Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,52

what it means for the entire company. Not just him.

The dessert platter arrives later on a silver tray lined with every upscale pastry, ice cream, and gelato outlined on the menu. None of them are large—and he was right about the richness—but there are so many bite-sized pieces that by the time we’ve shared them, I’m full.

She comes back and lays the leather folder with the tab down on our table. I reach for it, but Magnus beats me.

“Unnecessary,” he snaps off. “They’re being billed through the same account.”

The waitress looks at me, unsure what to do.

I’m not sure either, but he does have a point, so fine. Let him do the honors.

As we’re about to leave, Magnus leans in. He stretches a giant hand out and lets it hover over mine without ever touching me. “You have small hands, Miss Bristol.”

“Hmph. Maybe you just have big paws.” I try not to let my eyes linger as he coils his fingers with another insufferable smirk.

And another torrid mind flash of the awful, no good, very bad things those hands could do to me. It’s an unwinnable battle trying not to think about them gliding through my hair, roaming my hip, slowly moving up my thighs until they—

“You know what they say about large hands?” he whispers, interrupting evil thoughts.

“Huh?” My face heats. “No, what?”

“All the better to handle large hoses,” he rumbles.

Then he pops a gourmet mint into his mouth and enjoys watching my tortured face cycle through every last shade of red.

10

Nice Accessories (Magnus)

My office is the most organized it’s been in years, and my inbox is manageable.

The familiar smell of dark roast Kona greets me every morning with my coffee waiting on my desk when I arrive, still deliciously hot.

Replies to my texts and emails and calls come darting back promptly, even when I test her, firing them her way when she least expects like a mischievous principal on a fire drill bender.

I think I’m even getting used to neutralizing the barbs flying off her tongue by drinking in the view that accompanies her smart mouth. A body made for sin hidden behind her modest dresses and sleek fall sweaters, strawberry lips my teeth ache to claim, an ass too perfect for my hands, and—how could I forget?—those bottomless cocoa-brown eyes.

They haunt my fucking dreams. Always threatening to drown me in her loathing if my lust doesn’t do it first.

In mere weeks, Sabrina Bristol upended my whole world.

Right now, on a fine November afternoon, I scroll through the emails she hasn’t gotten to yet. Advertising titans pitching me to use their latest features, new clients asking to be pitched, journalists fishing for mud, shit to be paid, but there’s one message that catches my eye.

A front section mention from Ad Wonk, the journal preaching marketing gospel to every agency in this industry. Looks like Woof Meow Chow had their highest Black Friday sales ever, and the writer notes it’s all thanks to yours truly.

Even Chester Stedfaust sings our praises.

Talk shit about my team again, old man.

There’s no denying the obvious: my new EA is a godsend. I’d open the door and tell her that, give her the compliment I so rarely dole out, but there’s just one problem.

She’s late from lunch. Again.

The first couple times, I let it slide, but this is becoming a habit. One I have to break. She’s getting an email this time.

To: Sabrina Bristol

From: Magnus Heron

Priority: HIGH

Subject: Your Tardiness

Miss Bristol,

Congratulations. You’ve survived nearly six weeks as my assistant. However, that’s no excuse for taking extended lunches and you know it.

Get here on time. You should be here right now, by the way.

Have you tried on the dress for the Adzilla Conference in Phoenix this weekend? Ruby and my tailor picked the color. I’ll never comprehend your superstitions, but the conference organizers have assured me there’ll be no black cats, tumbling salt shakers, or broken mirrors on the premises.

I need to know the dress fits so our plans are finalized. Please respond.

M.

CEO of HeronComm Inc.

I go to work tweaking ad copy the marketing team sent over for an auto maker and smile when my computer pings.

To: Magnus Heron

From: Sabrina Bristol

Subject: RE: Your tardiness

Hey M (Apparently, you’re too busy to write your own name?),

Guess what?

I’ve worked like two hundred and forty hours over the past three weeks. Long lunches should probably be ignored in lieu of sixteen-hour days.

As for the Godzilla conference or whatever, what about ladders in walking paths, thirteenth floors, and indoor umbrellas? I’m