Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,61

partnership in this. She’s smart. Talented. Beautiful. Brave.”

“Don’t care for her, eh?” he asked with a smirk.

I scowled, not bothering to defend my choices anymore. The truth was out there, and frankly, his cocky smile irritated me more than the disappointed frown from before.

“Just…do me a favor,” he finally asked when I didn’t respond to his prod. “Tell her before you do anything drastic.”

Feeling the weight of his request every second I tried to avoid answering, I finally caved. “I’ll tell her.”

At some point.

With that, I left with the promise to be back with Vera and to take him to see Grandma.

I wouldn’t say I quite ran to the exit after our conversation, but someone would probably say it was a speed walk.

I needed to get out of there.

Pushing his disapproval to the side on the ride back to work came at a cost, and by the time I reached the office, my mood dipped into dangerous territory. One that allowed for little politeness and courtesy. So, when I saw Vera standing to the side, laughing with coworkers, I didn’t care how my actions came off. I needed to talk to her, and I didn’t care to wait.

Add in the way just seeing her shot lightning through my chest, making my heart jump an extra beat. Or the way my cock twitched imagining unbuttoning that pressed white blouse one button at a time, revealing her perfect breasts, and the sexual frustration mixed with every other emotion brewing, stealing any semblance of control.

I walked up, slipping my hand around the small curve of her waist, and leaned down, brushing her hair aside to issue my demand against her ear.

“My office. Now.”

She looked up with wide eyes to her coworkers before quickly looking away. I didn’t bother to check anyone else’s reaction or see if she’d comply. If nothing else, I knew she’d follow so she could reprimand me in private at the very least.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, almost slamming my office door behind her.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“So, send a request like a normal person. Not come whisper in my ear like I’m-I’m—”

I waited, brows raised, for her to find her words, fully enjoying her arms flailing in frustration.

“Some booty call,” she finally screeched.

“I assure you, you’re not a booty call.”

“Well, it sure as hell looks like it to everyone else. I already told you, I will not lose the respect of others because they think I’m fucking the boss when I should be working.”

“And I already explained that I don’t care. You’ll be my wife and if they want to think I’m fucking you over this entire office, then so be it. Thankfully, I’m the boss, and their opinions don’t matter.”

“They matter to me.” She glared, but beneath the clenched lips and tight fists, I saw the plea.

Don’t hurt her.

My grandpa’s words created a wave of irritation. However, the wave was thin, failing to hide the truth behind them. Vera and I may not particularly care for each other, but I wanted respect. I could do the same for her.

“Fine,” I answered. It was short and still bubbling over with my frustrations from the day, but it was something. “If I need you, I’ll send for you like a normal employee—even though you’re not.”

She rolled her eyes, apparently being no more mature than I could. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“I want you to move in before the wedding.”

“What? Why?”

I didn’t appreciate her reaction like I’d asked her to skydive without a parachute. “Because I said so.”

And she—fairly—didn’t like my answer. Her brows shot high. “You want to try that again, Nicholas?”

Taking a deep breath, I ground my teeth, unused to having to explain myself to anyone. “It makes sense. We’ll be gone right after for the honeymoon, and then we will need to get caught up with work after. I want it done before then.”

She studied me, and I struggled to remain silent, letting her process. She took so long, I almost considered sitting down to answer some emails when she finally spoke up.

“When?”

“This weekend.”

“I have my bachelorette party.”

“You’re having a bachelorette party?” My face twisted at the idea. Strip clubs and flirty women came to mind, followed quickly by a pinch of irritation. My future wife better not be going to stick dollar bills in some beefed-up stripper’s thong.

“Raelynn doesn’t pass up a chance to celebrate.”

Awesome.

“Where are you going?”

She narrowed her eyes and hesitated. So help me, if she