One Bossy Dare: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)

What the ever-living fuck just happened?

I survey the room, wondering if Miss Insanity will take the notion to come back to get the last word. My team stands around in a haze, trying to hide their grins and smart-assed whispers.

Destiny stares at me like the adorable pain in the ass she is, still perched in her chair, clasping her phone with both hands. When our eyes meet, she doesn’t even try to stop laughing.

“Holy crap, Dad. You got told.”

“Were you livestreaming?” I snap, hoping like hell I’m not about to be internet famous.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Unfortunately,” I echo, raising my brows.

My daughter gives me a sheepish smile and then returns to her screen gazing.

“Mr. Lancaster…I’m majorly sorry about that.”

I turn, glancing over the counter.

The barista with a beard thicker than the hipster frames sliding down his nose has his hands raised in surrender. I think one of them might be trembling.

“I’m sorry, again. She gets a tad overprotective. Eliza has coffee in her blood, man. It’s easy to forget she’s just another customer. If you’re worried, I don’t think she’ll make her complaints public or anything. She’s not a big social media type. She’s just—”

“A total badass!” I look over to find my daughter standing with her hands on her hips. Destiny laughs shamelessly. “She’s a honey badger. You remember that old meme? She sank her teeth in and didn’t let go. Honey badger don’t care!”

“Is there a point to this besides your own amusement?” I ask with a snort.

Shit. Only fifteen years old and I’d swear she changed from a sweet little girl into this sassy creature I barely recognize overnight.

“Yeah! Dad, there must be a hundred different ways you can walk into a store, sample drinks like a sane person, and give some honest criticism without acting like a giant raging di—”

“Watch your mouth, young lady. What do you know about raging dicks, anyhow?”

She bites her lips. “Umm—nothing. Just that you’re one.”

Behind me, one of the marketing interns snickers. He shuts up the second my gaze lands on him before I shift it to my daughter.

“Consequence, Dess. Pick one.”

For a second, she looks startled before she glares at me. “Lighten up. It’s just a joke. I’m fifteen.”

“What’s your consequence, Dess? Should I decide?” I say gently, approaching her.

She looks at the phone she’s holding and back at me with a heavy sigh. “Guess I’ll be staying home tonight and reading…”

“Good call, baby girl.”

Honestly, it’s not much punishment. The girl lives, eats, and breathes books, but a night in will keep her out of any other trouble.

She scowls at me and returns to her seat.

Giving my tie a quick pull, I turn back to face the barista—Wayne, I think. “Your friend had a point, even if she delivered her feedback with the grace of a wolverine.”

“Honey badger,” Destiny coughs from the corner.

I ignore her.

“It’s my fault, Mr. Lancaster. I’ll be sure to lock up next time before any confidential business—assuming you don’t fire me today,” he adds nervously.

I hold in a laugh.

“Relax. I’m not firing anyone. It’s no one’s fault but hers that she’s a walking hand grenade. More importantly, like I said, she had a point.”

“She did?” He blinks at me.

I nod. “Our brand is reliable, unfussy fuel for every professional on the go. It’s been like that for four generations of Lancasters, even as the brand name changed. But with the way the market keeps evolving, that won’t cut it in another ten years. We need something fresh and exciting. And before anyone suggests it, no, we’re not branching into sugar-lick fruit drinks and tea lattes like half a dozen other major chains that will remain nameless.”

“Hey, is this the Badger Lady’s brew?” Destiny calls from behind me. When I glance at her, she’s holding up a mason jar of dark mystery liquid.

The barista nods.

I double-check his name tag. Wayne it is.

My eyes fall on Dess as she pulls the lid off the glass jar and sniffs.

“What are you doing?” I call.

Only, by the time I get the words out, she’s lifting it and pressing it to her lips.

Shit. Surely she’s not going to—

The way her mouth opens tells me she is.

“Destiny, don’t you—”

Too late.

She’s damn near chugging the stuff before I can say another word.

She rocks back on her heels, coughing and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

My heart leaps up my throat.

Shit, shit.

She looks like she’s about to fall over. Every parent’s nightmare involving their kid and strange substances whips through my head.

Fuck.

What if it was motor oil?

Some sort of aged cognac?

A tobacco spit jar?

Why in God’s name does my daughter have to sample a strange jar left behind by a caustic stranger who gnawed my ear off? Who does that?

Apparently, the kind of kid I raise.

“Are you okay?” I move to Destiny in several huge strides. “Dess?”

I already have my hand on my phone, ready to dial 9-1-1.

When she looks up, she’s grinning. “Dad, this is crazy. Taste it. It’s like a mule kick to the mouth.”

Is that supposed to be inviting?

I frown.

“I mean, a cup of this stuff would probably keep me up the entire week of finals.” She cocks her head. “I wonder if she has more… I want it.”

My eyes narrow. She sounds like a junkie looking for her next fix of—what the hell was in that jar? Liquid cocaine?

“Destiny Lancaster. Didn’t we watch Snow White enough times when you were little for you to know not to eat or drink anything left behind by strange people? For all you know, she could’ve been a witch.” Psycho chick certainly had the witchy temperament.

Her drink is pungent, though. I can smell it from here.

Destiny swirls the liquid like she’s hypnotized.

“How do you feel? Should I take you to urgent care?” I ask.

“No, no. I’m fine, Dad. Really.”

“Give me your phone,” I say, already reaching out.

“What? Why? That’s not fair!” Her voice becomes shrill and whiny on the last word.

Someone has to put the fear of God into her—or at least a few hours without texting and Snapchat—but first I pick up the unholy grail and take a swig.

My employees stare at me like I’ve just flipped my lid.

Hell, maybe I have.

It’s stronger than a triple ristretto shot and nearly causes a coughing fit. I choke it down, slowly realizing it’s some sort of hell-coffee.

Dammit, that’s intense. And I spent five years of my life on the black sludge the US Navy calls coffee.

Once my tongue recovers from the initial shock, I’m plunged into this unexpected universe of flavors.

It’s smoky. Powerful. Toasted. Nutty.

Fucking good.

“Tastes like a campfire,” I say slowly.

“A little. It’s something, all right,” Destiny admits. It might be the first time we’ve agreed on anything for a month.

Behind me, Wayne laughs.

“Probably her latest brew. Uh, we’ve offered Eliza a job here several times. Aside from a brief stint last year where she worked a few part-time shifts, she won’t stay on. She spends most of her time experimenting with home-brewed coffee and pastries. She’s special that way. I’m not sure what that one is. She lets me sample them a lot, but I didn’t have time today.”

“What does she do?” I ask, hating that this strange woman has a death grip on my attention, even with her absence.

“I don’t know, actually. She’s always said long shifts would cut into her brewing time.”

I take another stiff drink of black heaven.

Fuck me, this is it.

This is so much like the newness I’ve been looking for.

It slaps me across the face.

I need to know what this is right now.

I need to study it, refine it, and if I’m lucky, package it in a Wired Cup logo. Every shop in our five-state region will want to serve this.

We’ve found Gen Z’s drink. A bold alternative to the sugar licks masquerading as energy drinks for college kids everywhere.

My almost college-aged brat said she only needs one cup to make it through finals week—and I don’t think she was exaggerating much if this stuff is as caffeinated as it tastes.

I look at my team, wondering why I pay these people to stand around and gawk at me.

“Get moving, people. Katelyn, take Destiny to the car, please.”

“What? You’re throwing me out just when its getting interesting?” Dess protests. “Dad, you wouldn’t even know the mule kick drink existed without me! But sure, send me away like a five-year-old while you hash out how to sell this stuff for a bajillion dollars.”

I close my eyes and count to ten, tapping a hand lightly against my thigh.

“Someday, my dear, I hope you have twins and they’re both just like you at this age.”

“Come on, Dessy. Let’s go find you a new phone case online to replace the cracked one,” Katelyn Storm tells her. Nice save from my ever-reliable executive assistant. “I’ve got your dad’s credit card.”

“Well…okay!” Just like that, Destiny happily skips out the door.

Unlike me, Katelyn can speak her language.

I’m aware I have my hands full, but sometimes I think that’s a flimsy excuse. The reality is I have no idea how to handle a teenage girl.

I look at Wayne. “My apologies for that scene—and the other one this morning.”

He shrugs. “Hey, kids come in here every day. It’s nothing. They usually pour the cinnamon and sugar out on the tables for me to clean up whenever they’re not hogging tables and taking selfies. This was entertaining.”

I appreciate his bluntness. At least it was entertaining for someone.

“I’d like to give you a bonus, Wayne,” I tell him.

“Bonus—for what, sir?” He stiffens, fully at attention.

“Consider it a referral fee for bringing this insane, potentially coffee-smart lady to my attention. I just need you to find her and have a conversation that’s a tad more civilized than my shouting match. Can you help with that?”

Wayne laughs. “If I tell her you offered me a bonus, she’ll bite. But I ain’t sure she’ll be happy about it.”

“Make it happen.” With a satisfied nod, I follow my entourage out the door.

In the back of the limo, Destiny taps on her phone, furiously moving both thumbs back and forth like she’s playing an old Gameboy.

I almost hate that I gave it back to her, softie that I am.

“You’d better not be posting anything involving that monster brew. That’s highly privileged corporate information now.”

She looks up and rolls her eyes. They’re a blue shade slightly lighter than mine.

“Dad, secret coffee isn’t nearly cool enough for my people. And after wasting all this time job shadowing you for this stupid essay, I’ve learned a few things.”

“Yeah?” I’m almost afraid to ask. “Enlighten me.”

“You have no PR skills, for one. I really hope you’re leaving that to someone else in marketing or there’s not going to be a company for me to inherit—”

I turn my head so she doesn’t see me laugh.

“Also, you should probably try brewing coffee for snotty rich guys before you freak out on baristas. That guy with the beard was almost pale—”

“Are you sure? Last I checked, you’re a snotty rich guy’s daughter,” I throw back.

More eye-rolling. An impudent huff.

She glances out the window, trying so hard not to look like she’s rattled by her old man getting under her skin.

Everyone should have a teenager in their lives.

“I try pretty hard not to act like it, you know,” she finally says.

I stare. I’m not sure what I think about that.

“And Dad, I wasn’t done—unless you find Badger Lady and somehow trick her into giving you her recipe, there are no patents or whatever for any monster coffee. I’m not stupid.”

Isn’t that the problem sometimes?

I hide a smile behind my hand as I scratch at my trimmed scruff.

It’s not easy handling a smart fifteen-year-old with a whip for a tongue.

Something about the way the sun filters in through the window catches her profile, the light flitting around her like glitter. My smile disappears.

Just an illusion.

But fuck, for a second it could be Aster sitting there, staring back at me. She’s only missing her mother’s jade-green eyes.

When my late wife died, Destiny looked like a tall American Girl doll. Today, she looks too much like a ghost.

A walking stack of unresolved questions.

I stare at the mason jar still in my hand, watching the dark liquid swirl. Even when the sunlight hits it, this stuff is pitch-black.

Yeah, if I’d had my head in the game, I’d already have an interview set up with that headstrong, fearless face behind the witch’s brew.

I wouldn’t have taken her shit if I’d had my wits.

We’ll blame it on the ample figure I hate that I noticed.

The curves for days.

The prettiest amber-brown eyes sparking with anger like melting caramel.

I certainly wouldn’t be waiting around for some bearded gnome at one of my shops to hook me up with an interview.

Twenty minutes later, Tom, my driver, pulls up to Wired Cup Headquarters and opens the back door. Destiny climbs out first and rushes off before I can move.

He helps my executive assistant out of the car, and I follow.

Katelyn Storm glances at the mason jar I’m holding. “Want me to take that off your hands? I can drop it off in research now so they can analyze it.”

“Technically, my young hothead is right. This isn’t technically corporate property—not yet—even if it was negligently left behind by its owner in her hit-and-run raid on my pride. I won’t open a legal can of worms over some coffee. Let’s track down that girl. We’ll have her friend at the store bridge the communication gap.”

She stares at me blankly. “You’re serious, Mr. Lancaster? I thought you took care of making the connection? Isn’t that why you sent me outside with Destiny?”

I wish. I was too damn riled up by that pixie and her mouth to handle it properly.

If there’s one thing I despise, it’s turning into a mess in front of my daughter.

How the hell did I let some twenty-something brunette chick get to me, anyhow?

“The barista said he’d put us in touch,” I tell her. “Why complicate anything?”

Kate grins at me. She’s about ten years my senior, but she’s been with this company and my family for so long, she knows me better than I know myself at times.

“Miss Opinion really left an impression on you, huh?”

I’m not taking her bait.

I toss her an ice-cold stare.

She clears her throat. “So, if I manage to track down your new frenemy, what’s the chance she’s worth the trouble?”

What the hell does she mean?

“I’m not passing up this coffee. If that little fire-breather wants to sell me something I can patent or hash out a new product in our lab, she’s worth a few smartass remarks.” I hold the jar up and shake the remaining liquid inside.

“Yeah? And what if she brings that attitude into the office?”

I frown. “It can’t be worse than anything I’ve dealt with before. Feisty is practically the only kind of young woman I deal with.”

She gives me a knowing smile. “But this isn’t a teenage girl. She’s a grown woman. You won’t just be able to yank her iPhone away if she mouths off.”

“Yeah? Watch me.” I enjoy the startled look she flings back. Let her wonder whether or not I’m joking. “Speaking of teenagers, I hope you can keep Destiny out of trouble this afternoon?”

“Trouble? She’s only a rebel punk for you.” Katelyn laughs. “Isn’t she still a four point oh brainiac? You’ve done a fine job with her, all things considered. I was always shocked you didn’t crack and bring in more nannies to help.”

“Mostly because no nanny could ever handle her,” I lie, hating the real reason. “Don’t think I wasn’t tempted.”

My assistant holds up a hand and giggles softly.

“She’s one smart nut off the tree,” I admit. “Sometimes, she’s almost too smart—and constantly glued to a device that invites trouble.” I shake my head, raking an annoyed hand through my hair. “I won’t gripe about kids and their phones. It’s pointless. Still, I wonder. What hell would I have raised if I’d had one at her age?”

“Thank God we’ll never find out.” She gives me a reassuring look. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep her in line like always.”

It’s her mom tone that sets me at ease. The same tone I’ve heard her use with her own kids for years.

I chuckle to myself. Destiny’s in for it now.

Katelyn Storm lives up to her name. When she flips into mom mode, nobody gets by with anything.

Somehow, I think the joke’s on me, though.

Destiny was raised by a sailor, and I know I’m the reason she’s got a mouth like one. With my career, my stress, and my flaws, the harshness bleeds out.

I can hardly blame my daughter sometimes for hurling my own caustic words back at me—if only she didn’t do it in a voice that sounds more like my dead wife’s with every passing month.

But if wishes came true, I wouldn’t feel that hard knot in my gut whenever Aster’s face flashes in my mind.

I know I should just count my blessings and shut the hell up.

She’s a great kid—solid grades, harmless friends, no police visits yet. I’ve only got a few more years with her before she’s off to college.

Dess doesn’t know where she’s going to school yet, but I doubt it’ll be anywhere near here. And honestly, I’ll endorse that decision with minimal grumbling.

My baby girl needs distance to work out her life—as long as I’m still a phone call away to bail her out for the times any missteps trip her up.

Hell, maybe distance is what I need, too.

That girl is the glue that’s held my world together for fifteen goddamned years.

She’s the reason I still wake up and stomp into this office.

Once she’s gone, I’ll be staring down a chasm.

If I’m being honest, I need this new spin on old drinks for more than the next quarter’s profits.

Hell, I’m desperate for a new line of beverages. Fresh tricks to refine. Wired Cup has survived generations of market changes for a reason. We’ve always adapted.

We’ve laid down roots in the northwest for good reason. Not just branding and quality, but because my great-grandfather swore he wouldn’t compromise the integrity of our product.

We’re not sitting ducks, waiting to be knocked out by the competition. Though without something new, something bold and electrifying, we’re facing the worst kind of death by boredom.

I won’t let that happen.

Once I’ve had time to catch up on emails for an hour, I head for Kate’s office. I find Destiny sprawled out on the floor, playing with her phone.

She sees me standing in the doorway and smiles up at me. “I threw together three aesthetic music videos this afternoon. You still like Johnny Cash, Dad?”

“Without question, and I suppose that’s a good skill to have.” Then I remember she’s here to shadow and square my shoulders. “Aren’t you supposed to be working? Or at least taking notes about the work everyone else is doing?”

“Eh, yeah, it’s just…” She lays a hand over her face, groaning softly. “Coffee’s so boring.”

“You let her play on her phone ever since we got back?” I look at Kate, who’s hunched over her laptop.

She doesn’t raise her head. “Keep her out of trouble, you said. She’s not knocking over any liquor stores, right?”

I hold in a sigh.

“Have you started tracking down wolverine chick yet?” I ask.

“Honey badger. Get it right,” Destiny mutters.

“What was her name again?” Katelyn asks.

“I don’t remember. Call the store and find out.”

“Huh? I thought you chased us out so you could creep her info.” Destiny’s eyes never leave her screen.

“Regardless, I’d like to run a proper background check before she gets here. We can’t hire a bank robber or Peeping Thomasina, no matter how good her coffee concoctions might be.”

“Yeah, right!” Destiny lowers her phone and gives me a disbelieving look. “Um, stalker-ish much?”

“Yes. Also, I want a proposal ready before she arrives. We can seal the deal and won’t have to worry about her working for any competitors,” I say, brushing off my daughter’s complaints about my methods. “She’s also less likely to stall negotiations if we hit her with a number on the spot. Make it a fair, generous offer. Dess, I’ll show you how we do hiring proposals once Katelyn has her researched.”

My daughter looks like I just pushed a rancid lemon wedge into her mouth.

“Is this what you do all day? Guzzle coffee and spy on people?”

“When you put it that way, I really do deserve a break at home. More decaf and less snark,” I tell her, looking at Kate. “Have HR ready. I’ll sign off on everything, but we’ve got to move fast. I don’t want to risk blowing this.”

“Yeet,” Destiny says.

“What?” I ask.

Kate finally looks up from her laptop over her glasses. “That’s young-speak for cool. My kids say it all the time.”

“Bah, I’m lucky I haven’t heard it before.” I wonder how the copywriters ever keep up with trends in slang.

“You hear that, Dessy? You’re the expert here in talking young,” Katelyn says with a wry smile. “Since your dear old dad has me running after espresso machine suppliers who shortchanged us last month, I don’t have time to go on a honey badger hunt. So, you’ve got your first task.”

Destiny pops up from the floor. “You want me to call?”

“Yeah, the shop on Seventh Street.”

“You’ve managed to cure her bonelessness, Katelyn. Miraculous.” I snort as I look at Dess. “Why can’t you pop up like that when I tell you to get moving?”

“You’re a drill sergeant. Duh.”

“I was a lieutenant. Sergeants are noncommissioned,” I mutter.

“So, you admit you’re a drill sergeant?”

“Wrong. I outranked your average RDC and you know nothing about the US Navy.”

“Whatevs. I know it made you a total hardass for life,” she whispers under her breath—still loud enough to hear—as she rolls her eyes.

While Destiny dials the store, I head back to my office.

I’m perched in my tall leather chair before I realize I’m still holding the damn mason jar.

We’ll track down its owner soon enough. I try to focus on reports, but my eyes keep catching on that small glass container.

Even if I had this sample reverse engineered, I can’t use it right now. Plus, it’s too delicious to waste.

I do what any sane person would.

Bottom’s up.

My office door pops opens and Destiny bounces in.

Perfect timing.

Naturally, she catches me drinking from the mason jar and shakes her head with a loud click of her tongue. “Really, Dad? You’re drinking your own research?”

I give her my best mackerel-eyed stare. “She’ll be here soon enough and we’ll have a fresh sample we can actually use. Why waste this one?”

“Okay. I think you just have a thing for coffee made by people you hate.” She pauses. When I don’t even crack a smile at her silly comment, she sighs. “Her name’s Eliza Angelo. She’s not on LinkedIn or Facebook, so I had to do some digging. You’re welcome.”

“Everyone’s on Facebooger for reasons I will never understand.”

Destiny shakes her head again.

“Nope. Everyone old uses it, you mean. Not her. She’s listed as a virtual assistant on Instagram and Upwork, which means basically nothing. The HR lady said that depending on who her clients are, that could mean she’s struggling to get by—or it could mean she rakes in six figures.”

“That’s solid digging, little bee. Though not terribly helpful in getting a proper salary proposal together for HR,” I say gently.

She stares at me like she can’t believe I paid her an honest compliment.

“Kate and I researched it. VAs typically pull in thirty to seventy thousand dollars a year with the high earners being outliers. Kate thinks we should put two proposals together—one for an average VA and a backup if you think she’s an outlier.”

I stare at my daughter.

“Very thoughtful. Thanks, now I can retire.”

“Dad!” She stomps her foot. “It was mostly Kate’s idea, so give her a raise. I’m just the messenger. She says she’s already working on the proposals for you.”

A smile pulls at my lips.

Most kids would take credit and try to use it to gain some reward. Somehow, I still have a selfless, honest daughter behind the brat.

I just need a reminder sometimes.

“I have the best assistant,” I say, turning to the mini fridge behind my desk for a water.

Destiny grins. “Yeah, you do. You don’t even know how many of my friends have asked if you need help. The older juniors and seniors would kill to have a summer job with you—like literally go all Jane the Ripper. They all think you’re fire and it’s gross.”

I’m swallowing water from the bottle I just opened when she says it. I’m lucky I don’t spray mineral water from an Icelandic glacier all over the goddamned place like a human sprinkler.

“We’re in luck. I’m not in the market for a girl half my age who’s going to hit on me even if Mrs. Storm resigns tomorrow. Tell them I’m nobody’s fantasy.” I cough into my hand again, trying like hell not to stare awkwardly. “Also, that’s a subject we’ll never bring up again.”

“Jeez, Dad…”

“How’s shadowing? Not the sleeping pill you imagined?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces, scrunching her small face.

“Daddy, I love you, but I stand by what I said. Your job is boring AF.”

“And I know what that stands for, Dess. You’ll be grounded AF if you keep that up.” She flinches before I carry on. “Still, I suppose you’re right. Boring or not, someone needs to run this joint after I step aside, and you’re an only child.”

“Not my fault! You should’ve gotten remarried and had more kids. It’s not like you were short on ladies lining up for dates.” She makes a yuck face.

Technically, she’s right.

That’s why I humor her with a lopsided smile, ignoring the fact that I was busy with a little girl and a massive family legacy company. Not to mention a lifetime of fucking damage from the hell that ended my marriage prematurely.

“See? You’re turning green.” I point at her. “If I ever dated long enough to give you a little brother or sister, the kissing would traumatize you for life.”

“Ugh, I’d get over it. Can’t be worse than talking about contracts and hiring proposals for as long as I live, right?” She gives me a sour look.

“There comes a point in your life when it’s not so boring anymore.”

She stares at me like I’ve sprouted a second head.

“Umm—no. Shoot me now?”

“Nah, but I’ll help you take the edge off, and since you’re too young to drink…” I spin around to the mini fridge again, fetching a can of root beer I know she loves and two cold glasses. While I pour the sodas, I look at her. “If you seriously don’t want to waste your life on contracts, what do you want to do for a living, Destiny?”

I’m genuinely curious.

She was thirteen the last time I asked that question. She told me she wanted to run a petting zoo on a superyacht to Antarctica—if only she could stand the water.

“Eh, I don’t know. Maybe I could be a YouTuber or big influencer for fashion or something?”

My grip tightens on my root beer as I take a swig.

“You’d better start liking the coffee biz. There’s no way I’m letting you show off skimpy dresses for strangers. Don’t care how old you are.”

“Oh, Dad.” She huffs a breath loudly. “That’s another reason you should’ve had a bigger family. Even with, um, everything that happened when I was a kid—I’d be an excellent babysitter. And you’d finally have someone else to throw crap at instead of piling it on me.”

She may be right, but we need our funny moments.

God help her if she thinks I’m about to stop anytime soon.

I just hope I haven’t bitten off too much with that brown-eyed hellion who seems to hold the key to our next big innovation—and possibly my own madness.