Grumpy Romance : A Romantic Comedy (Billionaire Dads)

HOLLAND

Ezekiel slams the coffee mug next to my files and looks down with a disapproving frown. His chin firm, he hovers around the desk, not saying anything.

My fingers slow on the keyboard. “Your eyes are boring into my skull.”

“My apologies.”

“Spit it out.”

“Are you sleeping well?” He clasps his hands behind his back and stares through the window like he’s contemplating the wonders of life.

The view outside is gorgeous. It’s a balmy day. The sky is a limitless blue. The sun is bright. The clouds are wispy.

It’s nice.

But it’s not worth that much scrutiny.

“Why are you asking?”

“Your brother-in-law called.”

Damn. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“He’s insisting.”

I’m not surprised. Darrel is Claire’s older brother and, just like she did, he believes it is his personal responsibility to fix all that’s broken inside me.

“You can’t keep avoiding him.”

“I’ll try as hard as I can.”

Ezekiel sighs.

I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t.

Dropping my pen on the table, I massage my wrist. “What?”

He grunts. “Nothing.”

“It’s clear something’s on your mind. Get it out so I can focus.”

He frowns at me. “On her first day, you assigned our worst-performing store. Was that a tactical decision?”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s referring to Kenya Jones.

“You have a problem with that?”

“No.” He spits out the word like he just sucked on a lemon slice. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re thinking.”

“She tripled sales at the Darwin location with nothing but her charisma and wit. I hired her to invigorate our sales quota. She has more tools at her disposal now. It’s not a reach.”

“That’s bull. You’re throwing her off the deep end.”

“It’s a strategy.”

“Effective.” He scoffs.

“You’re not usually this sarcastic.”

“I’m still unsure of your intentions.”

“You doubt me?”

“Not to your face.”

My eyes narrow. Kenya Jones is rubbing off on the old man. Now Ezekiel is starting to make smart comments too.

“Do you want her to prove herself or do you want her to fail?”

My fingers drum the table. Unlike other employees, Ezekiel doesn’t flinch in the face of my ire. He’s grown numb to my growling, but there are times I wish it was more effective. Like right now.

“She thinks you’re punishing her.”

“When has it ever mattered what an employee thinks about my conduct?” I grumble.

“You’re the one who hired her despite the fact that she has no formal training or experience. Expecting her to outperform the professional management companies on her first try is—”

“I have high expectations of everyone. No matter who they are.”

“A more official orientation would have been helpful. Half the workers in this building don’t know what she’s doing here.”

I return my attention to my laptop. I can’t believe he interrupted me for a topic like this. “Should I have gathered the welcoming committee and thrown a party?”

“Of course not. If we threw welcoming parties every time you changed your staff, we’d go bankrupt.”

“That was then. I’m more involved in the details now.”

“Exactly why I feel I must speak up. You’re harder on her than you were on the professionals.”

I glare at him. “Are you intentionally trying to get on my nerves or is there a point to this?”

“It’s her second day.”

“I’m aware.” He has no idea how much. I’m in-tune to everything about Miss Jones. My traitorous brain has decided there is something about her that I must have. I can’t seem to get her out of my head, which is unendingly irritating.

She’s stubborn. Aggressive. Beautiful.

Her dramatic entrance in my dreams is already a concern.

I’ve never had a change in my recurring nightmare. It’s always the same. Claire smiling. Me walking out the door. Blood on my hands.

My own personal hell.

Yet, last night, Kenya barged into my subconscious mind just like she barges into everything.

Because of her, I fell to a new low.

For the first time in my adult life, I stalked someone.

It turns out Miss Jones is very open about her private life. Her social media accounts are public and she has a plethora of photos showing her and her boyfriend.

The moment I saw the shots of him, I wanted to smash something.

Even now, I’m still annoyed.

She’s taken.

Damn it.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her at all, but now I know I can’t let her get to me. She belongs to someone else, and I don’t believe in breaking up relationships to get what I want. Even a brute like me has lines he won’t cross.

I grit my teeth and twirl my pen around my fingertips. I thought I was making progress, but Ezekiel’s concerns have exposed the truth. Despite my best intentions, Miss Jones is still in my head.

This is a problem.

She is a problem.

I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth the hassle of keeping her around. “What are you really asking?”

“I need to know if I should begin looking for another management company.”

“You think she’s that weak?”

“I think the odds are stacked against her.”

Keeping my expression contained so Ezekiel won’t catch wind of my turbulent thoughts, I slip my glasses off my nose and set them aside. “You’re right. I ignored her lack of credentials when I handed her this position. That means Miss Jones has more to prove than any other employee. I’ve given her a big job, but the real task of managing all of Belle’s Beauty stores is a much larger one. I need to test her now before we waste time on someone who can’t handle the pressure.”

“Is that all?” His eyes fasten on me. “You’re just preparing her for a bigger job?”

My gaze moves away from his.

“She’s naive but goodhearted. I don’t want to see her spirit broken.”

I frown. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Ezekiel.”

“And you’re getting colder.” He picks up a stack of binders from the table and starts to leave.

I call him back. “I’m not expecting Miss Jones to return until late this evening, but let me know when she arrives.”

He nods and leaves.

Opening a spreadsheet in the Belle’s Beauty files, I glance over the numbers and frown when I notice the records only go back to the last two years.

My fault.

The management company I hired functioned independently for too long. I didn’t even read their reports. It was easier to block them out while I adjusted to life without Claire. In those first few months, I couldn’t even look at the Belle’s Beauty logo, much less steer the company.

My lack of involvement shows. Claire’s company is failing and that is on my head. I will do everything to bring it back to the glory she envisioned.

Starting with the details.

I need those files. We can get a better picture of profit trends if we have all the information, and I want to make sure we’re not repeating tactics that have failed.

I’m about to forward the spreadsheet, along with my concerns, to Ezekiel when he knocks on the door.

My eyebrows hike. “Yes?”

“Miss Jones is back, sir.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, sir.”

I wrap my fingers around the coffee mug and take a sip. It’s still hot. It hasn’t been that long since Ezekiel brought it to me and it hasn’t been that long since Miss Jones left for the meeting at the Yazmite location.

What could she have accomplished in so little time?

I lean back and stare at the artwork on my wall. It’s of a ship crashing into a giant wave. Weary and stalwart, it forges ahead despite the storm. I would hope it’s synonymous with my journey.

“Do you want me to call her in?”

I shake my head.

A small chirp fills the room. It’s my email alerting me to a new message.

To: Holland Alistair

From: Kenya Jones

Subject: Yazmite Project Update

——

Mr. Alistair,

First, I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity to jump right into work. Your decision to assign me the most difficult store reveals your thoughts about me. Please be assured. I’m happy to rise to the challenge.

A smile climbs on my face as I read. Each word is polite and yet I can hear her tone in my head, slathering every sentence in sarcasm and a sly, underlining defiance. Even her use of superlatives reeks of attitude.

Second, kindly review the report I attached for your consideration. The initiative is underway and the managers will be sending a summary every three days for me to review. When I receive that information, I will organize it and forward it to you.

Interesting strategy. Engaging the managers is a tactic I would have used myself.

As you requested, I’ve also attached a spreadsheet with our growth projections. I leaned heavily on the calculations made by the previous management, but I increased the margins because I like a challenge.

I laugh out loud.

I’ve also requested a budget for the cost of in-store promotions and sample bottles. In the coming weeks, we will be organizing an event for the store.

If you have any concerns, please hesitate to contact me.

Regards,

Kenya Jones

Belle’s Beauty Team

I read and reread the last line of her email again. Every other word in the message was carefully chosen.

Please hesitate to call me?

It could be a mistake, but why do I get the feeling that it was intentionally left there?

Intrigued, I click on the report that’s attached and read through it. It’s far more literary and engaging than I expected. I can see Kenya Jones’s Lit degree poking its head out of her prose.

My cheeks hurt from smiling. I have to stop to gather my thoughts before continuing to read.

Rather than a staid and to-the-point summary, her language is colorful. I find myself racing through the report like a story, and then I realize I don’t remember any of the pertinent information.

Rubbing my face to rid it of the grin, I pick up my phone and call Ezekiel. “Send Miss Jones to my office.”

Two minutes later, Miss Jones knocks on my door. Sunshine follows her in. In fact, she’s wrapped in it. The mustard jacket is exquisite on her dark brown skin. Dazzling.

Her hair is pulled back, much like it was the day she beat my fern to death. The only difference is that, today, she has a thick ponytail with tight curls falling to her collar.

Her face is composed, but her eyes give her away. I can read them like JavaScript and I like that. It’s boring when everyone’s too careful around me.

She walks into the room with gumption. Her expressive brown eyes fall on me and stay there. A challenge.

I don’t meet her stare. I’m too busy gawking at her. Same as I did when I saw her earlier this morning.

She’s wearing a skirt that looks like it was painted on. The dark fabric hugs her legs and stretches as she walks, drawing the eye to her generous backside.

My chest rearranges as I imagine drawing a line down the seam of her skirt and teasing the skin beneath the fabric.

I pull my hands under the desk and form tight fists. These are not thoughts I should be having about my new assistant.

Especially this one.

The one in my dreams.

The one with a boyfriend.

I set my face into a severe scowl. I’m aware that I’m staring too hard at Kenya, but shifting this expression will give my thoughts away. And I can’t have my new employee sniffing out how much I want to touch her.

Her gaze peels away from mine as I frown harder. It’s a small capitulation, but it tilts control back in my corner. Where it belongs.

I shake my head. “Why aren’t you at the Yazmite location?”

“I’ve finished what I had to do with them.”

“In so short a time?” Disapproval rings in my voice.

“That store doesn’t need more than a couple hours to straighten out.”

Her confidence attacks my composure. My eyebrow jumps before I rearrange my expression into a blank slate.

She’s being cocky. The Yazmite location is like a bucket with a giant hole. Money drops into that store, never to be seen again.

The management companies I hired had a similar arrogance. Some months, their tactics seemed promising, but their sales would eventually decline. There is no way Kenya Jones could have solved those problems in a couple hours.

“Didn’t you read my report?” Her tone is scolding.

“I read it.” I fold my fingers together. “And that’s another problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your report was too…” I gesture with my hands. “Flowery.”

“Flowery?”

“Say what you need to say quickly. Without all the fancy language. You’re not writing a book report.”

Her brown lips pull in and I can tell she’s imagining my demise. Perhaps she’s thinking of bumping my chair into the window and having it crack, while I plummet to my death. Or maybe its something a little more personal? A pen to the throat.

I train my lips not to smile. Keeping my voice harsh, I lecture her. “It’s clear you’ve never written a proper report before, but you don’t get any points for how creative you can be. I don’t want to see anything like that nonsense again. Understood?”

Her lips disappear inside her mouth while her nostrils double in size.

I arch an eyebrow.

She delivers a tight, “Yes.”

“Good. Now regarding the store, whether you manage them from the office or on-site, I expect results. If anything goes wrong, I will hold you responsible.”

She jerks her chin down.

“The fact that you returned early is a failure in my eyes. A store in such a dire state needs micromanagement—”

“That’s where we disagree.”

I gesture for her to continue.

“It’s crippling to micromanage every store in the franchise. If you want a handicapped staff and a manager stretched thin, we can do that. But I believe we can work smarter rather than harder.”

I lean back in my chair and place my hands over my stomach. Her resolve is surprising. I find my admiration jumping a couple notches.

“You have store managers for a reason. Either you have competent people in those leadership positions or not. I’m giving them a chance to prove their competence or improve it if that’s the need.”

“Even so, you’re being hasty.” She starts to open her mouth and I lift a hand to stall her protest. “But I’ll wait for data to back up my suspicions before I make my conclusions.”

“How benevolent of you,” she mutters.

I hear it clearly, but I don’t address it. “Since you’re in need of something to do,” I slide the stack of files on my desk toward her, “I have another task.”

She stares at it. “What is that?”

“These are physical files related to Belle’s Beauty. Ezekiel will give you a key to the file room where you’ll find the rest of the documents.”

Her eyebrows sink together as she tries to figure out what I’m asking her to do.

I tap the stack of files. “Record-keeping was not a priority in the early days of Belle’s Beauty and that’s a problem that you are going to rectify.”

She stabs a dark finger at her chest. “Me?”

“The Belle’s Beauty files are a mess. There are loose sheets, receipts, reports, and other things I can’t remember. I want them all digitized by midnight…”

Her jaw drops. “Midnight? You just said there were years worth of files.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Oh.” She lets out a breath.

“By midnight next week Friday.”

Her eyes widen. “In ten days?”

“Do you have a problem?”

She sucks in a deep breath and shakes her head. “No.”

I wave her out.

She turns stiffly and marches to the door.

My eyes catch on my mug. Perhaps I’m a little wicked when I grab it and say, “Oh, before you leave,” I shake the cup, “I’d like some coffee.”

Flames shoot to life in her eyes, but she bites her tongue.

Sure, I may be pushing it too far. Not just with the coffee but with the deadline for her task. There’s no way she can get it done in time.

Then again, she just might surprise me. Humans break their own personal records when they’re pushed to the brink. Applying pressure can unearth a diamond.

If Kenya Jones has the guts she showed me that day at Belle’s Beauty HQ, then she’ll rise to the challenge.

Or she’ll break.

And I’ll be free of her distracting presence around the office.

She snaps the cup from me. In a sickly-sweet voice, she croons, “No problem, Mr. Alistair.”

When she’s gone, I call Ezekiel to take the files off my desk and move them to the storage room. He doesn’t say anything about my actions, but I know he’s displeased.

Too bad.

I’m having a great time.

Kenya returns to my office with a steaming cup of coffee on a tray.

“Here you go, Mr. Alistair,” she says, her eyes betraying how much she detests me.

I nod to the desk. “There.”

She sets it down lightly, tilts the cup so the handle is facing just so, and steps back. The forced smile remains on her face, but one glance at her fingers show them gripping the tray like she wants to break it over my head, karate style.

“Ezekiel will show you to the storage room now.”

“Okay.” She nods and moves backward.

When she’s gone, I pull the coffee to my nose and sniff. The scent is strong. Steam rises from the hot black liquid. I prefer my coffee sweetened until it’s a shell of its former self, but I feel no need to tell her that.

There’s no way I’m drinking this coffee.

Oddly satisfied, I dive into my work and only emerge when Ezekiel brings a tray from the canteen and forces me to eat a bite.

The day gets hotter and hotter as I swing between meetings for Fine Industries and Belle’s Beauty. Now that I’ve taken on the work of the management companies, there’s a lot to catch up on.

Hours later, I slide my hands through my hair and check the time. My eyes widen when I see the clock glaring at me. A glance at the window confirms the sun has gone down.

My eyes are bleary and I cover my mouth as a yawn pops my jaw. Stepping away from the desk to stretch my legs, I call Mrs. Hansley.

She picks up my video call and points the phone at Belle.

“Daddy!” Belle shrieks, waving green and red-stained fingers.

I smile. “Were you painting, Belle?”

“Mm-hm.” She bobs her head. “I paint for you!”

“I’m excited to see it. Can you show me?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah.” I grin broadly.

Mrs. Hansley rubs Belle’s hair. “Another late night, Alistair?”

“I don’t think I’ll be there in time to tuck her in.”

“I’ll take care of it.” She pulls Belle close and kisses her cheek. “What do you think, Belle? Should we make mac and cheese for dinner?”

My daughter grins from ear to ear. “Yeah!”

I laugh softly. Belle’s meals are catered everyday, but she’d eat five bowls of mac and cheese a week rather than indulge in her perfectly balanced meals.

“Daddy will be home late tonight,” I tell her, holding the phone away from me. “But I’ll come in and kiss you goodnight as soon as I get back.”

“Okay. Bye, daddy.”

“Bye.” My heart melts as I watch her wiggle her fingers.

It kills me that I can’t spend more time with her, but Claire wanted our daughter to have Belle’s Beauty as her birthright. My lack of attention has been squandering the legacy she wanted to leave behind.

This frenzy won’t last forever. For a short spurt, I’ll reroute all my energy into reviving the business. When I’m through, Belle will reap the benefits for generations to come.

Hoping to move my body around, I open the door and head outside. The office is quiet and the hallway is dark.

Most of my employees have gone home.

I knock on the edge of Ezekiel’s desk, smiling when he lifts his head and rubs his fists over his eyes.

“You can go home now.”

“I leave when you do.”

“I’m not leaving any time soon. I have to go over the latest data pull.”

My real job starts after hours. Since so much of my day is dedicated to Belle’s Beauty, I have to catch up on Fine Industries at night.

Ezekiel gives me a concerned look. “Managing the two companies is stretching you thin. When will you have time to sleep if you keep this up?”

“Who needs sleep?” I grin.

He shakes his head. “What about your daughter?”

“I asked Mrs. Hansley to stay over. She’ll tuck her in tonight.”

Ezekiel yawns loudly.

I nod to the exits. “Go on. If I need anything from you, I’ll make a note of it.”

“Alright.” Ezekiel rises unsteadily and his watery eyes drop to my mug. “Did you want me to get you some coffee before you go?”

“It’s alright. I’ll drink water instead.”

“I can get it for you.” He reaches for the cup.

I haul it behind my back. “It’s fine. I got it.”

Ezekiel scowls, but he gives in and starts gathering his things. “By the way, your brother-in-law said to call and make an appointment tomorrow or he’ll stop in for a visit.”

“I can have him thrown out before he sets foot in the building.”

“But you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.” Darrel might have changed career paths and taken on the mantle of neuropsychologist, but he’s still wealthy and influential. I won’t burn those bridges because he’s turned into a nosy do-gooder.

I rub my chin. Between Kayla from Make It Marriage and my brother-in-law, I’m surrounded by people who tell me I have a problem.

Which I don’t.

I’m perfectly fine as long as everything goes my way. That’s a healthy life philosophy, isn’t it?

Ezekiel dips his chin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

I lift a hand in goodbye and head in the other direction. There’s no way I can survive the night on water, so I plan to fix my own coffee.

Usually, I prefer Ezekiel’s brew but, tonight, I’m willing to make an exception. My hours have gotten longer since I’ve taken over Belle’s Beauty, and Ezekiel isn’t getting any younger. I don’t want to drag him down the path of over-exhaustion with me. One of us has to be clear-headed and sane.

Halfway to the kitchen, I hear what sounds like a parrot squawking in anger.

My steps halt and my curiosity spikes.

What was that?

I inch through the darkness.

My inspection leads me to the storage room.

The door is open slightly and a square of light falls on the carpet. A shadow dances on the floor.

“Baaabee! Baabee! Baabbee! No! I love youuuu! Don’t gooo!”

My nose scrunches and I press my palm to the door, easing it open. To my surprise, I find Kenya sitting on the floor. Her heels are kicked off to the side and her skirt is bunched around her thighs, exposing creamy brown legs.

Boxes are mounted like giant walls around her, reminding me of the pillow fort Belle and I built when she was sick and bored at home.

A pair of headphones tucked into her ears, Kenya tosses her head back and forth and sings—if I can call that atrocious sound singing—in a muttered voice.

I cringe and step into the room. Her back is to me, so she’s still unaware of my entrance.

“Uh, uh, yeah.” Kenya grunts and dances wildly. She’s seated and only her upper body is in motion, but I’m impressed by her rhythm.

The song must have shifted to her favorite part because she lifts her hands to her chest and starts pumping. Her back arches and she swings her head in a circle, grooving to the song with a surprising amount of passion.

I cover my mouth with a fist to muffle my laughter, but the sound alerts her to my presence.

She goes still. “Who’s there?”

I say nothing.

She twists around in slow motion. The moment her eyes catch on me, she jumps so fast the documents spill from her hand and slide across the floor.

“Mr. Alistair.” She vibrates like one of those cartoon cats after being electrocuted.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Working.” I nod to her. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m working too.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? You should know better than anyone.”

I arch an eyebrow.

She glances away. “Sorry. Sarcasm pops out of me when I’m tired.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” She does look tired. Her hair’s frizzier than it was when we spoke this morning and her lipstick has completely rubbed off.

Even exhaustion can’t hide how attractive she is. Bare of makeup, her face is even more gorgeous.

Regret pricks me when I see her mouth open in a yawn. Perhaps I took things a little too far by making her work on this project alone. It’s a three-man job and I hadn’t accounted for all the heavy boxes she’d need to drag around.

“I’m just finishing up.” Kenya gestures to the files.

I blink in shock. “Finishing up?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Impossible.” There is no way she’s gone through all of these boxes.

Kenya climbs to her feet and winces when she straightens to her full height. Bending down to massage her leg, she explains, “I was going to stop at the end of the workday, but I was so deep into it by then that I couldn’t.”

I’m still trying to figure out if she’s joking with me.

She keeps chatting. “Have you ever dreaded tackling a huge mess but, halfway into it, you kind of get this drive to finish cleaning until it’s all gone? That’s what happened to me. I knew if I pushed, I could get it all done before I go home.”

I check my watch. It’s late. “How can you be finished already?”

“I had help.”

“Ezekiel?” Strange. I didn’t see him leave his desk.

She points to a laptop on the ground. I didn’t notice it before because it was hidden behind a stack of boxes. The laptop is hooked to her phone by a long, white wire.

“You used your laptop?”

“Oh, it’s not just the laptop.” She laughs and I can’t believe how stunning she looks with a smile on her face. “I got a text-to-speech program.”

“But what about the printed spreadsheets? Those tables need to be filled in manually.”

“Right. I went looking and I found this software called Hoola Lens. You basically snap a picture of anything, words, tables, music notes. Whatever. And it’ll rewrite it exactly in the digital format you choose. So the tables are in a spreadsheet with one snap of my phone.”

“It’s accurate?”

“Yes. I mean, it’s technology, so it’s not going to be perfect. After I take the photo, I go over the report to double-check the information. It’s tedious, but it’s much faster than typing it all out by hand. As someone wanted me to do.”

Heat flushes my cheeks. The dig lands and I don’t have a defense.

She tiptoes over the files to get back to her laptop. Somehow, seeing her bare feet feels intimate. Like a dance that’s just for me. And I have to remind myself that I’m her boss. And she has a boyfriend. And she also hates me.

“I didn’t know you were into tech.”

“I’m not. I just believe we can work smarter, not harder. There’s always a solution if you’re willing to look.”

Did she really come up with these solutions by herself? I can’t believe it.

She screws her lips. “Your shock is starting to feel insulting. Did you think I was stupid because I don’t have an MBA?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“You think the worst of me, Mr. Alistair. But that’s okay. It just makes me want to work harder.” She pulls one of her shoes closer to her and slips her foot into it.

I want to walk over there and smack her hand away from the heels. I want to run my hand over her thigh and ask her to wrap her legs around my neck. I want to reward her for her brilliance by teasing her until she moans.

Off-limits, Alistair.

I swallow hard. Time to back away slowly. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave. My driver will take you home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s late. You’ll be safer with him than trying to catch a taxi.” I frown. “Let me know when you’re done.”

My tone is gruff but it’s only because I feel myself getting soft for this woman. Her ingenuity is as much of a turn on as that curvy body and sexy mouth.

I want to take a bite out of her, and I’m getting dangerously close to giving into the impulse.

Turning swiftly, I charge back to my office. Some part of me, a part I thought had shriveled up and died when I buried my wife, is sparking to life again.

Fighting my attraction isn’t going to work.

I need something to get Kenya Jones off my mind.

And I need it yesterday.