Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,85
one thing, he’s never used the word emergency before in all my years working for him. I’m worried about the kid.”
Kid? What kid?
My stomach sinks with those words. He could be talking about Mag since Armstrong’s an older man, but I’ve never heard him use that term.
Weird. I just don’t get it.
As pissed as I am, I don’t want Mag hurt.
Technically, I don’t want Magnus harmed at all unless I’m the one doing the harming. A nice swift kick to the balls is probably warranted after everything he’s put me through.
The car stops in front of a luxury building close to the office.
Armstrong pulls out his wallet and hands me a white card. “His penthouse is on the top floor. You’ll need this to get in the elevator, but I’ll need it back the next time I see you. Security protocols, you understand.”
I nod. “Thanks, Armstrong. Have a good night.”
The building has a doorman, who nods and opens the massive glassy door like he’s been expecting me. I’m not sure why I expected anything less.
The place looks like a palace reaching into the sky. The floors are granite and the lights are crystal. I flick the white card in front of the electronic box on the elevator, and it opens. A panel of glossy buttons faces me. I hit forty-seven, the very last number.
It’s only then that I realize Armstrong didn’t give me an apartment number.
Crap. I pull out my phone to text Maggot—after this stunt, I think Paige’s name for him was appropriate—but there’s no signal in the elevator.
Awesome.
Once I’m in the hall for the forty-seventh floor, there’s only one set of double doors.
Silly me. I don’t need an apartment number because he owns the whole floor.
I knock on the door, and Mag pulls it open a second later.
I barely hold in a gasp.
The man looks like he’s been through a war zone. His tie is undone, hanging around his neck. His shirt is untucked, wrinkled, and the cup in his hand isn’t The Bean Bar. Harsh lines cut through his handsome face and shadow the sharp, bony edges of his chin, and those brilliant blue eyes seem more like dim stars drowned by the city lights.
“W-what happened?” I stutter.
He takes my hand and pulls me across the threshold.
“Inside. We’ll talk about it in here.” He closes the door.
“Don’t touch me,” I say, my voice hard, giving him pause.
He doesn’t drop my hand; his fingers just tighten around mine.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Does a porcupine have quills?” I snap. “Tell me what’s going on or I’m leaving.”
I jerk my hand out of his and place it on my hip. I cock my head and stare at him.
“I’m sorry I left you like that,” he admits, genuine sorrow in his voice.
At least we’re past playing dumb.
“Where did you go, Mag?” I ask, my voice softening. “And why did you get so serious all of a sudden? You look like you just got back from a freaking funeral.”
“I was at the hospital.” He puts a finger in front of his lips like he’s shushing me.
What. Is. Going. On?
I open my mouth, confused and sad and angry, sicker than I’ve ever been of games.
But he speaks before I can.
“Lower your voice. Please,” he whispers, running a hand over his tired face. “He finally went to sleep a little while ago. We shouldn’t wake him.”
“Wake who?” I’m not following him.
Is this some weird control thing? A test? Maggot needs to understand he’s not running anything, much less my mouth. But as soon as I look past his broad shoulders, I spot who.
There’s a boy. A teenager curled up on the huge leather couch with the same sandy-dark hair as Magnus Heron. His eyes are closed. He’s wrapped in a blanket, lightly snoring, his arm draped over the side.
It’s a gut punch that almost drops me to my knees.
Holy shit.
“You...you have a kid?” My voice is low now, because I can barely breathe. “You’re a dad?”
“Brina...”
I hold up a hand, my lips trembling.
“And in spite of all our...” I pause, thinking of a word, “...entanglements, you never thought to tell me?”
I open my eyes again and study the boy. He’s older for sure, maybe in middle school or a high school freshmen?
Jesus. Mag would’ve been a kid himself when he—
“I don’t have a kid,” he growls, sweeping me into his arms, those blue eyes coming back to life. “I have a half brother. He’s the reason I asked you here.”