Aggie the Horrible vs. Max the Pompous Ass

by Lisa Wells

  “Oh.” The spark left her eyes. “Tell me in layman’s terms what it is you do.”

  “Last year, I bought a grain silo in the downtown area. I repurposed it into lofts and left the bottom floor equipped for a business. Then I sold the property to a young entrepreneur.”

  “Oh. You’re a flipper.”

  “Mostly. But there are times, the land—along with my idea for how it could be repurposed—is sold ‘as is,’ and the new owner brings it to fruition,” he said. “The entrepreneur I sold the silo to turned the first floor into a wine bar.”

  A spark of interest returned to her eyes. “I know the place. Love going there. Or at least I did until Meemaw decided it was her new hangout.”

  “I believe Ms. Hazel and Grandmother met there for drinks last night.” He chuckled. “My source tells me they were celebrating us working together.”

  “Those two,” Aggie said, her tone implying she thought they were a handful.

  He nodded. “Those two.”

  Glancing back at his rock garden, she said, “Did you know artists have used the colors held inside some rocks for thousands of years?”

  The comment reminded him of her answers on the test. “I didn’t.” How many unusual facts did she have stuffed inside her brain? “How does it work?”

  “Artists would crack them open and used their powder for painting. For example, the mineral rock called cinnabar has a brilliant red center. They used its powder for painting religious art in the Middle Ages.” Her eyes caught a twinkle. “I have a hammer in my purse. Let’s crack one of yours open and we can see for ourselves.”

  He blanched. “We should probably get back to work, but if I ever find myself in the mood to paint and have none, that information will come in handy.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Too bad. It would have helped me justify carrying my hammer in my purse. Marie Kondo, you know who she is…don’t you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh. Well. She’s this famous decluttering expert. Anyway, she advises if something doesn’t still give you joy, you should get rid of it.” She tilted her chin up a fraction. “Between you and me, my hammer hasn’t brought me joy since I got drunk and cracked a guy’s knuckles with it.”

  “You cracked a guy’s knuckles with a hammer you carry in your purse?”

  “When you say it that way, you make it sound weird. But it wasn’t. We were in a bar, he groped my ass without asking, I hit his knuckles without asking.”

  He laughed. “That sounds more than fair.” He was willing to bet none of the women he’d ever dated would ever consider cracking a guy’s knuckles with a hammer.

  “Unfortunately, the judge didn’t agree, and I had to pay his medical bills.”

  “The ass groped you and then sued you for medical bills?” That sounded like one of Grant’s bizarre court cases.

  She perched on the corner of his desk. Leaned toward him. “I prefer not to dwell on that matter.”

  His skin heated and a desire to reach across his desk and touch her grabbed him by the nuts. “About your assignment.”

  She straightened and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just to be clear, you want your office to shout to potential clients you have your thumb on the pulse of possibilities and you, the great one, can see in property what others can’t even imagine?”

  He was fairly certain the term great one had been a dig at his personality. “Can you make that happen?”

  “Is my favorite color pink?” she quipped, removing her cute ass from his desk.

  Images of her pink bra careened across his brain like an out-of-control train. “I have no idea what your favorite color is.” He had a sudden desire to know the color of her panties.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Did you forget already? I told you my favorite color at my interview.” She shook her head in disbelief. “It’s pink. Are you okay with me donating the furniture I don’t keep to charity?”

  He nodded, impressed she hadn’t asked to sell it on eBay and keep the profits to pay the groper’s medical bills. Perhaps underneath all of her flippant—

  Her phone mooed, and she pulled it out of the waistband of her skirt. She sent a text and then glanced up at Max, a large grin on her face. Different from the other smiles he’d pulled out of her so far.

  He didn’t know who the text went to, but he wanted to elicit that kind of high-wattage smile out of her for him. For something he said. Who had been the lucky recipient? Tim, Bob, or Bill the Harley driver? He fucking hated Bill the Harley driver.

  She stuck her phone back in her waistband. “On it, boss man.”

  Chapter Six

  Wednesday late morning, Aggie stood in the middle of the outer office and surveyed the controlled chaos. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun on the job. Being given carte blanche on her task to refurnish the offices left her giddy. She didn’t normally do giddy. Cynical was more her style. In that way, she and Max were a lot alike.

  This morning, they delivered the new standing desks. This afternoon, everything else. She’d banned Max from the office until further notice. She wanted everything to be a surprise.

  He had grumpily agreed, but only after he informed her in his uptight voice he had several parcels of land and old buildings to check in person and now would be as good a time as any to take care of the matter.

  While he did his thing, she’d transformed their offices into something you might find at Apple or Warby Parker. Very current. It turned out magnificently—if she did say so herself. Meemaw would be pleased.

  Aggie had painted the outer office walls a pale gray, and a matching rug covered the floor. A faux fireplace now sat flush against the back wall, and on either side were cabinets for all of their files. Two royal blue ottomans sat in front of the fireplace, and two matching plush chairs sat on one side of a coffee table. On the wall opposite of the chairs, she’d put the coffee bar, complete with state-of-the-art coffeemaker, grinder, and mini-fridge.

  The receptionist desk, a large white rectangle on funky legs, could be raised to allow for standing and working. On the other side were two square chairs in a gorgeous shade of red.

  In Max’s office, she’d painted the walls a dark shade of gray. His desk was black and hers a lighter shade of gray. Her desk, because of space limitation, was about half the size of his. Both could be raised or lowered.

  The new furnishings for the sitting area hadn’t yet arrived. They’d come tomorrow. She couldn’t wait to get them all in place. The crème de la crème piece for the sitting area would be a gorgeous white leather couch. It would go in the space currently hosting his lackluster rock garden. Across from it, she would place two module chairs that shouted a modern-day man works in this office. She’d modeled his area off of a picture she’d found on Google of what Apple’s offices looked like.

  She couldn’t wait to see his reaction when it was complete. She grabbed her phone and called him.

  “Hello.” His phone voice gave her a delicious shiver. It was like he’d forgotten to add the thread of disdain he normally added when talking to her. The result…yummy.

  “Hi, it’s me. Aggie.” Did he know her voice without her telling him? Did she sound stupid announcing herself? It’s not like he didn’t have caller I.D. Of course, he probably didn’t even have her cell number in his phone. She really should get her asset sheet to him. He’d asked for it a couple of times now. Next time, she’d just say hi.

  “What can I do for you?”

  She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Did I get you at a bad time?” What just happened to her voice? She didn’t do coy. “I can call back?”

  “Now will do.” And there it was. His normal voice.

  She let go of the strand of hair. He really wasn’t her type. “I’m calling to remind you not to come back to the offices until given the green light.�
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  “I made no promises.”

  “Do you take pleasure in being difficult?”

  “I take pleasure in being the boss. The one who gets to make the rules, not follow the rules.”

  The UPS guy showed up in the doorway. His name was Smith. She waved at him. “Oops, got to go. There’s a hunk flexing his arm muscles here to see me.”

  “Does the hunk have a name?” If Aggie weren’t so attuned to Max’s normal voice, she might not have picked up on the thread of jealousy. But she did. Weird.

  She glanced at Smith. He’d heard the question, because she had Max on her cell’s speakerphone. “He does.” She winked at Smith and placed a shushing finger to her lips. “It’s Bill.” Who knew mentioning Bill on the interview questionnaire would come in handy later? She clicked off before Max could make a public response and quickly explained to Smith she was messing with her boss.

  Too late, she remembered her decision this morning to start behaving 100 percent respectable instead of continuing to yank Max’s chain. She had decided to let some other woman teach him how to loosen up and have fun. Part of the reason for this decision was to make Meemaw proud, but not all of it. While she could and would—if challenged—defend her career impacting choices over the last eighteen months, she had realized she’d gotten into something of a bad habit. Perhaps pulling the quit trigger a tad prematurely.

  She wasn’t going to do that this time. She would prove to Meemaw and herself that she did have it in her to see something through. The good. The bad. And the grumpy.

  Chapter Seven

  Max stared at his phone. Aggie had disconnected before he got to ask why Bill showed up during her work hours. As a result, he had an uncharacteristic urge to break someone’s nose. Bill’s in particular. A guy he’d never fucking met.

  He put his phone away and glanced around at the crowded restaurant. If he hadn’t already ordered, he’d leave and surprise Aggie with an unscheduled drop-in at the office. Had Bill stopped by to take her to lunch or take her on her desk? He knew, for a fact, which he’d be doing if Aggie was his girl.

  Damn Aggie and her…ability to get under his skin?

  While waiting on his food, he turned his attention to all he’d accomplished today. Luck had been on his side. The property connecting with the land he’d purchased several years ago had gone on the market today, and he’d snatched it before his competitors could blink.

  This purchase put him in the perfect position for winning the bid with O’Reilly Hospitality. They’d announced in January they were taking bids on potential new areas for a project. They needed a one-mile-square radius of land that would house a boutique hotel and several clothing shops.

  A set of old college dorms occupied a couple of the acres Max had just purchased. They could be refurbished and then pitched to O’Reilly Hospitality as an opportunity to offer guests a unique hotel experience, an experience allowing them to leave a smaller carbon footprint. Young people today fretted about the environment like old people fretted about the manners of today’s generation.

  He had Aggie to thank for this deal. If she hadn’t pushed him out of the office, he would have never driven around and discovered it went up for sale today. The spitfire might end up being his good-luck charm instead of his death bell.

  Of course, he’d have to work overtime to put a winning proposal together by the quickly approaching deadline. Which meant spending more time with her. He would need her help. He glanced at his watch. One fifteen.

  He could go home and work from there. Or, Bill aside, he could drop by and check Aggie’s progress on the redecorating of his offices. Make sure his walls weren’t now her favorite shade of pink. Not to see if Bill was there.

  One hour later, Max stood in the hall doorway of his outer office and stared. The smell of paint, which tickled his nose the moment he stepped off the elevator, turned pungent, causing his eyes to water. Eyes astounded by a room full of color.

  Music came from his office, and Aggie sang offkey along with some country song. Funny, he wouldn’t have pegged her for a country girl. He refocused on the outer office. The woman was full of surprises.

  To be honest, he didn’t know what he’d expected, but not this. Certainly pink. But not this. Not only had Aggie met his expectations, but she had also far surpassed them. Which was hard to do.

  She must have hired an expert.

  Aggie walked through his office door and squealed. “What the hell, boss man?”

  “I wrapped things up quicker than I planned.”

  She frowned and pushed at the strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail. From the smears of gray paint on her face, she must have done that more than once today while painting.

  “This was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “I am surprised.” He waved a hand at the reception area. “It’s a bold color choice. I like it.” It impressed the hell out of him she’d done the painting herself. It could have easily been contracted out.

  Uncertainty crept into her eyes. “Are you just saying that to be nice?”

  “I never say something I don’t mean. I take it you hired a decorator.” He stepped toward his office door, and she met him halfway, blocking his access.

  “You can’t go in there. Your office is a work in progress. All the furniture hasn’t arrived.”

  He sidestepped around her, but she blocked him again. He raised an eyebrow. He had no intention of trying to outwit her next move to get into his own damn office. “Let me be perfectly clear. I am going in there. All I need is a desk. Do I have a desk?”

  Her lips pinched together. Then she stepped aside. “Fine. Spoil the surprise. And remember, you gave me carte blanche.”

  His gut twisted. Here comes the pink. He stepped into his office. Stopped, stared, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Plastic covered the floors. Paint brushes were propped on cans of paint. The walls were a rich shade of gray. Nice choice. He glanced at his desk. Also covered in plastic, but from what he could tell, there was a problem with the desk.

  It didn’t adhere to the standards of an executive’s desk. More like a tabletop with weird legs. A lot like the one in the reception area, but larger and a different color. It would have to go back. “This room is coming along nicely. It appears to be mostly done.” Whenever you’re about to disappoint someone, start with a positive.

  She shook her head like he was an idiot. “Far from it. I’m still waiting for furniture for your sitting area. And the pictures need to be hung, and—”

  “I stand corrected.” He removed the plastic from the strange desk. Tried to look at it with an open mind.

  “Speaking of standing,” she said, picking up a remote from his desk and handing it to him, “your desk is a standing desk.”

  “A what?”

  “A standing desk. You can stand to work instead of always sitting. It’s good for you. The boss at Google has one just like this one. Same color and all.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I Googled it.”

  “I see.” He seriously doubted the CEO of Google had a desk like this. Max gave Aggie a bad-news-is-about-to-come softening smile. “I like how you did your research and colored outside of the box with this idea.”

  “Thank you.”

  He pressed on. “But I prefer a more traditional desk. One with drawers and a—”

  She moved her hands behind her back and lifted her chin. He was beginning to realize that chin of hers might be the window into her soul. Or at least her emotions. Different angles meant different things.

  Like right now, it meant hurt.

  “Why didn’t you point this out before I bought desks? Before I designed a room around these desks?” And to prove his deduction, her voice wobbled, like the words surfed out of her throat on a wave of tears.

  He hated tears. Mother cried a lot when he was a kid.
Not that she knew he could hear her through his bedroom wall. “Can’t you have it exchanged? I love everything else you’ve done.”

  “If I return yours, I must return mine.” She pointed to the other desk in the room. “And I like mine.” Hers was the same design but smaller.

  “Yours can stay.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Our desks have to be similar or it will look like an amateur did this room.”

  Hell. He couldn’t let her emotions dictate what he wanted her to accomplish with this task. “Then exchange both of the desks. I’m sure my real assistant will be fine with a normal desk.”

  As if he’d slapped her, she jerked.

  “What? What did I say? Why are you making this so difficult?” His words came out gruffer than he intended. He blamed it on memories of his mom crying.

  “Your real assistant has just had a baby. She’s at risk of having blood clots if she sits for too long. A standing desk is good for her health. Believe it or not, I thought about your real assistant when I chose standing desks.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. She had a point. “The desks can stay. But I’ll need filing cabinets and drawers, and—”

  She placed her hands on her hips and tapped her bare foot. “I told you, your office isn’t done. I, obviously, have all of those things ordered. Why don’t you take whatever it is you need and leave so I can get back to doing what you’re paying me to do?”

  He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to sit right here in his office and watch her do whatever in the hell she was doing in those damn short-shorts. Which made him a first-class creep. How old was he…thirteen? Damn it. He dragged his eyes away from her legs. “Any calls?”

  “Ms. Grace called. She said to tell you she has a fun idea for the two of you to do together.”

  Hopefully, not some weird double date she’d concocted as a result of Meemaw’s influence in her life.

  “Funny enough, Meemaw left the same message for me on my phone.”