Grumpy Romance : A Romantic Comedy (Billionaire Dads)

HOLLAND

Belle’s Beauty is running like a well-oiled machine, and all matters regarding the skin care company are sorted by priority so nothing falls through the cracks.

Every email, inquiry or complaint sent to Miss Jones’s inbox is returned with a hint of sass and a whole load of solutions. Even when I test her mettle, shooting off email after email in succession like a soldier in a firing squad, she doesn’t cower.

I’m even looking forward to her reports. She just can’t outrun her Lit major roots. Her word choices are literary, and I enjoy every sentence.

Hell, I even enjoy her sarcasm now. Barbed comments sound—to my ears—like the punchlines of a joke.

Sure, it’s a joke at my expense but it’s no less entertaining.

It helps that the venomous words are shooting out of a perfect mouth. A body made for pleasure straining beneath long maxi dresses, heavy business jackets, bee-stung lips that demand my attention, curves too dangerous for consumption, and—of course—those riveting onyx eyes.

They’ve been starring in my dreams every night. Always bursting in right before I leave the hotel room. Right when the pain usually hits me the hardest.

I wake up torn between guilt and loss. Drowning in my own self-loathing and a building desire that coats my skin in sweat.

I’m losing it.

And it’s her fault.

In a handful of weeks, Kenya Jones blasted into my world and left her imprint on everything.

I don’t know what’s going on with her family but, from the little snippet I heard in the hallway, she’s been through struggles of her own. Despite her personal issues, she’s been extremely reliable at work with no hint of slowing down.

I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

And the fact that I even give a damn about her mental health and not just her work productivity is a bad sign.

Struggling to focus, I toggle to my email. Ezekiel normally filters my inbox. I don’t have the patience to wade through advertising pitches, scammers, new client inquiries, and reporters pushing for interviews that I never accept.

To my surprise, I notice a new message from Miss Jones. There’s no denying the way my heart starts beating faster.

I lean forward eagerly. It’s my first time receiving an unprompted message from her. Our usual interactions are limited to me asking her to do time-consuming things and her responding with the most polite form of ‘screw you’ she can muster.

To: Holland Alistair

From: Kenya Jones

Subject: Your Gesture Is Not A Thank You

————-

Mr. Alistair,

The office is lovely and a surprisingly thoughtful upgrade that, I’m guessing, you had to be convinced to offer. However, that is no substitute for two words of acknowledgement and you know it.

Perhaps I’m stepping out of bounds and, if I am, you have the documentation to prove it. I’m taking the chance because you seem to be in a giving mood and I’m the kind of woman who likes to push my luck. Life is boring otherwise.

On a separate note, what are the terms of this space? Am I allowed to change it up? Using my own resources of course? My friend Sunny is an interior designer and she would love to add a Fine Industries office to her portfolio.

Kindly let me know if that’s agreeable to you. I look forward to your response.

Kenya Jones

Belle’s Beauty Sales Manager

I shake my head, laughing at her boldness. So an office all to herself and a pay raise isn’t enough for her? She’s risking her job just to scold me for not saying ‘thanks’?

I don’t know whether I should admire her or lecture her.

“What’s so funny?”

“Gah!” My head whips up from the computer.

Ezekiel stares at me, his face blank and his eyes boring into mine.

I clear my throat and fiddle with a pen on my desk. “You normally knock.”

“I did knock. Several times. I even called out to you. You didn’t seem to hear me.”

“Oh.”

He glances at my computer.

I click off from Kenya’s email. “What’s the matter?”

“I came to report that Miss Jones is settled into her office.”

“Thanks.”

He watches me. “You’re distracted today.”

I am. And that has everything to do with the woman in the office down the hall.

“Did something good happen?” He gestures to the computer.

“I got an email.”

He purses his lips. “You smiled because of an email? From whom?”

“No one,” I snap.

“It must be Miss Jones then. Since you’re so defensive.”

Damn him for already knowing the answer.

“Skip to the part where you tell me what you really want to say, Ezekiel. I have a conference call soon.”

He nods, his lips in a straight line. “What are your intentions toward Miss Jones?”

I stiffen. The grin slides off my face.

Well, hell.

Ezekiel keeps going to bat for Kenya despite all the barking and growling I’ve done to get him to back off.

“You know better than I how much she’s accomplished in her short time here. This company can’t afford to lose her.”

“Has she expressed dissatisfaction with the workload?”

“Alistair,” Ezekiel’s eyes flash, “you pay me to keep your life in order and I have been doing that gladly for many years.”

I nod. It’s why he gets away with sharing his opinion so much.

He looks me up and down. “Be careful. That’s all I want to say.”

He’s lying. That is not all Ezekiel wants to say, but he’s always been a man who chooses his battles. He’s offering a warning. Friendly or not.

I bristle, something inside me rebelling at the caution. “Miss Jones is a stellar employee. That’s undeniable. And you were the one who reminded me that she hadn’t gotten her dues. This is all according to the books.”

He lifts his chin. His frown says he doesn’t believe me.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’m well aware of what she’s doing for Belle’s Beauty.” I lean over the desk. This company is personal. It’s for Belle. Ezekiel knows that. “I’m not going to jeopardize our vision for anything.”

He studies me for a long moment and then dips his head.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

I motion to the door.

Ezekiel walks out, closing the door behind him. His warning rings in the room long after he disappears.

Bathroom breaks are a must when you consume as much caffeine as I do. Later that day, I’m walking back from the john when I hear Kenya’s name whispered in conversation.

“It’s so unfair. Alistair gives her an office and she’s been here what? A couple weeks? How do you jump from a second assistant to a manager?”

“It’s shady,” someone responds.

“Disgusting.”

“I knew she was that kind of woman from the first day. Do you see those dresses she always wears?”

“Super tight. She’s showing everything off.”

My steps slow and heated annoyance burns through my veins. A bunch of twittering jealous peasants.

Kenya’s dresses have been perfectly modest and always within the scope of appropriate business wear. Her generous curves push the boundaries, but it’s not her fault her body is so damn desirable.

“Wasn’t she just a store clerk before?”

“People like her make me so ashamed to be a woman. Using her body to climb up the food chain while the rest of us have to work hard.”

“Don’t feel bad. Some of us have morals. She’ll get what’s coming to her.”

Footsteps alert me to someone’s approach. I glance up and notice Kenya walking toward the kitchen.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Mr. Ali—”

Loud laughter pours from behind me. The gossipers are leaving the break room, still whispering about Kenya.

For a split second, I consider grabbing her hand and hiding in a storage closet. I consider covering her ears and waiting until the bullets fly past, shielding myself over her so they don’t hit her skin.

Instead, I hold my ground. Why should she run? Why should she be ashamed for beating the others with her skill and competence?

I fold my arms over my chest and remain right in the middle of the hallway.

The women emerge into the corridor. They go silent and I know they’ve spotted me and Kenya in the hallway.

“Miss Jones,” I let my voice boom, “are you aware that the Yazmite location saw their biggest sales spike in five years?”

“Uh…” She gives me a curious look.

“The customers who attended the pre-order promotion told their friends and family. We saw a surge in product sales and online traffic. The momentum doesn’t seem to be slowing down.”

“I know. I sent you the report, remember?”

“How did you come up with that idea?”

“Panic and a prayer.” She tilts her head. “Why are you asking?”

Turning slowly, I nod at the women. “Ladies.”

“Mr. Alistair, were you about to get coffee?” A woman wearing a polka-dot dress nervously licks her lips. “I can make it for you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Me?” She points at her chest.

I nod.

“Heather.” She doesn’t seem offended that I don’t know her name. Instead, she looks excited. “I work in the admin department.”

“Heather.” I step slowly toward her. My voice drops to a threatening whisper. “Here at Fine Industries, we value results over everything.” I stop, my eyes cold. “Almost everything. But see, no matter how much money someone makes for the company, it can’t hide the stench of bad character. People like that don’t usually stick around for long.”

Her eyelashes flutter. “S-sir?”

“It seems you all have too much time on your hands.” I step back. A frosty grin flickers over my face as I glance at each of the women. “I’ll be sure to let your supervisor know that he’s being too easy on you.”

They cringe in fear.

I jut my chin at the hallway, and Heather scampers off so fast a plume of smoke trails behind her. The gossiping friends follow suit.

“What was that?” Kenya waves an arm at the disappearing ladies. “Are you so bored you’re randomly picking on people now?”

She’s the only one who’d dare to talk to me that way and be so unapologetic about it.

With a grunt, I walk past her.

She stalks behind me. “Did you get my email?”

“I received it.”

“And?”

I stop and face her. “And what?”

“What’s your response?”

“The office is yours. Your friend can do what she likes. As long as it’s done during the weekend when no one’s work is disturbed.”

She smiles wide. There’s a small dimple in her chin that I’ve never noticed before. Unfortunately, now that it’s on my radar, I’m probably going to dream about it tonight.

I swallow an annoyed grunt.

“Get back to work, Miss Jones.”

“Wait.” She stubbornly follows me. “What about the other thing?”

“What about it?” I arch an eyebrow.

She folds her arms over her chest. “Are you allergic to offering gratitude?”

“Let me refresh your memory in case you’ve forgotten.” I point to my chest. “I am your boss.” I nod to her. “You are my employee. I say thank you by paying your salary every month. Understood?”

Her lips press tightly together. She’s absolutely gorgeous when she’s angry. It makes my blood boil beneath my skin. It makes my pants tighten with yearning.

“For someone who prides themselves on being fair, you sure pick and choose who you’re nice to.”

“Excuse me?”

“Felice.” She narrows her eyes. “I didn’t know you could be charming, Alistair. What was that nice-guy routine?”

I smirk. It’s a backhanded compliment, but it’s the closest thing to flattery.

“She really does remind me of someone I know. Someone from Make It Marriage.”

“Whatever.” She lifts a hand. “Forget I said anything.”

As Kenya storms away, I yell at her back. “Did you go to the brunch?”

She stops short.

I slip a hand in my pocket and walk in front of her. The question is inappropriate for work. It’s inappropriate period. Her private life has nothing to do with me and stepping into that territory is opening doors I need to keep shut.

But it’s been gnawing at my mind since I took her home. Felice seemed like a nice enough person. I don’t get why she’d push Kenya to support a wedding, a break-up, that obviously still hurts very much.

Her eyes dart to the ground. “No.”

“And the wedding?”

“Why do you care?” Her chin lifts. Her eyes collide with mine. “Do you pity me because my family’s so messed up? Is my pain entertaining to you?”

She must truly believe I’m a monster.

Annoyed for reasons I don’t want to dig into, I clench my jaw. “Think what you will.”

She pulls her lips into her mouth. Her nostrils flare.

Then, in a blink, the harsh expression putters out of her eyes. She looks… exhausted. And I don’t know if it’s the pressure from work or her personal life that’s dragging her down but, suddenly, I want to make all her problems go away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, moving close to her.

She lets out a long sigh that seems to go on forever. “Nothing. I’m fine. Everything’s great.” When she glances up, her eyes betray her anguish. “If you don’t need anything else, Mr. Alistair—”

“I don’t.” I do. I want her in my arms. I want her cradled in my lap. I want my hands framing her face as I kiss her until she spills all the secrets, the spikes, the wounds that she won’t let anyone see.

But that’s ridiculous.

As Miss Jones trots away from me, I feel stripped bare. Cut to the quick. I told Ezekiel I wouldn’t jeopardize my vision for Belle’s Beauty, but Kenya is making it harder and harder to stay focused on my goal.

I’m not in the mood to attend the dinner, but I already promised and everyone is expecting me. Since I’ll be out late, I take off from work early to spend the evening with Belle.

Alright, maybe a part of the reason I leave work is so I don’t run into Kenya. She keeps tugging on my heart when I thought that thing had stopped beating long ago.

A smart man knows when to retreat and, right now, I need to sort myself out before I do something stupid.

Like drag my fingers over her soft brown skin and plant my mouth on hers.

It’s a sexual assault case in the making.

And I’m not that kind of man.

“Daddy, I’m not ready to go to sleep,” Belle whines, dragging my thoughts away from Kenya.

I run my hand over her hair. “Daddy wants to tuck you in, princess. Can he? Please?”

Belle scrunches her nose.

I laugh. “Okay. How about I read two bedtime stories?”

“Three.” She lifts stubby fingers.

My daughter is a natural negotiator. I’m proud. “Deal.”

After the stories, Belle’s eyelashes get heavy. I press a kiss to her chubby cheeks, my heart stirring.

She’s my entire world. I can’t wait for the Fine Industries licensing agreement to go through. Now that I’ve found someone as capable as Kenya to help me with Belle’s Beauty, I can finally cut back on those suicidal hours and spend more time with my daughter.

“Daddy,” Belle mumbles, half-asleep.

“Yes, princess?”

“When is mommy coming back?”

My heart seizes in my chest. I look down at her in fear. “She’s not coming back, Belle.”

Her breathing turns heavier.

Silence falls around us while I wrestle with my guilt.

“Daddy,” Belle slurs.

“Yes?”

“When will I get a new mommy?”

My jaw drops.

I stare at my daughter as she falls into a deep sleep, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.

A new mommy?

I stumble out of her dark room, leaving the door ajar.

Mrs. Hansley is in the kitchen. She’s drying the dinner plates and wiping down the counters. My face pale, I sink into one of the bar stools.

She frowns at me. “Alistair, you don’t look too good.”

“Belle just asked about her mother.”

“What did she want to know?”

“When Claire was coming back. I-I told her she wasn’t.”

“Is she okay?” Mrs. Hansley winces.

“Yeah, she was…” I let out a stunned breath. “She kind of accepted it.”

“Kids are like that sometimes. She doesn’t fully grasp the concept of death.”

Hell, I’m an adult and I still struggle with that painful reality.

“Is that all?”

I blink once. Twice.

Mrs. Hansley grabs a cloth and dries her hands with it, watching me carefully.

“Belle asked about getting a new mommy.”

“Oh.” The cloth drops out of Mrs. Hansley’s grip. She chuckles and bends down to pick it up. “That’s the last thing I expected.”

I hop out of the chair, kneel and pick up the cloth for her.

Mrs. Hansley rinses it out at the sink. “Is there any chance that can happen?”

My brain instantly conjures Kenya’s face.

I shake my head. “I’m not dating anyone right now.”

“But that won’t be true forever.” She rounds the counter and squeezes my shoulder. “I know you carry your regrets about what happened with Claire, but it’s been four years, Alistair. You can’t keep blaming yourself—”

“Yes, I can. I made a decision and Claire lost her life for it.”

Mrs. Hansley looks stricken. “How much longer are you going to punish yourself?”

I glance at the floor. “I should go. The gathering must have started by now. Everyone is waiting for me.”

“Alistair.”

I stop halfway to the door.

“You were married to Claire, but I watched her grow up. In some ways I know her better than you.” Her voice gets quiet. “She wouldn’t like this. She wouldn’t want the people she loved to suffer.”

No one knows that for sure because Claire isn’t here to defend herself.

She’s gone.

And I’m the one who killed her.

Clenching my jaw, I step out of the house and catch my breath in the elevator. My mind is brimming with chaos. Guilt. There’s so much guilt.

I feel like I’m about to claw my skin off. Hands shaking, I call Darrel before I drive myself insane.

He answers on the first ring. “Alistair.”

“You’re right. I do feel something for Miss Jones.”

He’s quiet. I imagine him staring intently into the distance, his brows tightening and his lips going flat.

“I know it’s wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?” Darrel shoots back. “You’re not married anymore.”

“Claire is dead.” I flinch.

“Exactly. My sister is gone, Alistair. It wasn’t your fault.”

Everyone keeps telling me that like they know Claire better than I do.

“Tell me how to stop thinking about her.”

“Claire?”

“Kenya.”

Darrel sighs. “I can’t do that.”

Frustration boils in me. I stalk off the elevator. “You’re a therapist. Hypnotize me. Induce amnesia. Do something.”

“That’s not how the brain works, Alistair. And you know it. Stop grasping at straws to hide from what you really want.”

It’s a cool night. Stars are beginning to shine through the cloudless sky. The car is in the parking lot.

I slow my steps. “I don’t deserve to move on.”

“If you could let go of Miss Jones, you would have done it by now. Instead, you’re just falling deeper.” His voice drops to a low, thoughtful hum. “Don’t you notice that whenever you’re around her, your guilt goes away?”

I pull my lips in. “It’s not that my guilt goes away. It’s that it changes into a different kind.”

“Guilt for feeling happy when Claire is gone?”

“Yes.”

“That guilt is holding you back from love, Alistair. If you really love her, the minute you hand your heart over to her, you gotta let the guilt go. You can’t maintain both love and guilt at the same time or it’ll chew you up.”

I release a shuddering breath.

“Once you give your love to Kenya, you’ll sever the tie that has you tethered to your wife.”

“I can’t.”

“Then can you forget Kenya?”

I clamp my lips shut. Bernard is out of the car now, looking expectantly at me.

“Not wanting to let go of Claire is why you keep having those dreams. The minute you let go of that, your nightmares will slowly go away. Your heart wants to heal, Alistair. Your brain is letting you know. It’s up to you if you’ll let it.”

Gritting my teeth, I end the call abruptly.

“Mr. Alistair?” Bernard asks, giving me a concerned glance.

“Let’s go.”

The night is weighing heavily on me. The last thing I want to do is socialize, but I don’t make a habit of breaking my promises.

Bernard remains quiet on the drive. I see him slanting worried glances through the rearview mirror. I must look horrible if he’s so obviously apprehensive.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask questions.

Bernard pulls the truck in front of the restaurant.

I glance at him. “Would you like to come inside?”

“No need. My wife is at home with dinner.” He chuckles and ducks his head. “No offense, but it’ll probably be nicer than anything in there.”

A small smile leaks through.

“I’ll be here the moment you call though. Shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes in traffic.”

“Don’t worry about me, Bernard. Spend the night with your wife. I’ll get back home on my own.”

“Mr. Alistair…”

“It’s fine.” I wave him away, feeling weary. “You never know how long you have with her. You should treasure the time you can spend together.”

His eyes widen. The worry is practically skittering off his skin.

I know I sound sentimental, but it’s that kind of night. And hell, if I can’t feel a little out of sorts on the day my baby asks me to get her a new mommy, then I don’t know when the right time will come.

He swallows hard. “You can call me if you need anything. I’ll have my phone on standby.”

“I won’t call.” I shoo him away. “Go.”

He lingers.

“Goodnight, Bernard.” Climbing up the steps of the building, I give him a backward wave.

My attention swerves to the restaurant. I let the Belle’s Beauty team choose the place since it is, technically, their win. However, the Fine Industries team was invited as well. With my credit card open and submitted before them, I thought they’d pick somewhere a little… ritzier.

The main room of the steakhouse looks like it’s stuck in another century. Nothing like the sleek, modern bars that seem to be on trend. Large orange lights hang from the ceiling, illuminating thick wooden tables and vinyl booths.

There’s a dance floor to the left and a long bar to the right. People are already populating both—some dancing in the darkness while others hunker over the counter, nursing their sorrows in booze. Everyone else is packed in the main room, filling the booths.

Ezekiel finds me immediately. He looks haggard. Like me, he prefers to wade through towers of files than socialize.

“You’re here. Finally.” He sighs. “I can’t keep up with these young bucks anymore.”

“You’re hardly old, Ezekiel.”

“I feel it in my joints when the weather gets too cold. I’d say I’m at that age.” He nods to a table. “Come sit over here.”

I’m stunned when I see Kenya sitting around the booth. I thought Ezekiel would try to keep me as far away from her as possible.

The others fall silent as I slip in beside Kenya. She’s wearing a little black dress that hugs her body like it was made for her curves. The hem sparkles with some kind of gemstone and the top cuts into a deep V.

Holy crap.

She’s a vision. My desire surges, roaring up with a thirst so uncontrollable that I have no idea how I’ll get through the night sitting so close to her.

“Alistair,” the head of my PR team sends me a sloppy smile, “you’re late.”

“And it looks like you’ve already opened the good wine.” I nod to the bottle.

He slants me a cheeky grin.

Another reason why I hate coming to these gatherings? My employees always end up making drunk, stupid mistakes when they’re too comfortable with me. I hear all their secret assassination plans when their tongues are loose. Apparently, many of my employees want me dead. Always an ego boost.

I sigh and drum my fingers on my leg.

It’s a festive mood around the table, but Miss Jones is the only one who’s scowling.

I scowl in reply. What’s your problem?

She rolls her eyes.

Great. I barely got here and I’ve already offended her.

“Have a drink, Mr. Alistair.” A beer appears in front of me.

I lift a hand. “No thanks.”

Groans break out from the table.

The PR director grins. “If you won’t drink, at least give a toast. Baby Box was a huge win for Belle’s Beauty.” He glances around mischievously and pumps his hands. “Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!”

The room catches on and the sentiment spreads like wildfire.

Ezekiel smirks at me.

He’s enjoying this.

The traitor.

It’s the only reason he attends these things. To see how extreme the teams will be when they find their liquid courage.

Kenya hops to her feet. “I’ll get another drink.”

My eyes follow her as she marches across the room. The black skirt flounces around her legs. Her curls are loose and free around her face.

It’s unfair how stunning she is.

I already see several eyes swerving to take her in. She’s not just the center of my vision. She’s the hottest woman in the room. It’ll be tough for any red-blooded male to ignore someone who looks as good as she does.

Just thinking about a drunk loser making a move on her makes me want to punch a hole through the table. What’s the possibility I can drag her away from this place when I leave in half an hour?

I catch Ezekiel staring at me.

Shoot.

I’m not ogling Miss Jones’s perfect backside.

He arches an eyebrow as if to say he doesn’t believe me.

I lurch to my feet to shift his attention. Get him to focus on something new. “Fine. I’ll say a few words.”

A roar goes up.

A drink gets tossed into my hand.

I grip it tightly. The cup is cold against my palm. “Belle’s Beauty has seen many changes through the years. Most of that is my fault.”

A chuckle rises.

‘Yeah, that’s right’ clamors across the room.

I slant a sharp look at the hecklers.

They fall silent.

“There were times when I considered if it would be better to close the doors because the person who started the vision is no longer here to see it through.”

A thoughtful hush sweeps through every table. Some of them were working at Belle’s Beauty when Claire was there. I can tell by their pinched faces and solemn expressions. She was a much nicer boss than me. I’m sure they have plenty of fond memories.

“It’s because of you,” I glance around the room, “that Belle’s Beauty kept limping forward. It’s because of your hard work, dedication, and persistence in the face of all the changes.”

Kenya turns away from the bar and watches me.

My heart climbs to my throat. I let out a deep breath. “Recently, we got a deal with Baby Box…”

Cheers break out.

“… But the PR team can tell you that it was a deal that nearly fell through.” Nervous chuckles meet my statement. I stare intently at Kenya. “If someone hadn’t stepped up and taken a risk, we probably wouldn’t have a cause to celebrate tonight.”

As one, the entire crowd turns and looks at Kenya too. She freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Her eyes are big, revealing two deep pools of dark chocolate. Her brown skin glistens and she licks her lips nervously.

“Miss Jones,” I lift my cup, “thank you.”

Ezekiel puts his hands together. Slowly, applause sweeps over the room, flowing like a roaring waterfall that rushes straight toward Kenya.

She blinks rapidly, her mouth open.

With a deep breath, I tip the beer back and drain the contents. Ezekiel lurches forward as if he’ll snatch the booze from me, but I slam it on the table. Empty. Then I turn to the PR director. “You guys enjoy tonight.”

“You’re leaving already?”

I don’t bother answering.

The music starts playing again and the festive mood returns. They’ll enjoy themselves more without me there anyway. I don’t see a reason to stay.

Ezekiel moves with me. “Alistair, should I call you a cab?”

“No, I’ll walk it off first. I don’t want to go home smelling like alcohol in case Belle wakes up.”

He looks at me the way Bernard did. Like he’s afraid I’m going to fling myself off the nearest cliff.

Damn.

When will the pitying end? They all act like I’m some broken thing that needs to be put back together. I’m not. I’m a man on penance. I’ve got to make up for my sins. And I can’t do that in peace if they keep trying to save me.

The restaurant doors open while Ezekiel and I are locked in our staredown. Kenya Jones storms into my line of sight just as she does in my dream.

Her eyes are two hot coals and her lips are pressed into a firm line. I want to push her away and pull her as close to me as I possibly can. It’s aggravating. Confusing.

My head feels like it’s splitting apart.

“Alistair,” she yells at me.

Breath heavy, I march away from her and Ezekiel. Kenya follows me, her heels clicking on the sidewalk.

“Go back inside, Miss Jones.”

“What kind of screwed up bull was that?” She flings the words like arrows. “You think I wanted a show in front of everyone? What the hell are you trying to prove?”

“You got your thank you.”

“I got a spectacle. I couldn’t care less about being acknowledged in front of everyone.”

“You’re being picky after I gave you exactly what you wanted. Now who’s being unreasonable?”

“You’re the unreasonable one.” She narrows her eyes to slits. “You provoke me and goad me and taunt me and then you turn around and sing my freaking praises in front of the whole team? What gives?”

“In case you forgot,” I whirl around, my nostrils flaring, “you work for me. Alright?”

“In case you forgot,” she stuffs a finger in my chest, “you don’t own me. I don’t care how much money you fling my way, I will not give up control to anyone. Especially not you.”

Oh, it would be so sweet to show her she’s wrong. I imagine peeling that dress off her skin and letting my fingers slide up her thighs until—

I bristle, stopping those thoughts before they run away with my good sense. “Miss Jones, I’ve allowed you to speak your mind because you do great work, but do not push it. Now I suggest you take yourself back inside and enjoy the rest of your night far away from me.”

“Or what?”

I blow out a soft breath. “Or you can follow me, and we might end up doing something we’ll both regret.”

“Something like what?” She tilts her chin up in challenge.

I stare at her, my chest expanding. She’s freaking irresistible. Her dress, her heat, her scent—it’s all burning my restraint to a crisp. I can’t think with her looking at me like that.

I offer her a tight, warning smile. “Come with me and find out.”

The night is cool. The wind blows against my hot skin. Trees hunker close to the sidewalk, offering shade even though the sun is long gone.

For a second, it’s only my steps on the sidewalk.

And then I hear Kenya’s heels clicking behind me.

My lips arch up in a smile.

When life is as sickeningly complicated as mine is, grinning about my little fantasy following me into the dark is the last thing I should do.

But I can’t help it.

Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest in the dark, and I have a feeling I’ll find out just how sweet it is tonight.