Page 29 of Coming for Her Grumpy Boss

My much fuller, shorter, and wider frame. “Funny,” I say. “Ford wasn’t complaining earlier when he had his hands and mouth all over me.”

Natasha’s nostrils flare. “Please. He’s generous. Ford has always been generous. It’s charming that you believe this can last, but it won’t. You don’t belong in our world.” She says it like a diagnosis.

“Yet, you’re the one who’s been missing for the last year.”

Her eyes scan the room, then land on the floor between us. It makes me very aware of how long it’s been since I’ve had a pedicure. My polish is chipped and uneven. I’m regretting taking my socks off earlier.

“Mark my words, he will grow tired of you now that I’m back to remind him where he belongs.”

Ford steps in then, voice cool as steel. “Enough.” He doesn’t raise his voice; he never needs to. “You’re not invited, Natasha. Leave.”

She blinks, genuinely surprised that the script has changed. “Ford—” She shakes her head. “What do you mean I’m not invited? We’re all coming here. You didn’t want to travel anywhere, so we are all coming to you. Wasn’t that the plan?”

“Evidently, the plan changed. You should call your brother.”

She opens her mouth and closes it. Repeats this until she resembles a fish out of water.

“Since it’s late, though, Thorne said you should go to his lake house and he’ll send a car for you in the morning. The keycode is his birthday,” Ford says.

Natasha makes no move to leave, just stands there.

“Do you need a refresher on where it is?” Ford asks.

Her features harden and she glares openly at Ford. “You will regret this.”

“Unlikely. Merry Christmas, Natasha. Welcome back stateside.”

“Yes, Merry Christmas,” I add.

Her gaze darts between us—me standing there pretending my knees aren’t jelly, him solid and immovable, his hand on my hip. For a second, I see the calculation in her eyes—what to say to make him soften. Then she exhales, exasperated, like we’re both tedious.

“This is a phase,” she says, stepping into the doorway. “When he tires of playing house, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I smile, all teeth. “When you tire of being condescending, call me. I can offer some product suggestions to deal with this Texas humidity.” I let my eyes rise to her hair.

Her hand pats at her blond coiffure, then she turns and walks back to her car.

Ford turns to me, apology already gathering between his brows. “Mia⁠—”

“I’m fine,” I say too fast, and the lie tastes like pennies. “It’s fine. She’s…she’s just⁠—”

“Wrong,” he says. “About everything.”

“Maybe, but right now, I’ve got a damn migraine because of her perfume. So I can’t even storm out of here dramatically like I’d like to do.”

Without another word, he scoops me into his arms and carries me back into the bedroom. He flips off the lights as we go.

“I hate that you have a headache, but I’m glad you can’t leave. Dramatically or otherwise.” He lowers me to the bed. “Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cataloging the precise points of pain. I twitch my nose, thankful that her expensive scent is gone.

When Ford returns, he’s got a cold bottle of my electrolyte drink, another cold eye pillow—this one is purple, and a prescription bottle. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me.

“We have things to discuss, but let’s tackle this monster first,” he says, his voice is low and soothing.

After swallowing a pill and taking several sips of the drink, I close my eyes beneath the cold weight of the pillow.

In my head I go through the steps I would be taking were it not for this untimely migraine. I’d stuff my clothes back into my bag, efficiently with zero melodrama.