Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,110
isn’t giving in.
Stubbornness is definitely a Heron family trademark.
At Pizza Shack, we plop down in a teal-green booth with a big lamp hanging over our heads. The server comes for our drink orders and scurries off to grab them.
“Just like home! My parents used to bring me here once a week sometimes,” I say, inhaling the delicious scent of fresh baked pizza, garlic, and everything good in life. “They’ve still got the arcade, I see. Mom and I would team up on Dad and fight over tickets. I always got to choose what the tickets bought.” I laugh.
“I had play dates at the golf club so my dad could close deals with my friends’ parents,” Mag says, taking a long, irritated sip off his water.
I smile. It’s easy to see how he comes across as arrogant, ever the stuck-up suit, but that’s not who he is.
He’s kind and generous with Jordan and takes care of his employees.
When push comes to shove, he lets his inner asshole guard down, and a good man steps out.
“Howdy, folks, all set to order?” The server brings drinks to our booth and sets them down on the table.
Jordan looks at Mag, blinking like he’s unsure.
“Can we get a buffalo chicken pizza?” he asks.
Mag nods. “A large pepperoni and a large buffalo chicken pizza. Please.”
I’m beaming. He remembered the p-word.
“Chicago style?” she asks.
“Is there any other way to eat a pizza in this town?” I fire back.
“Not a sane one.” She scribbles our order down and disappears with a laugh.
“I’m glad you got pepperoni,” I say.
“Classic choice.” Mag smiles. “I had a feeling.”
“What, how?” I ask, tripping over my words.
“You strike me as a pepperoni kind of girl. Simple, plenty of heat, and...” He leans into my ear. “Utterly delicious.”
I tremble, pressing back into the booth, trying to hide how my face heats. From anyone else, it would almost sound lame, but from Magnus Heron?
I’m grinning like a fool.
“Pepperoni should be a nice contrast since Jordan likes fancy pizza,” he says, looking at his little brother.
“Dude. It’s just buffalo chicken on pizza. Two of my favorite things,” Jordan says.
“I like buffalo wings as much as the next guy,” Mag says. “But not on my pizza.”
“Yeah, well, you’re old,” Jordan grunts.
Mag’s eyebrows go up. His smirk could cut something.
“I’d like to think one foot in the grave is a long ways off, but I guess to a fourteen-year-old, I probably am old.” Mag picks up his cup and takes a drink like he has to rinse his mouth after saying that word.
Jordan stares at the arcade across the room.
“What’s your favorite game, Jordan?” I ask.
“Eh, I like racing, the street fighter games...” He surveys the selection. “Oh, and Whack-A-Mole. Haven’t seen that in ages.”
“Too funny! Did you know Mag loves to hit things too?” I say, nudging my lover-boy boss in the side.
“Huh?” Mag perks up at the mention of his name. I don’t think he was following the conversation before. “I do?”
I nudge him harder with my elbow and flash him a strained look that says, I’m trying to help. Don’t mess this up.
“Oh, right, Whack-A-Mole. Sure, nothing like clubbing mechanical rodents.”
I smile. “If the two of you want to go play a quick round or two, I’ll wait here and grab you when the food comes.”
Jordan grins. I think it may be the first time I’ve seen the kid smile wider than my thumb.
“How ’bout it? You want to prove you’re not ancient?”
“You’re on, kid,” Mag says, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and shuffling out of the booth.
Jordan pops up and starts for the arcade room.
“Thank you,” Magnus whispers in my ear over his shoulder before following his brother.
I spend the rest of the time sipping soda and trying to spot Mag flailing around after moles from the booth. I can’t quite get a good look, but it’s something I’d pay good money to see—uptight beast-man CEO whacking robo-moles for fun.
When the pizzas come, they’re still gone.
Unable to resist, I head over to the mole game, expecting to find them.
Nope, they’re missing.
I find Mag on the other side of the arcade, throwing baseballs through numbered loops, and doing a pretty good job of hitting his targets. The machine keeps going wild, spitting out tickets.
Wow. So he does have a fun side?
Not only that, he’s amazing. He doesn’t miss one. Jordan holds a bucket full of tickets, and he smiles when he sees me.
“Hey. We’re trying to win you a Pizza Shack Beaver,” Jordan says.