ever will be again.

  “Oh, God.” I’m such an idiot. It whimpers out before I realize I’ve said it.

  But oh, God is right.

  Ward chuckles. “You all right, darling?”

  I bite my lip. Heat fills my face.

  “I was better a few seconds ago.”

  “Me too.” His voice sounds husky, raw—or is it my imagination?

  He kisses my forehead with a lingering growl.

  Nope, not my imagination at all.

  And said imagination isn’t full of nightmares anymore as I turn and give the man who crushed my heart a pinprick glare.

  “Sorry. I’m terrible with names and faces. Did we know each other?”

  That smug, self-assured smile of his melts like a vampire seeing a cross. Austin shifts uncomfortably, disgust etched on his face and something like worry.

  I could start doing cartwheels if it wouldn’t totally ruin the trillionaire vibe here.

  “No worries. I’ll catch up to you guys later. Good to see you again, Sketch Paige,” Austin says.

  I try like hell not to wince.

  That stupid, stupid nickname. He just had to get a parting shot in.