Page 8 of Coming for Her Grumpy Boss

“It’s for morale,” I whisper.

“Morale doesn’t need glitter,” he says, but the corner of his mouth tilts—traitorous, unfair.

“Say that to the entire holiday economy.”

He clicks the cap back on his own pen with a tidy little snap. “If I sign all of these now, will you stop calling the CFO ‘my numbers guy’ like he’s dealing illegal mathematical equations?”

“I will consider a cease-and-desist. But you could just sign everything instead of inventing another reason to marinate?”

“I do not marinate.”

“You baste.”

He huffs—almost a laugh—and lowers the pen.

Then we’re both saved by the appearance of Hawthorne Cumberland, Limestone Brewery’s in-house counsel and Ford’s closest friend. Thorne, as he’s known to most people, is as charming and affable as Ford is terse and grumbly. They’re even opposite in their looks. Where Ford is all dark hair and dark ink and broody glares, Thorne is tall, and ginger and freckled and adorable in his slutty little glasses.

“Mia, you look lovely today,” Thorne says as he skirts around me to take a seat in a chair across from the desk.

“Thank you, Thorne. I was just leaving, I guess.” I drop the contract onto Ford’s desk. “I’ve marked everywhere you need to sign. For your convenience.”

Ford nods. “Thank you.”

When I reach my desk, I grab my cell phone and immediately start texting my sister.

ME: Quitting might not be enough.

ME: Do you think we can dig a big enough hole?

ESME: Unlikely. Especially since you don’t like to be outside or sweat too much.

ME: It’s hot outside.

ESME: Of course it’s hot. We live in Texas.

ESME: AKA the surface of the sun.

ME: More like Dante’s seventh circle.

ESME: Anything new or just him being his charming self?

ME: Just trying to get him to sign the damn contract for you.

ESME: I still think a blow job would make all the difference in his attitude.

ME: I’m sure daytime orgasms make everything better.

ME: Not that I would know.

ME: Not everyone has a hot movie star boyfriend in love with them.

ESME: Not everyone is in love with their grumpy boss, either.

ME: I am not in love with Ford McCall.

ESME: Oh, right. I forgot that’s the story we’re going with.

ME: I do not even like you.

ESME: You love me. Not quite like you love Ford, but still.

ME: I hate you.

ESME: Like you hate your boss?

ME: ARGH!!!!!!

ME:

ME:

ME: