Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,80
I needed an invitation to save you.”
“Save me from what? I was having a good time.”
“Of course you were. People in the morgue are livelier,” I tell her. “And you weren’t answering my urgent texts. Part of the reason your salary’s so high is because you’re always on call. You understand?”
“Are you a doctor?” she asks, twirling her hair, strands of cinnamon in the light.
“What?”
“Do you stop people from bleeding to death for a living?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes. Where’s she going with this?
“No, of course not, I—”
“Are you an attorney, Mag? Do you request emergency stays on death row convictions or get kids out of abusive homes?”
This has to be a trap.
“No.”
“Okay, then there’s nothing at that office that can’t wait a couple hours for me to have a life on a Friday night right before the calendar flips over. Got it?”
I stare at her, magma in my veins, so hot it’s intoxicating.
“You realize I’m the boss, right?”
“Sometimes. Right now, you’re acting more like a crazy stalker.”
I ignore the remark.
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Nope. I’m so pissed at you I’d rather walk home in this zero degree weather. But these heels are killing my feet, so...maybe.” She shrugs and looks me straight in the eye as she stands. “You’re actually clueless, aren’t you? You have no idea how big of an asshole you are. That’s the worst part.”
I stand. “Most people wouldn’t say that to their boss. Let’s go.”
She follows me out the door.
“And most bosses wouldn’t follow their freaking assistants around on dates.”
“I need to know your thoughts on the airline campaign.”
She surveys the parking lot and pokes me in the chest. “You’re such a bad liar. I was at work the whole day and you didn’t ask once. You had hours to pick my brain. You don’t give a shit what I think about that campaign, you just want—never mind.”
I don’t say a word because she’s got my number.
She turns to me slowly with a pained look. “Let’s get something straight right now. I do your filing, make your phone calls, check your emails, and execute your contracts. I bring you coffee, clothes, and whatever the hell else you need during business hours. No part of that gives you control over my love life.”
“I did you a favor with that boy. He almost shit his pants when he saw me. He ran off without his coffee. Who takes a girl to a coffee shop on a first date anyhow?” I bring the regular cinnamon latte to my mouth, take a big gulp, and instantly spit it out on the pavement, where it steams in the winter air. “My God. Now I get why you spit on me—it’s sugar milk. How do you drink this stuff?”
She laughs, puffy white wisps of dragon smoke curling out of her mouth.
“Does that mean I can have it? It’s the least you can do.”
“Will you still be mad at me?” I grumble, holding the drink out of her reach.
“Yes, but I might not kick you.”
“Kick me, and I’ll fire you on the spot.”
She holds out her gloved hand, and I slide the cup in it.
“Firing me will punish you, not me,” she says, taking a longish sip.
Damn, she’s figured too much out.
I’m screwed.
When we reach the car, I open the door. “Get in.”
“You win this one, I guess. My date didn’t hold my door open either,” she says, sliding in.
I get in behind her and shut the door.
“You’re a lucky woman. If I hadn’t shown up, you could’ve died from boredom.” I pass Armstrong his drink as the privacy screen goes down.
“So if coffee shops aren’t first date material, where would you take a girl?” she asks, chugging her latte like it’s beer.
I look at Armstrong with a raised eyebrow. He puts the screen back up.
“Somewhere nice. An exotic restaurant with an unpronounceable menu. I’d share my tastes in refined food beyond Taco Colita. I can’t see how a bad cup of coffee convinces any girl to see a man again.”
“Newsflash: You’re supposed to convince her. Not the coffee or food so expensive you’d scare any normal gal.”
“Adventure is priceless,” I say. “And without adventure, love hits a brick wall.”
She snorts. “If you paid thirty-seven dollars for bite-sized appetizers and raw fish, and I had to make a burger run afterward, I’d so drop you.”
I chuckle. “I’d order for you like a gentleman, and pay the head chef for his very best. You wouldn’t need fast food, believe me.”