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

“Captain Winthrope, hello? Are you home?” Keenan opens his mouth and bangs on his head, waving a hand at my face.

I look up from staring out at the lifeless cityscape below, wondering where the fuck summer went behind this blanket of grey clouds.

“I’m here, and you’re losing your next bonus if you don’t knock it off,” I snap.

“So you’d like to approve it then?” His eyebrows dart up.

“Approve what?” I glance at my phone again to see if there’s any word from Piper.

Of course not.

Not after the shit you pulled, genius.

Keenan rolls his eyes. “Bossman, were you even listening? The final menu for the fashion conference?”

Right.

“Isn’t that the hotel manager’s job?” I slide fitfully into my chair.

“You wanted the personal touch, remember? With the whole Finch thing and the award coming up, you told me you wanted to pick through everything one last time. Keep up.” For once, he’s not his usual smarmy self. Keenan looks genuinely worried every time he looks at me.

Where the hell is my mind? But I already know.

“Yes,” I lie. “It’s approved.”

“…you haven’t seen it yet.”

Goddamn.

I chew on my own stupidity, trying to find the right words that’ll convince him my head isn’t three feet up my ass.

“Whenever it comes in, you tell me if it looks good. Use your best discretion, Mr. Dutton.”

He goes quiet, punching notes into his tablet or pretending to. Then he looks up.

“You know, you’re never a fuzzy ray of sunshine who’s actually pleasant to be around, but your grouchy ass usually makes snap decisions pretty well. The workaholic android thing helps make you bearable. If that’s gone…no offense, but you can’t be a major league prick and lazy.”

I snort, well aware of what he’s doing.

He wants to shake me out of my rut, even if that means pissing me off.

I wish it worked.

“Whatever,” I mutter.

“Oh, for the love of—Mr. Winthrope, will you just get this over with? Buy her a dozen roses, knock on her door, swallow your big fat greasy ego, and—you know what?” He throws up his hands. “Screw it. Go have steamy enemies-to-lovers straight people makeup sex, and then come back and act like a fucking grumpy CEO jackass instead of a scolded space cadet.”

I glare at him and sigh.

“You done?”

His lips purse.

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Keenan stands, clearing his throat and pulling on his tie.

“Call me when you’ve got your head back in the game. I’ll look things over and let you know if I need to escalate. In the meantime, get help.” He darts out the door without glancing back.

When I get home later, nothing improves.

Andy paces back and forth listlessly, pawing at the door when he doesn’t really need to go out. He hates the rain that’s picked up, adding to the city’s dreariness by the bucket.

When I’m lost in my phone for too long, he starts howling.

Grumbling, I unglue myself from my seat just long enough to scoop him up. “You know you’re too short to be a bloodhound, right? What’s wrong, Andouille?”

He licks my face and leaps out of my arms, running to my room barking. He comes back to me less than a minute later and starts for my room again.

I follow him with a rock in my gut.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I still smell her too. She’s probably not coming back,” I say. “It fucking sucks, buddy.”

It’s like he’s magically started comprehending human speech.

My worst fears just rile him up more, sending him pacing and barking until he slumps at my feet in a coughing fit.

I scoop the dog up and stroke him softly until that asthma cough settles down.

Poor guy.

Once he’s calmer, he follows me over to my bar where I pour myself a brandy, spilling liquid on the back of my hand. I lick it off, muttering to myself.

Keenan wasn’t joking.

This clumsy, moonstruck mess of a human being isn’t me.

And with my whole life in flames, it’s a hell of a time to have my brain turning into a calcified grapefruit.

I throw back the drink and start my gas fireplace. Staring at the flames helps calm down Andy, at least, and soon he’s settled by my feet in a snoring lump of sausage-lab.

My worries hit like hornets burrowing through my chest, stinging me with anger and regret from the inside out.

I think I’ll sleep in my office tonight because there’s a ghost in my room.

And I miss her so much I refuse to believe she’ll ever stop haunting me.

“Houston, we have a problem with the fashion menu,” Keenan says the next morning, standing in front of my desk.

“I thought I told you to take care of it?” I look up from my accounting report, annoyed as all hell.

“And I did. I approved the menu. But when the order was placed, the kitchen complained a few items couldn’t be filled.”

That grabs my attention.

Winthrope normally buys from the best local places everywhere we set up shop in.

The Seattle property is one of our oldest.

We’ve worked with the same suppliers for years, and we know about shortages well ahead of time.

Short of some force of nature calamity, orders are always filled or easily adjusted at the last minute.

“What happened?” I ask.

“From what I’ve gathered, this big guy from Qatar just rolled into town with three yachts. You know, the one who’s always on Instagram with cheetahs and caracals on his jets? He bought up basically every supply of high-end oysters in the entire city for his party.”

How the fuck does Seattle run out of oysters?

“Figure it out. Or do I have to wade through the ocean collecting them myself?” I throw myself back in my seat.

“If you want them badly enough…eh. In case you didn’t hear me, the only way to ‘figure it out’ is to completely change the menu. There are no oyster varieties the chef requested left in the city.”

“Fucking how? We’re sitting on a harbor.”

“I guess Mr. Prince-stagram has a legendary appetite. Heard he’s having caviar flown in from Alaska by the pound next.” Keenan shrugs.

“Jesus Christ.” I swipe a hand over my very warm face. “That must be one hell of a party.”

“Should we opt for more fish? The salmon crisps we served at the software conference last year were a big hit.”

“Dammit, Keenan, this crowd has California tastes—the pickiest. Show me you’re still relentless and find my oysters somewhere—have them flown in if you need to.”

He glances at his tablet and then looks up with his lips pursed.

“I’ll follow up. Is it just the oysters you’re so irate about or something else? Or should I say someone?”

“Get the hell out of my office.” I wave him off like a pesky fly.

“You’re never any fun.” He snaps a crisp salute. “I’ll dig for your stupid oysters. But Winthrope?”

“Yes?”

“You need to get laid. Bad. You actually smiled a few times when she was putting out, you know.”

I ignore him as he leaves my office, humming some insufferable song.

Hell, getting laid isn’t even the half of it.

I’d settle for waking up next to her in the morning with my nose in her hair or walking Andy together on another glittery beach.

I should have told him I’d handle the damn oysters myself.

Maybe working the phones would give me something to focus on besides my living nightmare.

I haven’t cared about work since she left.

I’ve never not cared about this job.

Sighing, I glance over at my sideboard, needing a drink. I see the same brandy I had in my sunny office in Lanai, when I managed to convince her I wasn’t Lucifer incarnate.

Looks like that was only temporary.

I stab the button on my desk and call Keenan back in.

“Already? I need time with those oysters.”

“Get this out of here,” I growl, pushing the bottle to the edge of my desk. “Relocate it to your office.”

“Why?” He picks it up and glances at the label.

“I don’t need it around while I’m working,” I clip. I know there’s a risk he’ll think I’m spiraling into a drinking problem.

That shit would almost be easier than the truth.

“Uh, right. Why do I sense there’s more to this story?”

I don’t answer, turning back to my screen and tapping loudly at the keys.

“Fine, I don’t even want to know.”

“There’s nothing to know,” I snarl.

At least he removes that cursed bottle and comes back ten minutes later with a pack of mineral water.

“You expect me to get a buzz off this?” I tear a bottle out of the pack, turning it over in my hand.

“I expect you to stay hydrated. You’re so damn crusty and ornery these days you could use it,” he says bluntly.

I wait until he’s gone before I rip the cap off and glug down half the bottle, spilling a mouthful on my shirt.

What the fuck am I doing?

I can’t carry on like this.

The whole company’s morale is in the gutter, and I’m not helping.

God help me, I have to see her.

A week later, I’m on her porch, knocking at her door with my heart lodged in my throat.

When no one answers, I notice a small gap in the Valencia blinds that I swear wasn’t there a second ago.

Piper jumps back from the window like there’s a twenty-foot werewolf on the other side.

You deserve that, I think bitterly.

I give her another minute to make up her mind before I rap at her door again.

“I know you’re home!” I yell through the door.

No answer.

Goddammit.

I’m about to look for another way in at the risk of breaking and entering charges when the door creaks open.

A young face appears, twisted in disgust.

“Take the hint, dude,” Maisy says. “She doesn’t want to see you anytime this century.”

“I’m still her boss. I just want to talk,” I bite off.

“You are? She basically quit.” But the kid sighs and pulls the door open a little more. “So, I’m sure this is hard for a rich dude, but sometimes you don’t always get what you want. She doesn’t want to talk to you. Ever. Now eff off.”

Little punk.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m desperate. I shove my hand in the gap before she can close the door, hoping she doesn’t break my fingers.

“Maisy, wait. Do I have a chance? Does she hate me?”

She looks at me and shrugs one shoulder.

“Dunno. You suck a lot. She says she wants to hate you, but can’t.”

I’m almost airborne.

If she can’t hate me, I might have a chance.

“Why?” I venture.

“You mean why can’t she hate you?”

I nod.

“If you ask me, Piper just isn’t capable of truly hating anyone. But I heard her talking to Jenn. She said she could never hate you specifically. Not after what you did for Dad…”

Damn.

Not great odds.

I’d rather she not hate me because of what we had rather than some weird sense of obligation.

It’s also not lost on me that her father just came home. Now I’m standing on his doorstep, and I haven’t even asked about him.

“How is your old man?”

“He’s doing well! Um, I heard you helped with his treatment, so thanks for that. For what you did. Just don’t make me slam the door in your face.” She looks at her feet. “Oh, and that Jeep tour your guy recommended was fire. So were the tacos. Pretty GOAT.” She looks up and grins.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter, unsure what that even means in Zoomer-speak.

“It was pretty cool of you. Most rich dudes are selfish pricks.”

I don’t exactly disagree. I’m just amused as I ask, “How many rich guys do you know?”

“Well, just you. And according to my sister, you’re still a jerkasaurus. Just less scary than the time you broke into her hotel room and decided to shower instead of murdering her.”

“She’s still on that?” I try not to groan into my hand.

“Not my monkey, not my circus.”

“Maisy, you’ve got to help me out,” I say tightly.

“Why?”

I hang my head. This is my life now.

Ten digits in my investment portfolio, and I’m reduced to begging a teenager for help.

“I need to talk to your sister. What can I do to make that happen? You’re her sister, you must know something.”

She chews a finger in the corner of her mouth, thinking.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Pippa doesn’t date much. And you kinda waited too long to come after her. This isn’t 1990 or whatever with relationships. You could’ve called or texted anytime.”

“Hey, I’m not that old,” I throw back.

“Well…I do think you’re gonna have to do more than just show up and mumble a few apologies. You need some serious groveling. Like rom-com level,” she says.”

“Rom-com? What the hell are you—”

“Dude, I’ve thrown you a bone. You’re crazy rich and a thousand people work for you. Figure it out.” The kid rolls her eyes.

The Renee sisters clearly have the same backbone.

“If you were me, what would you do?”

“…I wouldn’t be you, for one.”

“But if you were—”

“Look, I’m not even sure what happened. She didn’t mention it until I got back from Mexico, but I’ve listened in when she talks to Jenn. If Pippa thinks you suck rotten eggs, I believe her.”

The way I wince isn’t helping my rotten egg impression, I guess.

“You must have friends for this, right? Go talk to your bros,” she says. “I wish I could help smooth things over, but I’m not stepping on her privacy. You haven’t even done the basics yet.”

“The basics?”

“Insect level stuff. You haven’t tried talking to her in more than a week after a huge shit-fight. Now, you show up unannounced and empty-handed. Like, where are the flowers? The new iPhone? The badass new car? You’re rich, dude.” She slumps against the wall, laughing at her own humor.

I’m not amused.

“I’m not my big sister, but I have to say you didn’t put much thought in. Piper had three promposals back in the day—”

“Promposal?”

“Google it. She was a cheerleader! The point is, she’s not gonna make up with some guy who can’t get creative when he owns pretty much everything.”

“Understood,” I say numbly.

“Good luck!” She disappears behind the door as it closes.

In the back seat of the SUV, I Google promposal.

Apparently, it’s a newer practice where boys do all-out proposals to get prom dates.

Jesus, I’m lucky I wasn’t born in this new century.

I hit the button to lower the privacy window.

“How much did you fuck up?” Fyodor asks instantly.

“Enough. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Give her time. The heart speaks slower than the head and women always listen.”

“Some Russian proverb?” I raise a brow.

“Mine,” he answers smugly. “She will come around, sir.”

I hate that he talks like it’s a done deal.

“Her sister told me I’m not trying hard enough. I don’t even know what that means.”

“What have you tried?” Fyo chuckles once.

I scratch my head and look out the window, coming up with nothing.

“I still don’t understand how this happened, boss.”

I sigh. I filled him in—mostly—but it’s not his damn wheelhouse. Intel and dirty jobs are what he does best, and he’s got plenty of that on his plate.

“Finch happened,” I snarl, toying with asking him to put out a hit on that sack of shit right now.

“And she blames you for that? She doesn’t think you were protecting her?”

I shake my head slowly.

“She doesn’t blame me at all, Fyo. Hell, she offered to quit her job to stop the gossip and help me.”

“Let her. Where is problem?”

Right here.

I’m the damn problem.

“We know Finch won’t stop, and I won’t risk Piper getting dragged into more bullshit aimed at me. I told her to leave Seattle until after the fashion show and the awards. When she refused, I asked her to leave me. I didn’t fucking mean it, but she did.”

“Careful what you wish for.”

Tell me about it.

“What will you do?” He stares back at me in the mirror, his bearish eyes bright and assessing.

“Working on it.”

“If you need suggestions, I know a—”

“No.” I cut him off before he even starts. “Just find out what you can about Finch’s itinerary before the Portland conference. If he’s making any new moves, report back ASAP. We can’t get caught with our pants down again.”

It’s criminal that flushing out a viper like Apollo Finch feels easier than winning Piper back.

Only, with Finch, I have an army of people behind me and I know what to do.

With her, I’m clueless and alone.

I show up the next day again with a bouquet of fragrant verbena.

I only knock a couple times before Maisy opens the door. “Oh, welcome back. FYI, she still won’t talk to you.”

“Will you just give her these?” I hold up the bouquet.

She nods. “Hmm, it’s a start. Nice.”

I pass her the flowers.

“Do you want to wait here?”

I nod.

Good. If she’s asking me to wait, maybe Piper will come out of her hole.

I’m still watching the sunny street, grateful for the break in the midsummer gloom, when the flowers come flying out of an upstairs window.

They roll to a stop next to my feet.

“Sorry!” Maisy says, leaning out the door.

I don’t bother asking.

It’s not like it’s her fault Piper won’t speak to me. I climb into the car, feeling drained.

Fyo already has the privacy screen down.

“Before you ask, the answer is fucking awful,” I say.

“Flowers are overrated. Maybe try something more intimate?”

“These were personal,” I grumble. “They’re the same flowers she loved in Lanai—and today she didn’t give a damn.”

“Perfume? Jewelry? Tickets to her favorite show?” Fyo suggests.

“Piper doesn’t wear much jewelry.”

Because she doesn’t like it or because she doesn’t have it? I wonder.

That’s something I should know.

Shit, maybe our problems started before I blew up on her.

“What does she like?” Fyo asks.

“Travel. Her family. Birds.” I stop before I accidentally say, me.

“I need to think,” I whisper, wishing I could rub my pounding headache away.

“Take your time, Romeo.”

I open her TikTok and stare at her videos until I feel like I need toothpicks to hold my eyes open. An ad cuts in between the hundredth TikTok for high-end luggage.

Huh.

It’s worth a shot.

I order the suitcases in pale pink with stylized flamingos on them.

Delivery takes a couple days, so I bury myself in work, annoyed that there’s nothing new on the Finch front.

I wish he’d get off his ass and take a swing so we can get this over with.

The next time I go to the Renee house, I’m rolling an oversized Italian leather carry-on with one hand and a pile of matching suitcases in smaller sizes with the other.

I knock on the door.

No answer.

I’m banging until my fist hurts when Maisy finally appears.

“You again? I talk to you more than I talk to my friends.”

“I promise you won’t have to deal with me as soon as your sister talks to me.”

She narrows her eyes. “Y’know, I should start charging you a consulting fee.”

I snort. “And what’s your advice today? Will she talk to me or not?”

Maisy bites her lip.

Goddammit.

“Really? I’m still that radioactive? Has she said anything?” I form a fist at my side.

“She said she’s getting sick of you pestering us, dude. You’re lucky Dad met up with his fishing buddies. I told him we’ve been getting a lot of annoying salesmen lately, but he said if he hears anyone at the door again, they’re getting a piece of his mind.”

“I’m not quitting until I see her. If she wants me gone, she’ll have to tell me herself.”

“Won’t be today. Maybe in a month.”

I glare at her.

She better be joking.

“Will you at least give her this?”

“Yeah—for ten dollars,” Maisy adds, staring at the luggage.

“What?”

“I didn’t sign up to haul your gifts around for free. And these look way heavier than flowers.”

“Are you serious?”

She folds her arms in front of her chest.

“I’ll send you an invoice.” She pulls out her phone and fidgets with it for a second.

“Forget the damn invoice,” I growl, fishing in my wallet.

I don’t have exact change so I push a crisp twenty in her hands.

“After college, you need to talk to me,” I tell her. “I’ll find you a job in sales.”

“Cool! Pleasure doin’ business.” She disappears behind the door with the luggage.

I hang out on the porch again, steeped in my misery for a few more pointless minutes in the fading hope that maybe—just maybe—Piper might give me the slightest opening.

Nope.

I knock on the door again. Maisy opens it. “Mr. W? What now?”

“Did she like it?” I demand.

“The bags? She hasn’t even seen them yet.”

“Where would she like to go more than anywhere else?” I ask.

“Hmm. She’s mostly just been around the US. Anything overseas would knock her socks off.”

“Where?” I urge, waiting for her to rattle something loose in her brain.

“She’s obsessed with Hungary. One time when she was ten she went on a big Eastern Euro kick, wouldn’t shut up about Budapest, wine country, old castles, whatevs. It’s all she talked about for months.”

Finally.

“That’s something. Thanks, Maisy.”

I turn and start toward the car.

“Yo, Brock?”

I look back at her over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Keep it up. If there’s anyone you might wear down with kindness, it’s my sister.”

Thanks, kid. I’m going to need it.

“She still won’t talk?” Fyo asks the second I’m in the vehicle.

“No.” That would be too easy. “I’m running out of ideas. I’ve tried flowers and designer luggage. I’ve got a vacation package up next. If that doesn’t work, I’m at my wits’ end.”

“Have you tried an apology? A big one.”

I snort loudly.

Fyo shakes his head and pulls onto the road.

“Boss, I’m beginning to understand why you’re still single. You never tell a woman she’s wrong, especially when she’s this pissed at you.”

Could it really be that simple?

I hate that I already know the answer.