Grumpy Romance (Billionaire Dads #1)

by Nia Arthurs

I know something’s off when I walk into my apartment. Our apartment. Mine and Drake’s. The air smells stale, like none of the windows have been opened all weekend. The clock’s broken too. The hands are exactly on twelve fifteen. I feel like I’m frozen in time. It’s creepy. I tighten my fingers on the sparkly yellow suitcase rattling behind me. The luggage doesn’t exactly scream ‘ambitious pencil pusher crawling up the corporate ladder’, but the long and pretentious title applies to me. Even if no one acknowledges it. It’s seven o’clock on Monday morning and I just returned from my first business trip. The woman who was supposed to attend the workshop caught chickenpox. Sad for her. Wonderful for me. Somehow, I got an amazing opportunity to prove myself as a competent, knowledgeable member of the team. And I aced it. My reward? Aches and pains from being cramped in economy next to a bodybuilder and his chatty manager. And a generous offer to come into work one hour later than usual. Hurrah. I shuffle deeper into the apartment. My feet protest. The past forty-eight hours, I’ve been marching up and down a well-lit conference room, speaking to Belle’s Beauty sales reps about my top ten secrets for customer acquisition. It’s not like I’m an expert, but I do have experience. I’ve worked a variety of sales positions since high school. From what I’ve learned, people just want to feel seen. Heard. Valued. It’s not that complicated. Sure, there are a few pretentious customers who co...

I swivel directions and head toward her bedroom. Then I smell it. That… It’s Drake’s cologne. I’d be able to pick it out in a crowd because I’m the one who got him his first set. He loves it and douses it on liberally wherever he goes. My fingers tighten on the bag of strawberries and grapes. The rustling sound is soft, like the wind rushing through the trees, but the groaning that comes from Sasha’s room is loud. And breathy. And way too low to be a sign of pain. It finally dawns on me. What I heard outside—the sound that made me barge into my sister’s place uninvited—was not an ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ groan. It was something else. Something a lot more… private. I take a step back, heat burning my face. My sister is an adult, so it shouldn’t surprise me that she’s getting certain… itches scratched. But I still remember her as the scrawny tween who wanted to be everywhere I was. It’s hard to reconcile what I knew of her to that of an adult who can… She’s breathing hard. Must be nice. I should go. Maybe I’ll call Drake and find out where he is. See if we can meet up to get our own time in. A weekend apart was long enough to go without holding him. “You like that, baby?” I freeze. All of me goes cold. Every. Single. Part. Why did that voice sound like my boyfriend of three years? I swear I have an out of body experience while I desperately try to make sense of everything my brain is throwing at me. It can’t be Drake. Even though it’s the very same timbre. The very s...

Can’t stop the pounding in my head that urges me to keep going even if it hurts. I have to see. Have to know. I push the door with my hand. It opens slowly. Oh. Oh, my go— The bag of fruits falls out of my hand. Grapes and strawberries roll through the room, scattering like teardrops on the floor. I gasp, terrified by the sight of my sister on top of my boyfriend. I can’t see what body parts are sticking into each other because a blanket is draped over their hips, but I can guess by the way they’re moving that they’re not exactly praying under there. “Yes,” Sasha is bawling. “Drake…” Drake? Heart pounding at the confirmation, I twitch. The next thing I know, the umbrella is gone from my hand. I see it sailing through the air as if I’m not really connected to my body. As if I’m having some kind of trippy dream. The umbrella slams Sasha square in the middle of her tan back. She curses and goes sprawling down on Drake’s chest. He makes a garbled sound of distress as she crashes into him. The angle must have been painful. I hope she broke it. I hope he can never have kids because of it. “The hell?” Sasha flings her hand and presses it to her back. Her neck twists next and her head whips around. That’s when our gazes collide. Deafening silence fills the room as she stares at me. It’s funny the way horror crawls over her expression. If it wasn’t my sister and my boyfriend— If it wasn’t my life— It would be almost satisfying to see that split second of oh damn, I got caught slip ...

It hurts. Damn. The whites of his eyes threaten to overtake everything else as he stares at me like he wants to climb under a rock. Pain rattles through my chest. I can’t breathe. I can’t freaking think. Flight or fight? The instincts roar inside my head. Should I grab the umbrella and go mad? Should I offer my sister and jerk of an ex-boyfriend a lashing they’ll never forget? “Kenya, I can explain,” Sasha says, her voice tight. All at once, I’m too overwhelmed to keep standing there in a room that smells like sweat and lovemaking. I need out. I need air. I pump my arms and try to run, but my heels catch on the shag rug at the foot of the bed, tripping me up. My arms flail. I wobble in an attempt to keep upright, but I step on a grape instead and it upends me further. I fall hard, landing on my elbows. My bones rattle and a physical pain jangles my fingers all the way up to my shoulder. I come nose to nose with Sasha’s lingerie that was, apparently, discarded right along with Drake’s boxers. Tears fill my eyes, but I forbid myself from crying. “Kenya, are you okay?” Wow, my sister sounds like she actually cares. That’s ironic, isn’t it? Not only that she’s concerned about my fall but that she thinks I could be okay right now? Who in their right mind would be okay in this scenario? My sister and boyfriend are screwing each other. And I just fell hard on my face. I’m freaking peachy! Scrambling to my hands and knees, I push myself up and throw myself at the door. “Kenya, wai...

My phone rings. It’s Walt from work. “You need to come in now,” Walt says without so much as a greeting. I stare unseeingly at the horizon, the cell phone to my ear. My arms hurt. My head. My heart. “Do you hear me, Kenya? Someone very important is visiting today and you need to be here to—” “I understand.” He makes a choked sound and probably wants to scold me, but I don’t give him the chance. I hang up on him and drift to the bus stop, my eyes on the ground and my body extremely numb. The world passes me by and I don’t really register a thing. Somehow, I get on a bus and get off on the right stop. The moment I walk into Belle’s Beauty HQ, I wish I’d just gone home. Walt is standing guard at the front desk, his eyes squinting at me like I ran over his dog. Not a great addition to my day, but it’s too late to whirl around and head home. He’s caught me. Walt frowns. “You’re late, Kenya.” My nostrils flare. Usually, I wouldn’t say a thing. After so many years of working under annoying bosses, I’ve trained myself to keep my sharp comments at bay. Plus, this job pays much better than when I was working in the store. I’m not in a hurry to lose it. But the image of my sister and boyfriend together is tattooed behind my eyelids and I’m a little short on patience. Walt wags a finger in my face. “Do you think you can slack off without repercussions? This isn’t a playground! I expect more from you!” “You’re the one who told me I could come in an hour later,” I snap. Walt blinks rapi...

“This is the sales associate who attended the workshop?” Hercules frowns. His expression lingers on me, making it hard to keep my balance. One eyebrow arches higher than the other as if I’m expected to curtsy or kiss his hand. Are all men this obnoxious? I fold my arms over my chest and meet the jerkface’s stare head-on. Running out the door with my tail between my legs is only going to happen once today. Once. His regard turns even icier. If I were a little more like myself, I would have glanced down to check if my zipper were open or if I had something on my face. But I’m not in my right mind at the moment. I’m delirious with hurt and fury. And he so happens to be the closest and most deserving target. “It’s impolite to stare,” I snap. Walt’s eyes widen. The stranger shifts his feral gaze away from me and locks it on the chubby manager. “This is her?” Walt bobs his head. Stroking his chin, the cold stranger returns his glare to me and watches with a clenched jaw. I frown. “Can I help you?” Walt stares up at the man like he owes the guy money. “Why don’t you rest in my office, sir? I’ll send Kenya to get you a cup of coffee before we talk.” My jaw drops and an astonished laugh pops out of it. I’m a doormat. A freaking doormat. It must be tattooed on my forehead. Total Push-over. Can Screw Boyfriend. Not that I think Mr. Grumpy Pants would want my boyfriend. He strikes me as the type who’s so self-absorbed he’s evolved beyond human dating. I can see him looking into mirror...

Kenya, why don’t you calm down and come with me?” Walt mumbles. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I give the jerk a floppy wave. “I’m here to work, so if you’ll excuse me…” “Freeze.” I go still. Not because the stranger’s command is that powerful—which it kind of is—but because I can’t believe he just said that. Freeze? As if we’re playing cops and robbers and you’re the hero who came to save the day? Is this narcissist for real? Does he think he’s my boss or something? Before I can string all the colorful four-letter words in my mind together and fling them at him like an atomic bomb, the stranger stomps closer to me. “You’re going to pack up your things and you’re going to HR.” His voice is as delicious as his face, but the words… I meet his eyes and frown. Can he do that? He can’t, right? Confusion descends as I try to figure out what’s going on. It’s a challenge to keep my wits about me given how close his stupidly gorgeous face is to mine. My inquiring gaze shifts to Walt. He swallows and glances down, shaking his head as if I dug my own coffin and he’s not going to help me out of it. “Didn’t you hear me?” The stranger growls. The sound is almost barbaric. I blink, shocked at his tone. It’s only a momentary pause. Anger surges forward again. I still have some choice words lined up for him, but before I can push those suckers out, he folds his arms over his chest and his brows plunge together in a pointy V. You know… I’m starting to think he didn’t descend from Olympu...

Her bun tilts at an awkward angle from the force of her head whip. She massages her wrist as Walt drags her to HR. My eyes fasten on the way she cradles her arm. Is she injured? A flash of regret strikes me, but I get rid of it fast. If she was in pain, she could have spoken up like a mature adult rather than scream and snap like a lunatic. I have no time for tirades and that woman seems to be full of them. What do you know about working hard? The ignorant ones are always the loudest. I guarantee I’ve sacrificed more in my life than she could ever know. She’s welcome to keep her narrow-minded opinions, of course. I’m not going to correct her. I lift my phone and glance at the employee sheet that was sent to my email. Kenya Jones. Three time Employee of the Month. Darwin Department Store’s star saleswoman. How could someone like her cause such a stir in the company? I can’t imagine she would convince many customers to choose Belle’s Beauty products with such rough mannerisms. Yet, the facts speak for themselves. I’ve received incredible feedback about her performance at the workshop. Words like ‘sunny disposition’ and ‘contagious charisma’ were thrown around by the managers. I wonder if they’ve all been hit in the head. Or perhaps they’re suffering from mass hysteria.

The other conclusion is, of course, that something about me brings out the tigress in this woman. A valid theory. And it’s not one-sided. Something inside me responded to her sharp glares and her even sharper tongue. It was raw, carnal and completely uncontrollable. Frightening, really. It’s been a while since a woman has made me feel anything. Not since Claire… But that’s different. She’s nothing like Claire. Not at all. And yet an electric current swam through my veins when Kenya Jones shot her verbal poisoned darts at me. Even now, there’s no hiding my interest. There’s something about that woman. Unfortunately. My steps slow. My eyes return to her even when I tell them to move away. I notice the way she turns and watches me too. Deep, onyx-eyes. They glitter with flames. A line digs into her brown forehead. And her lips—full, kissable, and a shade of purple-brown—twist into a hard scowl. She knows who I am. The boss. Not someone to be trifled with. And she’s still snarling. Have I just encountered a hellcat? I frown at her, wondering if I should keep her or toss her. “Screw you,” she mouths. My eyes widen. She turns her head away and I find I cannot do the same. Why am I so fixated on her? Could it be the way her red dress hugs her petite body, highlighting curves that beg for my touch? Could it be the way the top stretches across her generous cleavage or the skirt that flares around her hips? I can tell she’s got a plump backside. I imagine cupping her tightly. I have...

I slip a hand into my pocket and glance at the empty hallway. Walt and Miss Jones have disappeared. Ezekiel’s low voice echoes behind me. “She doesn’t take to you.” “The feeling is mutual.” Sort of. I take to her body. If that counts. “Should I tell them there’s a change of plans?” Ezekiel arches a bushy grey eyebrow. His chin is as pointy as his nose which protrudes noticeably and is a little crooked thanks to a fight he’s never told me about. “Change of plans?” I frown. He blinks steadily at me as if I should know. As if he doesn’t have the energy or the inclination to spell it out. “Why would I change the plans?” “She’s uncontrollable.” I cock my head to the side. “But I like that.” “She has no respect for authority.” “I like that too.” Ezekiel glowers at me. “She’s beautiful.” “That has nothing to do with her capabilities.” “You’ve noticed.” Who wouldn’t notice? “There will be no change of plans.” Ezekiel studies me. He may be many things—intelligent, quick on his feet, inflexible and so tightly wound I worry he’s going to end up in the ER for an aneurysm—but he’s loyal and trusts my decisions. Finally, he dips his chin. “Shall we head back to the car? Our work here is done.” I nod.

On the way to Fine Industries, I open my phone and thumb through Kenya Jones’s employee files once more. A Lit major. I wonder if she was disappointed when the only job she could get after graduation was at a department store. Working as a store clerk seems like a steep departure from her major. Perhaps it was intentional. I don’t know. Ezekiel’s phone rings. He answers brusquely. “Walt. Yes? Yes.” His stony eyes meet mine as he turns to look over his shoulder. “She won’t be fired?” “You know the answer.” “Walt’s asking.” No he’s not. “I won’t repeat myself.” Ezekiel sighs like a parent tired of disciplining their child and now content to let them make mistakes without interference. “Continue as we’ve discussed. Tell HR to clear out the last of any payment owed and then send her to the Fine Building for her next assignment.” Ezekiel listens to something on the other end and his eyes snap to me. He pulls the phone away. “What if she learns the nature of her next assignment and chooses not to stay?” “Then don’t tell her,” I say simply, scrolling to another page of the pdf. “I’ll convince her myself.” Ezekiel’s thin upper lip goes stiff. “Get her to the Fine Building at all costs. Use your discretion.” I toggle to the page that has the mangers’ feedback from the workshop. My eyes snag on that ‘sunny disposition’ line again. I recall Kenya’s snarling face and shudder. Where? First impressions aside, Miss Jones’s work speaks for itself. I won’t argue with results. And I need he...

Sizzle sashays toward me after Ezekiel closes the door. She’s a tall, slim woman. Her green dress drips with elegance. She’s got an Old Hollywood flair that’s hard to fake and even harder to hold on to. Sizzle’s waning popularity made her almost obsolete but, for my purposes, she’s well worth her hefty endorsement check. Fine Industries isn’t looking to serve young adults who praise the latest social media stars. Our data has ruled that the younger generation are, increasingly, living at home to avoid the rising cost of home ownership. Folks in their mid-thirties to upper fifties, the demographic who remember Sizzle from her glory days, are exactly the right targets. I want those who would otherwise avoid technology to see Sizzle’s face and believe that ours is a product worth trusting. Our calculations have worked out brilliantly. Sizzle tripled our initial investment and I’ve already signed her on for a second campaign. She slows her walk as if she’s a bride dragging a heavy train. Her hips shift back and forth in a slow, deliberate sway. I wonder if she’ll do a pageant bow or perhaps wave to an audience of invisible fans. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, Holland.” She stops right at my desk and I’m grateful there’s a barrier between us or she would have been up in my face. “How have you been?” “Busy. As usual.” I flip open a document and scan it intently. It’s easier to pretend she’s not there than allow my annoyance to take control. Female feelings are ...

I comb over the numbers with precision. I’m known for being unbending, rigid and demanding of all technicians. ‘Impossible standards’ is the feedback. But a high salary and great benefits means a low turnover rate. There are always enough hands on the wheel, even if I rarely take mine away. Control. I don’t have an easy time letting go of it. It’s why Fine Industries has a reputation for excellence. And it’s also why I feel more and more drained every day.

“Sorry to barge in.” It’s a voice that does not belong to my executive assistant. I turn slowly. There’s a limited amount of people permitted entrance to my office. Kayla Humes is one of those people. She prances into the room and shuts the door. Her straight ponytail swings like a pendulum. Back and forth. Back and forth. As precise and cutthroat as she is. Kayla’s about five years younger, but I admire her achievements as if she’s my senior. Her matchmaking business is one that completely baffles me. I would never expect her matchmaking strategy to be relevant in this day and age. Apps and data-driven matches are the way of the future, but Kayla’s proven that there is still a need—no, a demand—for human involvement in the process. I’m one of her success stories. She and the Make It Marriage crew set me up with my wife and then rallied around me after she… after my life went to hell. Kayla habitually checks in on me, though we haven’t spoken since the last time I brushed her off. “Are you okay?” Her voice is light and musical. I’d assume she was a fresh college graduate if I didn’t know she has two kids and a decade-long, blissful marriage to Brendon Humes, a good friend of mine. I smile slightly because I know why she’s here. She stares at the grin and freezes. “That’s it. I’m calling an ambulance. There’s no way you’re okay.” “Kayla, sit down.” I gesture to the sofa. She doesn’t take her worried eyes off me. “When Ezekiel called, I thought the worst.” “Aren’t you reliev...

“Make It Marriage is not an escort service. It’s not a friends-with-benefits service. And you wouldn’t need my help with that anyway.” She scans me, her nose scrunching. “I’m sure you have plenty of opportunities.” “Is that a compliment?” “That is an objective opinion based on my many years as a matchmaker.” I cut her some slack. “You know I have more to consider.” My eyes slide to a photograph on the desk. My only one. The ice around my stone-cold heart melts at just the sight of her. Belle. My reason for living. Her long brown hair is dancing in the breeze and her gap-toothed grin beams at the camera. She’s got her mother’s smile, but her eyes, nose and lips are all from my side of the family. “So rather than find a woman who can be a mother to Belle, you’re going to find one you can sneak in through the back door when Belle’s asleep?” “My daughter has no understanding of adult matters.” “Belle isn’t stupid.” “I know that. She’s the smartest four year old I’ve ever met.” That’s no exaggeration. Belle already has a sharp sense of self. Her favorite activity is gathering all her teddy bears for tea and conversation. “She’s a prodigy.” “Holland.” “Kayla.” I mimic her dry tone. Before Kayla can lash into me, Ezekiel knocks on the door. He waits a moment before poking his head in. “I just got off the phone with Walt.” Kayla arches both eyebrows who’s he? “No one you need to know.” I motion for Ezekiel to continue. He steps fully into the room and closes the door. “I have bad ...

“It doesn’t matter how good her resume is, an attitude like that is tough to work with.” “Her resume is not that impressive either,” Ezekiel mutters. I slant him a who’s side are you on look. “She’s got a good track record.” “And not an MBA in sight.” I frown at him. “I didn’t expect you of all people to be so stuffy.” “You’re the one who created the rules. The only applications you’ve ever considered are those with awards and degrees from top universities.” Kayla lowers her voice. “Does she have something on you, Holland?” “She has practical skills and the ability to triple sales in any store she’s placed in. I want her to clone herself. That’s all.” “He’s adamant,” Ezekiel confirms. As if Kayla can’t already hear it in my voice. “You fought with her.” Kayla rubs her chin. “We had a difference of opinion,” I correct her. “And right after that, you call me and reestablish a link with Make It Marriage…” I don’t like the conclusions she’s jumping to. Even if they’re right. “Miss Jones’s pedigree is a little lacking, but I believe her work experience can make up for it. I’ve tried employing someone with more knowledge than on-the-job experience. It drove Belle’s Beauty into the ground. We’re near obscurity. Not to mention our dwindling sales. This woman is a breath of fresh air.” I grab the binder with Kenya Jones’s evaluations and flip it open. Kayla ignores it. “You’re attracted to her.” “I’ll see myself out for this part.” Ezekiel backs away. “Don’t run, Ezekiel. I’ll need...

“If I leave, it takes the heat off Belle’s Beauty, preserves the Baby Box deal and it allows us both to quell the rumors in a big way. No one can accuse you of being a predatory boss if you’re no longer signing my paychecks.” “What do you mean ‘leave?’ Leave the company?” I glance away. “The country.” “Hell no.” His cheeks turn a mottled red. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.” I bristle. “You don’t dictate where I go, Alistair.” “You know sure as hell that they’re poaching you just to get to me.” “So now I can’t be acknowledged for my skills?” “Stop twisting my words,” he spits. “Why are you moving so fast? If you give me a bit more time, I can get the nonsense stories to disappear and I’ll make sure that no one touches Belle’s Beauty.” “It’s a good opportunity. The kind of opportunity that I might never be offered again.” He leans forward. “Admit it, Kenya. This isn’t just about Belle’s Beauty or your reputation. You’re running.” “From what?” “From me.” I scoff. “This is not about us.” “You started opening up to me, but there was always a little doubt in your eyes. A little part of yourself that you were holding back from me. I didn’t want to push you. I got that your ex-boyfriend and your sister did a number on you, but this is ridiculous.” “What about you?” I snap back. “I haven’t heard a word from you in four days. All I get is Ezekiel’s coffee and Bernard giving me pitying looks from the rearview mirror.” “Damn, woman. I’ve been killing myself trying to fix this!” “Ex...

My whole brain is on fire. No amount of headache reliever pills or booze can fix it. I’m straddling a tightrope and, right beneath me, is an ocean of shark-infested waters. It feels like I’m going to topple to my death at any moment. I stare at the email that just crawled into my inbox and tighten my fists. To: Holland Alistair cc. Human Resources Director From: Kenya Jones Subject: Official Resignation To whom it may concern, Due to an unexpected opportunity, I regret to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as Belle’s Beauty Sales Manager. I would like to use my vacation days—all of them—as per the company policy regarding emergency leave. Thank you for the lessons the company has provided me. I’ve learned so much in these few months and will never forget what I endured. Respectfully, Kenya Jones It feels like a slap to the damn face. She didn’t even bother to write my name. I’m ‘to whom it may concern’ now? Gritting my teeth, I shoot out of my chair and stumble to the window. I pound my fists against the glass. It does nothing to ease the chaos in my chest. She’s really leaving the company. Damn. After our disastrous conversation in the diner, I went home and fumed. Throwing Claire in my face was low and she knew it. I should have been furious, but the anger didn’t even last long. I can’t get through a day without thinking of her. Taking care of her. Being around her. The fact that I walk past her empty office every day is freaking unacceptable. Belle’s B...

“Did you see the email?” He swallows nervously. “What would you like me to do? The HR director is asking. This isn’t how we normally process resignations.” My eyes lift to his. “Give her the vacation days.” His face goes ashen. He barrels close to my desk, moving faster than I’ve ever seen him. “Alistair.” Stubbornness winds across my chest, burrowing deep into the pain that hid away when Claire left me behind. It’s a different kind of anguish. Different because Kenya’s still alive but she’s choosing not to be with me. She’s choosing to leave. It’s like getting clawed in the face over and over again. “Let her go.” “Have you lost your damn mind?” My eyes whip up. I’m getting yelled at by my cool and composed executive assistant. Everyone has officially gone insane. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” I snarl. “I’m talking to the man who needs a good old-fashion pop in the face to knock some sense into him. And since Miss Jones isn’t around to do the honors, I might as well give it a go in her place.” I fold my arms over my chest. “You’ve really decided this is your last day, haven’t you?” “You can try and threaten me, Alistair, but I see right through you. You growl to keep people at bay just so they don’t brush close and get a glimpse of what a coward you really are.” I slam my hand on the table. “She asked to leave!” “And you didn’t fight for her to stay.” “I told her to—” “You don’t fight by ordering.” He glares at me. “You don’t fight by assuming you can control someo...

the opportunity she’s referring to the one at Baby Box?” Ezekiel grinds out. I scrape my hands over my face, suddenly weary. “I don’t know. Probably.” “Is she really leaving the country?” I keep my mouth shut. Ezekiel releases a breath. His eyes bore into me like twin skewers. “She won’t go if you ask her. For some crazy reason that I’ll never figure out, she loves you, Alistair. She’s not the type of woman who’ll run around shooting out flowery words, but she does. She stayed right by your side, even when you were pushing her to the limits. At first, she had something to prove to herself. To you. And then it was about being close to you.” Kenya loves me? Then why is she running in the opposite direction? Why is she forcing me to confront the charred pieces of myself? Weaknesses I don’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. “Fine. Stay there. Hold on to control if that’ll keep you warm at night. I’ll let HR know that Miss Jones will receive all her vacation days.” “Ezekiel.” He glances over his shoulder, his eyes calling me ‘idiot’ in about three different languages. I glance away. “Give her a generous severance package. She put up with a lot at this company.” “People will misunderstand. It’ll come off like hush money.” “I don’t care what people think. She worked like mad for Belle’s Beauty. And she put up with me…” I swallow. “She deserves to be compensated. This has nothing to do with our relationship. I’d do the same with anyone else.” I pause. “I’ll need a new list of ma...

But I also want you to know that I will burn the world down if it’ll keep you warm.

“I’ll accept the ferns on a few conditions.” “Name it.” “You lend me your office to use after hours. I’m thinking of writing a book about all that’s gone on in the past few weeks, but my apartment is too noisy. I worked the best when I was in the Fine Building, and I want to see if my muse finds me again.” Kenya Jones? Back in my office? In my sight again? After hours? “Done.” She laughs. “I don’t want to sneak around the office anymore. Whenever I come in, you keep the door open.” “No way.” “Alistair.” “You want all my employees to see me ravishing you?” Her fingers tighten on my neck. Her body shudders. I trace my fingers down the curve of her spine. “What else?” “You let your employees go home on Saturdays.” “I’ll think about it.” “Alistair.” “How about half-days on Saturday and Sunday?” “Holland.” Hell. “Alright. No Saturdays.” This woman can run off with all my wealth and I’d still grin like a lunatic. She smiles up at me. I let out a breath. “I love you, Kenya. Living without you was a waking nightmare, far worse than anything I endured in my dreams. I won’t do anything to jeopardize this again.” “I’ll give you one more chance.” She lifts a finger and leans her head closer. “Don’t screw this up, Alistair.” Heat envelops me. I lean down, ready to brush my lips against her perfect mouth. “Daddy!” Belle gasps. I jump back, still holding Kenya’s waist. Belle skips up to us, stars in her eyes. “Is Miss Kenya going to be my new mommy?” Kenya chuckles sheepishly. Mrs. Hansl...

“Ready to go?” I nod. He takes me outside to wait for Bernard and I cuddle into his chest. The stars are bright. The trees tower overhead. He strokes my forehead and presses a kiss to my temple. “I’m proud of you.” “What else?” I tease. “I love you.” My smile grows. His eyes caress me. “I love you, Kenya. I love you a little more with every breath that passes. And I’ll make sure you never regret being a part of my family.” He cradles my face. “I promise to always support you, lift you up, fight for you—” “And with me?” His eyes fall over my lips. “Only if you push me.” “I love you,” I whisper. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have had the guts to face my family tonight.” “I cherish you.” He strokes my chin. “And so does your dad. Believe it or not. When we talked, he told me to take care of you. He seemed torn up. Said he’d like to meet with you. Without Felice.” I sigh. “Him sneaking around to talk to me will mess up his marriage. Felice looked like she wanted to stab me in the face when she saw me.” “It’s your call.” “I’ll think about it.” I look up at his gorgeous face. “Just so you know, all my family members will probably be calling you trying to ask for favors.” “I’ll put you in charge of that. I’ll help whoever you want me to.” “What if I wipe your bank account dry?” “You can do whatever the hell you want with my money, as long as you’re mine.” I smile and rise on the tips of my toes to meet his lips. “That was the right answer.” “I’m always right,” he murmurs. I shake my hea...