Grumpy Romance : A Romantic Comedy (Billionaire Dads)

HOLLAND

I tuck my fingers under Belle’s armpits and hike her on top of the counter. She giggles, her sweet, little-girl scent floating over me.

She’s still dressed in her footie pajamas. It’s a red-and-black striped design that makes her brown eyes sparkle. Her hair flows freely all over her shoulders and her gap-toothed smile makes my world brighter.

“Who’s my special pancake helper?” I croon, flipping the spatula because I’m a showman for the people I love.

“Me! Me!” Belle swings her feet.

I rub my nose against hers. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

Belle bounces. Laughs. Watches me pour the mixture in the pan. The pancake batter sizzles and makes my stomach rumble. I rarely eat breakfast but, for some reason, I’m ravenous this morning.

“Ready to flip it?” I ask Belle.

“Yes!”

“Mind your hands,” I say, pulling her into my arms and crouching a little so she can reach the spatula. Her tiny fingers wrap around the handle and tug.

The pancake breaks into three pieces.

Belle laughs. “Daddy, it’s ugly.”

“No way.” I put my hand over hers and turn the pancake over. “This is the most beautiful pancake in the world. Know why?”

“Why?”

“Because my beautiful little girl made it.”

She laughs again. Her sweet giggling is melodious. I want to capture this moment and put it in a bottle so it’s never lost to time.

“You’re silly, daddy.”

“Am I?” I pull a funny face, crossing my eyes and sticking out my tongue.

She bursts out laughing.

I give her a kiss on the cheek and squeeze her tight.

These mornings are so rare. Mostly because I’m always on the go. There are a million tasks fighting for my attention and Belle often gets pushed aside.

But today, I couldn’t just hop out of bed and go chasing the dollar bills. I have too much on my mind and too many impulses that need to be grounded.

Baby Box wants to do a deal with Belle’s Beauty.

I want to tell them no.

Not because of the terms.

Not because of the money.

Not because I’ll need to negotiate Belle out of the story feature.

But because Walsh was staring at Kenya Jones like he wanted to peel her clothes off layer-by-layer.

The pervert.

I’m counting it a miracle that I didn’t deck the guy. Screw the Baby Box deal. He’d deserve it.

I take care of my employees, and I’d like to think this righteous indignation would burn just as fiercely if it were anyone else. But I don’t indulge in lies. Not to other people and not to myself.

Apparently, I’m not as removed from Miss Jones as I’d like to be. And having conflicting interests is dangerous for everyone.

My life revolves around Belle. I’m pulling all-nighters, overseeing two companies, and considering a licensing deal—all for my little girl. I can’t let Kenya distract me. As long as I can keep her away from Walsh, there’s no need to cancel the Baby Box deal.

“I love you so much,” I whisper.

“Daddy, the pancakes,” Belle says, completely oblivious to the chaos in my head.

I chuckle, kiss her cheek again and finish making breakfast.

“Something smells wonderful!” Mrs. Hansley chirps, stepping through the front door.

“Morning.” I nod.

“Morning!” Belle waves. Her hands are sticky and her cheeks are smeared with syrup.

“We made you pancakes.” I tilt the plate toward her.

Mrs. Hansley beams. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Belle’s going to need a good bath after breakfast.” I move over to my daughter and wipe her sticky hands with a napkin. It doesn’t work, so I grab the pack of wet wipes.

She dances while I wipe her off, making it difficult to accomplish the task.

“Hold still, Belle,” I say firmly.

She keeps dancing.

I’d scold her again, but she’s too cute for me to lecture.

Mrs. Hansley grins at me. “She has you wrapped around her little finger, Alistair.”

“Undeniably.” I finish cleaning Belle and toss the wadded up napkins in the trash.

“What’s the occasion?”

“We’re striking a deal with a very influential subscription-based service. I work hard so I can celebrate my wins.” I nod to Belle. “And this is how I prefer to celebrate.”

“Congratulations. Claire would be proud of what you’re doing with Belle’s Beauty. She had big dreams, that girl.”

My heart twists.

Guilt pricks my chest.

Would Claire be bothered to find out I’m having obsessive thoughts about my assistant?

Mrs. Hansley squeezes my shoulders. “She always told me that seeing you happy made her happy. That stuck with me. Nothing mattered more than her family.” Mrs. Hansley’s eyes travel to Belle. She juts her chin in my daughter’s direction. “Has Belle asked about…”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not with me. Not yet.”

Mrs. Hansley smiles and steps back. “I saw Bernard waiting downstairs. If you’re done here, I’ll clean up and then take Belle for a bath.”

I get ready quickly, kiss Belle on the forehead and head downstairs feeling strangely out-of-sorts. Bernard senses my mood and doesn’t talk on the way to the office.

Ezekiel greets me when I step through the doors. His salt-and-pepper hair is, as usual, brushed away from his face and held together with hairspray. His suit is impeccably neat with not a speck of dust in sight. Dark eyes swerve to me and soften.

“Before you ask, I slept well last night. Midnight. A personal best.”

“Not bad for you.” He sets a cup of coffee in my hand.

I sip. It’s sugary perfection.

“The negotiations with Baby Box are underway. I’ve forwarded your notes to our attorneys. They’ll make the amendments to the Baby Box contract once they have your approval.”

“Good.”

Ezekiel follows me into the elevator.

“Good morning, Mr. Alistair.”

“Morning.”

“Hi, sir.”

I nod at my employees, keeping a straight face.

The elevator closes slowly.

In the distance, I see a woman with dark brown skin and frizzy curls sprinting through the lobby.

My heart jumps in anticipation. Before I’ve thought it through, I shoot my arm out, blocking the elevator from closing completely.

The silence that falls is visceral.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Miss Jones shuffles toward the elevator and then stops abruptly when she sees me.

Her brown eyes widen in shock. They’re pretty in the sunlight. Pure onyx. Like dark coffee that no amount of sugar and cream can lighten.

“Mr. Alistair,” she says breathlessly. I’m not sure if it’s the shock or if it’s running crazily across the lobby that’s causing the shortness of breath.

Realizing that everyone is staring, I drop my hands and roughly bark, “Get on. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Sorry.” She ducks her head, flashes a sheepish smile at the people in the elevator and then scowls at me. “Jerk.”

The word is muffled under her breath, but I hear it clearly.

Ezekiel gives me a curious look.

I ignore him and stare straight ahead as if a vision of my future is embedded in the doors.

The elevator stops.

Employees shuffle past me, glancing curiously at Miss Jones before leaving.

Kenya holds herself stiffly, her shoulders ramrod straight. Her back is to me, but I can still read her annoyance. Jaw clenched. Fists at her sides. Heavy silence.

The elevator stops again.

More people get off.

In the rush, someone bumps into Kenya and she stumbles back. I react instinctually, grabbing her by the arm and settling her on her feet.

She glances at me. Mouth parted. Big brown eyes make it hard for me to breathe. Rather than saying thanks, she shakes me off and steps away.

Off-kilter, I clear my throat. Check my watch. Glance up.

The numbers change slowly.

Someone is tapping their foot on the floor.

Kenya.

She shifts a little, her hip cocking to the side. I assess her body and a thrill hums through my veins. She’s in pants today and they’re just as sexy as her tight maxi skirts. The blouse is an extravagant number with ruffles and pleats at the neck. It must be new. I’ve never seen her wear anything like that before.

She’s going to distract me all day looking like that.

I dismiss those thoughts and force my gaze forward.

One last stop before our floor.

More employees leave the elevator.

I nod to most of them.

Kenya steps back before the crowd can knock into her, but the move brings her close to me. Her backside brushes the front of my trousers.

Flames dance up my spine.

Damn. She’s softer than I imagined.

Her scent fills my nose. I take a big whiff because, apparently, I’m a lunatic when it comes to this woman. The scent trips my wires and makes me lean forward for another subtle inhale.

What is that? It’s exquisite. A decadent mixture of soft, feminine fragrances—wild apples, cinnamon, rose.

She glances over her shoulder.

I straighten and work my jaw, my heart flogging my ribs. In a dark voice, I snap, “You have lint on your clothes.”

“I do?”

“From now on, you need to take better care of your appearance.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. She picks at her shoulder to find the invisible lint. “I just bought this outfit. How does it have lint already?”

Ezekiel shuffles behind me. I don’t bother turning around to face him.

Finally, the elevator arrives at the top floor. I march through the lobby, heading straight for my office. A rhythmic click of heels follows me and so does that amazing scent.

I whirl around. “Can I help you, Miss Jones?”

“Did I ask for help, Mr. Alistair?”

So much attitude. My mind lights up with all the ways I can tame that sharp mouth into submission.

“You’re following me.”

She scrunches her nose and points to the left. “I’m going to my cubicle.”

My chest caves in. “Oh.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“Have the promotional materials gone out yet?”

“Yes. They were posted yesterday. We’re working with the production team to produce more samples for the event. It should be ready for next week.”

“Next week? The promotion is a month out.”

“You can never be too prepared.” She waves a hand. “Trust me. Something has to go wrong at events like this. It’s best to be ready in advance. That way, only little, unforeseen problems can pop up and we can handle them on the fly.”

Blood rushes south. The only thing sexier than Kenya Jones in tight pants is Kenya Jones’s efficiency and intelligence.

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you need something else?”

I mentally trace the shape of her lips with new appreciation. The determination in her eyes makes something wild and passionate light up in mine.

“No.”

She holds my gaze for a second, all glorious defiance. An odd sensation stampedes through my chest. Like something hot and dangerous is being roused from where I’d laid it to rest when I buried my wife.

Her heels click. She steps closer to me.

I lean back. “What?”

“I just realized I haven’t gotten a proper thank you yet.”

“A thank you?”

“I’m the one who got Baby Box to change their mind. My idea made the man-in-charge drive all the way here just to negotiate with us.” She folds her arms over her chest, bringing my attention to her body again. “Where is my thank you?”

I try not to breathe because I don’t know what I’ll do if I inhale any more of that scent.

She tilts her head. “Well?”

“Your perfume,” I bark.

She goes still.

“Is that new too?”

“My perfume?” She sniffs her wrist. “How did you know it was new?”

I whirl around abruptly. “The Baby Box deal isn’t through yet. You still have time to mess it up.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice roars with indignation.

“You have a lot of work to do, Miss Jones. I suggest you get to it.”

“Flying cockroach,” she hisses under her breath.

My cheeks break into a smile. I don’t bother hiding the chuckle.

Ezekiel follows me into my office and shoves the door. His lips quirk up in a knowing grin.

I lift a finger in his direction. “No comments.”

“It’s more like a question.” He moves toward my desk. “Miss Jones has a point. I don’t think her contributions to Belle’s Beauty and, by extension, Fine Industries have been properly acknowledged.”

I scowl at him. “You’re taking up for her again?”

“No, I’m following the rules that you set in place. According to company by-laws, any employee with an accumulated achievement such as this one deserves a reward.”

“Her reward is that I didn’t fire her,” I mumble, flipping my laptop lid open. It’s connected to my double monitors. Both screens light up when I shake the mouse.

“You’re the one who set those initiatives in place, Alistair. If I remember correctly, you wanted to build a business where people were elevated based on their skills, not based on their degrees or social connections.”

He’s right. “I know my own rules, Ezekiel.”

“What arrangements would you like me to make?”

I swing my chair around and face the balmy day. Clouds huff past the window like puppies on a mission. A blue sky stretches over the busy highway. Billboards light up with calls to action, bright enough to rival the sun.

“Would you like me to give you more time to think about it?”

I lift a hand. “Just do the usual.”

“What is the usual, sir?”

I spin the chair to face him. He’s goading me. “Team dinner. A solo office.”

“Is that all?”

I narrow my eyes.

“You very publicly criticized Miss Jones for her impulsiveness during the Baby Box deal. Now, those actions have fostered a relationship between the companies and yet, you’ve been very silent.”

I glare at him. “Just admit it. You’d rather work for Kenya, wouldn’t you?”

His smile is serene.

I tent my fingers, tapping them together one by one. Kenya makes my blood pressure spike for all the wrong reasons. I can’t afford to go around gallivanting my approval of her. How do I hide my affection if I’m forced to parade it in front of the staff?

“I’ll book a nice restaurant. Do you have any preferences?”

“Just find something she likes.”

“I’ll ask her and forward her responses to you,” Ezekiel says.

I stare at him. “Why do I need to know?”

“I have a feeling you’d like to have that information.” He dips his head and walks out. “I’ll get on that.”

Nosy man.

I start my work for the day, focusing completely on the task at hand until my door bursts open. Annoyance is my first response. The only man allowed to bust into my office is Ezekiel, and he never does anything so uncouth.

I whip my glasses off, mouth open to tear into the interloper. My exasperation vanishes like smoke when I see Miss Jones standing in the doorway, her chest heaving and her eyes glued to mine.

Ezekiel runs up behind her, his expression equally panicked.

I sit straight up, observing them both. “What’s wrong?”

“We have a problem.” Stomping over to my desk like she owns every inch of the floor, Kenya hovers over me. Her arm brushes against mine when she shoves her phone under my face.

It takes me a second to adjust myself to her nearness.

“Alistair, look at this.” She shakes the phone.

I force my attention to the screen. It’s a graphic for the Belle’s Beauty in-store promotion. Our logo is featured prominently in the center. The date, time and raffle announcement are outlined too.

“I don’t see a problem,” I murmur, glancing up at her. Sweat beads on her dark skin. Her lips are pinched. Something’s wrong.

“Here.” She shows me the comment section. The words are too tiny for me to make out without my glasses.

I squint.

“There’s confusion about what this date means.” She points to the numbers.

11/10

I see the problem before she explains it. My eyes widen. “It could be October eleventh or November tenth.”

“People misunderstood the messaging. They think it’s today.”

“Have you—”

“Yes, I asked the PR team to take the flyers down and amend the—”

“And the—”

“No,” she answers before I can finish, “we couldn’t get to the popular bloggers we hired. They’ve already spread the news. The incorrect flyer is going viral.”

Ezekiel’s phone rings from his desk.

Eyes wide, he waves a hand. “You continue. I’ll get that.”

“Kenya, contact our social media manager and tell him to send out a boosted post. I don’t care how much it costs. We have to clarify to as many customers as possible.”

She bobs her head urgently.

Ezekiel’s footsteps thump into the room. He skids to a stop, his eyes darting between me and Kenya. “That was the manager at the Yazmite location. They’ve got a problem.”

“A problem?” Kenya pulls her bottom lip into her mouth.

“Customers are pouring in specifically to participate in the promotion.”

I tap my fingers against the desk, struggling to remain calm. No solutions can be found by panicking.

Kenya’s chest swells and contracts in rapid fashion. “We don’t have the samples ready yet. Even if I ask the production team to speed it up, there’s no way I can get it done today.”

“The store manager is afraid that customers will get rowdy.” Ezekiel frowns. “Some of them are already a little too aggressive.”

I frown. “They’re assaulting our people?”

“No. They’re just refusing to leave until they receive what was promised to them. It sounds like it’s pandemonium.”

Kenya wrings her hands. “If this gets out, Baby Box will drop us like a dead rat. And any other collabs will be ruined.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. How could I have let such a small detail pass me by? I should have paid more attention.

Kenya exhales loudly. “I’ll go and try to calm the mob.”

“No,” I snap. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“We don’t have time for that. You heard the managers. A crowd is overwhelming them. Customers are complaining. We need to take action now.”

“Taking the wrong action now will make things even worse,” I bark.

Her eyes light up with fire. “By the time you call an emergency meeting and come up with a proper strategy, Belle’s Beauty will be trending online. And not for a good reason.”

“Miss Jones!”

“Alistair,” Ezekiel steps forward, “she has a point. We need to take action now. If Miss Jones can calm the angry customers and buy us time, it may work. It’s the only strategy that makes sense.”

My heart burns. I’m not worried about Belle’s Beauty getting into hot water with the online trolls. We can bounce back.

But Kenya…

I glance over her short frame. She’s small. Fragile, even if she acts like she’s ten-feet tall. What if one of the customers get physical? What if she gets hurt?

“I can do it, boss,” she says, her jaw tightening. “I know I can.”

Ezekiel gives me a pleading look.

A war erupts in my heart. It feels like someone is stuffing old, dirty cotton scraps down my chest.

I glance away and push the words out. “Fine.”

“Yes.” She pumps a fist.

Ezekiel gives her an approving nod.

I shoot out of my chair and point a finger at her. “Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid. And if anyone starts getting aggressive, call the cops at once.”

“I will.” She meets my eyes and smiles like a ray of sunshine. It’s so disarming that I can’t even breathe.

With a spray of her thick, curly hair, Kenya turns and hurries out of the room.

The pressure in my chest only gets worse. I press a hand there. “Ezekiel!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call Bernard. Tell him to accompany Miss Jones to the location and follow her inside. I don’t want anyone laying a hand on her.”

“Yes, sir.”

I snap my jacket from the back of the chair and charge out of my office. “I want the marketing team at Belle’s Beauty gathered and spitting out solutions in the next five minutes. Anyone with a subpar idea is getting their last paycheck this month.”

He nods.

Twenty minutes later, I pace up and down the conference room. This is the second time the marketing team has gathered to taste my wrath in the space of a week.

I have even less patience today than I usually do. Kenya’s at the store alone. It’s a decision I regret with each passing second. I should have sent a bigger security detail. If the crowd is extremely rowdy, Bernard won’t be able to handle it alone.

My eyes dart to my watch.

Twenty-five minutes have passed.

I motion for Ezekiel.

He charges over. “I haven’t gotten any word from Miss Jones yet.”

“Have you called her?”

“The line rings, but it doesn’t pick up.”

“What about Bernard?”

Ezekiel shakes his head.

I curse. Kenya’s been at the store for too long without word. Sitting here worrying about her is driving me insane.

Ezekiel’s eyes search mine. “What do you want to do?”

“Call a cab. I’m heading over there myself.”

He nods.

I turn to the marketing team. “Finalize the plan and get the samples from the production team. I want everyone at the Yazmite location in an hour. Understand?”

They nod in fright.

My feet slam against the tiles as I stalk out of Belle’s Beauty. The taxi takes too long to arrive. I try calling Kenya again, but she still isn’t picking up.

Expletives froth on the tip of my tongue. I want to let them loose, but I’m too worried to open my mouth. Why isn’t this woman answering her phone? Is she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

Finally, the cab rolls to a stop in front of me. I haul the door open and climb in. Ezekiel takes the front seat.

I keep calling Kenya’s number until we arrive at the shopping center. The moment the vehicle slows in the parking lot, I barrel out of my seat and rush into the building.

Ezekiel will take care of the cab fare. The only worry in my mind is Kenya and why she’s not answering the blasted phone.

I sprint to the escalator, run up the stairs and dart past people who don’t know well enough to get out of my way.

When I near Belle’s Beauty, I hear music blasting. A familiar song grates my ears. “Baaabee! Baabee! Baabbee! No! I love youuuu! Don’t gooo!”

I recognize the tune as the one Kenya was singing the night she organized the Belle’s Beauty files. A crowd of customers are pressing into the store, excited smiles on their faces.

What the…?

I inch closer. The music is, surprisingly, quieter inside the store than it was in the mall. Closer. Closer. I’m a head and shoulders taller than the clientele, so I can see through the room. I search desperately for Kenya.

My eyes lock on her in record time. She’s smiling and handing a small piece of paper to a customer. Her eyes crinkle to slits and her cheeks bunch up as she accepts the woman’s hug.

I stop in my tracks, trying to make sense of what’s going on. In my horrific imagination, I saw Kenya getting trampled beneath an angry mob. I saw her dark hand reaching up, begging for someone to save her.

“Are you guys having a good time?” she yells at the crowd, bouncing to her favorite song.

An answering ‘whoo!’ goes up from the customers.

“Sir?”

I glance to the side and notice Ezekiel standing next to me. His eyes are as wide as dinner plates and take up most of his wrinkled face. He glances around the room in awe.

Sales clerks weave through the crowd, handing out tags and asking customers to line up in order. The managers are huffing and puffing, darting between the counter and the stand where Kenya is jotting things down in a laptop.

Bernard’s eyes sweep to mine and he waves.

I lift my fingers, motioning him to me.

He excuses himself from the customer he was speaking to and joins us.

“Mr. Alistair!” he yells to be heard over the music.

“What’s going on?” I yell back.

“Miss Jones is having a promotion pre-order party!” He explodes with pride. “Amazing, right?”

Ezekiel and I exchange a stunned look.

Bernard doesn’t seem bothered. He rocks his head to the beat. It’s my first time seeing my professional driver in such a cheerful mood.

Flabbergasted, I lean closer to him. “What do you mean a promotion pre-order party?”

He extends an arm. “If you look back there behind the counter—” I scowl in the direction he points and notice a clerk with her head huddled close to a monitor—“she’s looking at the security feed to identify which customers arrived first.” Bernard motions to the employees darting in and out of the crowd. “They’re handing out numbered tickets so customers can approach Miss Jones in order.”

“Approach her for what?”

“For the promotion pre-order.” Because he’s shouting, his didn’t you get me the first time tone is emphasized.

“Should we move closer, sir?” Ezekiel asks.

I nod and follow him to the podium where Kenya is meeting customers one-by-one.

“Next?” Kenya beckons a woman forward, those twinkling eyes exuding so much warmth. Her exuberance is dynamic. Her passion. Her genuine care. It’s almost blinding to watch.

The comments from the workshop suddenly make sense. Kenya is the definition of a ‘sunny disposition’. Charisma shoots out of her like gamma rays.

“What’s your name?” She leans in close to hear and hangs on the customer’s every word. “How long have you been using Belle’s Beauty products?” Again, she stops and listens with her entire body. “Whoa. I can tell! You look so good!”

The customer flushes. She’s an older woman with greying hair and giant window glasses. Her smile transforms her face and I can tell she appreciates Kenya’s compliments.

“Thank you so much for participating in the pre-order promotion. You’ll receive a special e-mail to let you know when your sample package is ready. It’ll be an exclusive goodie bag just for coming out today.”

“I’m so excited,” the woman gushes.

Kenya gives her another heart-stopping smile.

At that moment, her eyes lift and meet mine. They glitter in welcome. I feel that odd, tightening sensation return. It rearranges my chest and leaves a Kenya-sized hole in my ribs.

Motioning to one of the managers, Kenya waits for the other woman to take her place and then approaches me.

Her skin is glowing and her smile makes her black eyes dance. Her shirt reminds me of a swan. Long elegant neck. White ruffles. She’s moving poetry.

I can’t breathe.

“Hey, you’re here.” Her eyes slide behind me. “And so is the marketing team.”

I turn and notice the Belle’s Beauty officials looking just as stunned as I did when I first saw the room. They all glance at me, a big question mark in their eyes.

Grabbing Kenya’s hand, I haul her away from the noisy store and into the back room. She follows me, stumbling over her feet and shooting me curious looks.

I stop when we’re alone. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you asking that?” Twin wrinkles form between her eyebrows.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” I bite out. “I thought something happened.”

“I was busy trying to corral everyone into a semblance of order. Then I had to share my plan with the managers and staff. My phone is…” She glances around. “Somewhere. I left it with my purse.”

“You’re not hurt, right?”

“No.” She looks at me suspiciously.

I exhale, glad to hear that she wasn’t harmed trying to get the crowd to calm down.

“Okay…” Uneasily, she edges past me. “I’m not sure why we’re having this conversation when it’s so busy, but I should get back.”

I let her leave.

Once I’m alone, I rub my forehead and try to wrestle my worries back into a corner. Kenya’s fine. I saw for myself. She has this well under control. So why do I not want to leave?

Ezekiel finds me in the room. “There you are.” He turns his phone and shows me. “Baby Box agreed to share Claire’s story without mentioning Belle. They’re sending the contracts over for us to sign too.”

“Really?”

He nods, biting back a smile.

I wilt against the wall and let out a stunned breath. “I thought they’d play hardball. Walsh has no love for me.”

“You of all people should know how important it is to separate business from personal matters. Whatever issues Walsh has with you, he knows Belle’s Beauty is a good company and Kenya’s idea was a good one too.”

“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” Through the crack in the door, I notice Kenya reclaiming her spot on the podium and greeting customers like they’re her long-lost friends.

“I think she’s one of the best things that ever happened to the company,” Ezekiel says.

I’d take it further.

I think Kenya Jones is one of the best things that ever happened to me.