Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,6
He smiles, and not in a friendly way. “Are you a cartoonist? A cat-toonist, maybe?”
I fight back an eyeroll so intense it’ll probably land me in the ER.
“Ha, ha, ha. So original. Hope you’ve got copywriters.”
“My writers are some of the finest marketers in the country, from sea to shining sea,” he says, pride entering his voice.
“Cool, then I’m sure you’re set. God knows no one pays for your jokes,” I throw back.
“Damn, you’re mouthy,” he growls.
That’s it. It’s a statement. And not an entirely furious, insulting one. There’s a hint of amusement, too, like mouthy is something that interests him.
Awesome.
He’s known me for three minutes while trying to extract me from a city bench but I’m pegged as “mouthy.” Like he isn’t the one who made me that way?
Well, two can do the pegging today.
Besides being a rich suit, an unbearable McHottie, and a park tyrant, he seems like one of those guys who think women should keep their mouths shut.
I shoot him a fake docile smile. “My bad, your highness. I’ll try harder to be seen and not heard. Of course, I’ll be seen on this bench until I’m good and ready for a walk.”
His jaw tenses again and there’s the faintest flash of angry white teeth around his lips. He stares up at the sun, muttering something to himself, and then turns back to me.
“Frankly, Miss Hardass, I don’t care where you’re seen or heard as long as it isn’t on this bench. You’re blocking the light. You’ve already been told.”
Funny thing is, I probably would’ve moved in a heartbeat, with no problem, if he just asked me nicely.
But he picked the wrong day to dick with my pride, and now I’m on a mission.
This bench is mine until I say it’s not.
“When was that? I didn’t quite hear you,” I say with a yawn, looking back at my phone.
He rolls his eyes so hard I think they might stick to the back of his head.
I swallow a laugh. At least we’re having fun with this crapfest, right?
“I’m impressed! You roll your eyes better than a thirteen-year-old cheerleader,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Only when I’m being faced with someone as obstinate, immature, and insufferable as you,” he grinds out.
“Fancy words.” I shrug. “I just call out BS when I see it.”
“Then you should get your eyes checked. There’s no ‘bullshit’ here.”
“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” I say slowly, tilting my head. “Just a loser in an overpriced suit trying to act important. Trying to remind the little people of their place.”
“You have no—find another damn spot and someone else to annoy. Leave now.” His voice is a drawn saber, rattling with this raw, masculine warning.
“Uh, did you just growl at me?” I blink, trying not to snicker.
“Why the hell are you walking around Chicago with a folder full of cat cards, anyway?” He straightens the knot in his tie, working those huge, angry fingers on fabric and holding my eyes hostage longer than I like.
“What’s it to you?” I whip my gaze back at the ground. “I work—worked—at a pet furniture company.”
“Pet furniture?” he echoes, as if he’s one breath short of laughing in my face.
No.
He’s just pissed off the wrong girl. I’m out of banter. I don’t need to do more talking, really, to extract myself from this misery.
It’s been a day from hell and the last thing I need—the very last—is being mocked by a jackass suit with a God complex. I push the Sweeter Grind cup to my mouth and chug the remaining delicious liquid, as much as I can hold in my mouth.
Then I lean forward, look down, aim, and spray cinnamon-colored coffee all over his expensive Italian shoes.
So much for savoring the flavor. It kinda sucks that I spent nearly ten bucks on this unexpected date with Chicago Satan.
But the result is worth it.
The guy doesn’t strike me as the type to have any emotions beyond pure bleating rage, but in his cold eyes, I see something else leak through.
Abject horror. Shock. Maybe a little humility—finally!
He doesn’t say a word, just stares down at his soaked shoes, thinning his lips like he’s considering how to retaliate.
I grin triumphantly.
The big bearded guy has been so quiet through this exchange, I’ve forgotten he’s there. Until he looks up with his hands pressed against his cheeks in utter fear, and whispers, “I-I’ll go find you a napkin. Right away!”