Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,71

who I am, and who I’m not.

Not. Baxter. Heron.

Frowning, I open my laptop and get to work.

Well, I pretend to.

I can’t concentrate, but I have to put something in front of my face to keep me from gawking. To keep my eyes off the woman who’s become my own forbidden fruit. To keep a thin line of sanity between Brina and me.

Miss Bristol, I correct myself.

That’s how it needs to stay.

13

Secret Santa (Sabrina)

He kissed my face off.

He kissed me like a cyclone.

He kissed me freaking blind, deaf, and senseless.

Then he told me to never speak of it again.

The drive back to the hotel was ice-cold silence, and he didn’t say a word on the flight home.

He no longer needs my help attending meetings either, but has no problem emailing me all times of the day. He’s just as demanding as ever, and every bit as deserving of my hate.

Every time a new request comes in, it’s hard not to chuck my phone through the nearest window.

Miss Bristol, please pick up my dry cleaning.

Miss Bristol, make another coffee run.

Miss Bristol, I’ll need you here on Saturday and Sunday.

I’m waiting for the one that says, Miss Bristol, could you kindly adjust the Earth’s tilt?

Go ahead. Call me clueless.

For a moment, out in the desert, I thought he’d actually crack and open up like a human being. I thought he had it in him to be real with me.

I almost thought—

I don’t even know. That we were equals? That I might tumble into being more than his EA?

He kissed me in a way no one ever has, leaving me a puddle of confusion and clashing feels, and then the prick pretended it never happened.

So many questions and zero answers.

I’m even second-guessing the reason why I got this job.

Did he hire me all along because he wants in my pants? Or did something about me really impress him like he claimed when he was gushing all over me for a job well done, before the infamous, soul-stealing kiss?

Or—horror of horrors—maybe I’m that bad a kisser.

One smooch and he instantly realized I’m better EA material than fuck-buddy grade.

God.

I hate this.

I hate him.

I hate that I have to wonder, ponder, and decipher some more.

All because he can’t just man the heck up and talk to me.

Maybe it’s a blessing that I don’t have to see him much these days with December grinding on toward its Christmas peak, the only break we’re bound to get. This Chicago winter rode in with a vengeance, leaving the city a slab of drab grey, howling wind, and glistening ice.

The dinging elevator pulls me out of my head. So does the painful shock.

Mag’s damn coffee burns the palm of my hand. Wincing, I shift the cup into the other hand and shake my fingers out until the stinging fades.

I head straight for his office to set his dark Kona with a splash of heavy cream in its usual spot, but he’s at his desk.

He looks up with this wisp of a smile, just in time for me to hand it to him instead.

“You should invest in Kona beans,” I say, my voice so tight.

He grins. “I own the farm.”

“You—what? What farm?”

“I bought a Kona farm in Hawaii several years ago after sealing a particularly lucrative deal. The Bean Bar uses my beans. Don’t you ever read the signs? It’s called Heron Blend. It’s the highest quality and the only kind I’ll drink regularly.”

Well, la-di-da.

“So, you’re a huge coffee snob on top of everything else?” Including asshole, jerk-off boss, brutally good kisser...

“Don’t you have work to do?” He scowls up at me, those eyes dark-blue whirlpools.

I plan to leave his office without another word.

I’m still pissed at him anyhow. I make it as far as the door when he says, “Miss Bristol?”

Lovely. So I’m only Brina when your tongue is down my throat, huh? I think, trying to hide the bitter crease in my lips.

I turn to face him, ever so slowly.

“Yes, Mr. Heron?”

“Take the week after Christmas off. We’ll be running on a skeleton crew.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, I have work. Just like you said. Maybe I prefer not to wind up buried after the holidays.”

“What do you mean? I don’t need an assistant while our clients are off counting their holiday sales hauls. Marketing is the last thing on anyone’s mind until January first.”

“I’d rather bank my vacation days for when I have a real vacation. Somewhere tropical like Kona with smoothies everywhere, maybe.” I fold my arms, daring him