Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,55
we’ll stop at Taco Colita.”
“Taco Colita?” She blinks.
“One of the finest taco joints Phoenix has to offer. It’s savory and spicy and delicious. Nothing fancy, just flavor that’ll knock you on your ass. I promise.” I do, and my mouth starts watering.
“How spicy?” I love the little wrinkle of concern on her face that kindles into a smile fit for the Valley of the Sun. “Never mind, sold. I like a surprise and I’m not the type who runs from a little heat. This is my first time here, so show me what’s good.”
I nod, this drumming beat behind my ribs.
She’s so different from any girl I’ve ever dated—curious, grateful, ready to soak in life without expecting everything to be handed to her.
Hit the brakes.
I’m not dating her. She’s my employee.
“I’ll crash first for a little bit if you don’t mind,” she says with a yawn.
“You’re not crashing. I just invited you to taco nirvana. You’ll thank me later. You don’t want to be groggy from a nap at the event tonight,” I tell her.
She smiles, thinking, and bites her bottom lip.
“Okay, Heron, you’re on.”
After a quick pre-dinner at Taco Colita—which she loves as much as I knew she would—Armstrong drives us to the hotel in the rental car. I watch Sabrina slide out of the car, the Arizona sun turning her hair into spun brown sugar.
When I make no effort to move, she leans back into the open door with a wrinkle in her forehead.
“Go on,” I tell her. “I have errands to run before tonight. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, see ya.” She bumps the door shut with her hip and walks away.
“Did you—” I start.
“No worries.” Armstrong lays his hand on the passenger seat and twists to face me. “It’s done, boss.”
I nod. “What did you get him?”
“Several fine tip pens—the really expensive ones you told me about, a calligraphy set, and half a dozen leather-bound journals,” he says.
“You didn’t say it was from me, did you?” I’m still watching Sabrina push through the doors into the hotel.
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I said he won the Young Scribes contest and this was the grand prize.”
“You couldn’t come up with something better? The literary event was awhile ago and I already hired editors for the kids.”
“Hey, you’re lucky I came up with that much. This ought to be a Bristol job,” he says glumly. “I think she’d be better equipped to handle it than your driver.”
I shake my head.
“Wrong. She doesn’t need to know—”
“Boss, relax. I’m joking, man. Will you calm down?”
I blow out a long hot breath between my teeth. “You’re right.”
“That’s a first!” Armstrong chuckles, his eyes snapping to me in the mirror. “You okay back there?”
I ignore the quip, not wanting to analyze it any deeper than necessary.
“I just wish I could do more for him.” I lean back into the leather seat, rubbing at my neck.
Armstrong’s face grows serious and his eyes flick away.
“You’re serious? With all due respect, sir—”
It’s my turn to cut him off now. “This isn’t the military. You don’t have to address me like I’m some kind of commander.”
“You kind of are,” he says quietly.
Obviously, he’s right.
I discipline this whole machine. I am the company. I’ve made myself its beating heart.
Sadly, right now, I don’t feel like I’m in control of anything.
“Go ahead,” I urge him, tapping my fingers against my thigh impatiently. “Tell me what you’re getting at.”
“You’re Magnus Heron. You could probably do anything you want for this kid.”
I shake my head. “I promised Marissa I wouldn’t spoil him. Those are the ground rules. We made an agreement.”
Armstrong shrugs. “You’re pretty good at sending anonymous gifts. So come up with another fake contest and send whatever you want.”
“Nah. I don’t want to go behind her back,” I remind him, a chill in my tone.
He nods, picking up on my boundaries like always.
“Well, the young man’s getting a private education. A good one. I don’t think he’s lacking in anything. You’ve done him right,” Armstrong says, his trademark warmth in his voice.
I wish I believed him.
I wish to hell anything in my power could ever “do him right” after what happened.
Maybe I’ll set up a college fund. I’m sure Marissa will allow it. What mother wouldn’t want to save her only son from the menace of student loans?
“You’re off for the rest of the night,” I say.
“I am?” He looks at me in the rearview mirror again.
“Don’t get used to it. Tonight’s the formal and we’ll all be busy.