Page 3 of Coming for Her Grumpy Boss (Coming For Christmas #3)
chapter
three
Mia
Current day…
Today is the day.
I’m not waiting a moment longer for him to sign this contract. I have it pulled up on my tablet, but I also print a copy in case he doesn’t want to sign the digital version.
But enough is enough.
I check my hair to make sure I still look professional, and then I march straight into his office.
His pale blue eyes track me as I move towards his desk.
Leaning back in his expensive leather chair, he looks more like a mafia boss than an executive with his tattooed hand and piercings.
Yes, multiple piercings. I know for certain one eyebrow, his nose, and both ears.
I suspect he’s got some body piercings as well, but I’ve never been able to confirm that suspicion.
“Something I can help you with, Ms. Morales?” he asks, his tone as crisp as his pressed white shirt.
I sit in one of the chairs facing his desk.
“The last time we discussed this, you told me to wait until the middle of the month because we’d be closer to the holidays and business would be slow,” I say.
His brow furrows. Just beneath that perpetual shadow of scruff on his cheeks, I see his jaw tick. “Today is not a good day for this.”
My immediate instinct is to throw something at his smug, handsome face. Instead, I shake my head. “No, we’re doing this. Because so far every time I’ve come here for this you’ve had one excuse after another.”
“I don’t have time for this,” he says.
“Actually, you do. I cleared your calendar for the entire afternoon,” I say cheerfully.
Ford’s mouth twitches, and I swear he’s going to smile at me. I could likely count the number of times my boss has smiled at me on one hand. To say they’re rare is a severe understatement. But the hint of one is enough to get my heart racing.
It’s annoying how much he affects me despite my knowing that he doesn’t like me. I’m not used to people not liking me. I’m a friendly sort. I’ve never had a problem making friends.
Until Ford.
He is the root of all my problems.
Okay, that’s probably unfair.
“I attached the financial report too. For your convenience,” I add with a smile. Am I pushing his buttons? Probably. But I tend to do that even if I’m not trying.
“I still might need the CFO to run through the numbers again,” he says.
“The numbers I included are the most recent from his office. I spoke to him last week about this,” I say.
This brings on his most intense glare. He stares at me for a good, solid minute, and I just stare back.
I’ve had lots of practice looking at his stupid, beautiful face.
I’d say I’m nearly impervious to his attractiveness, but judging from how hard my nipples currently are, impervious is clearly not what I’m feeling.
I blow out a breath. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just fucking with me.”
A rumbly noise echoes from his throat, and his jaw tightens so much I’m certain he’s going to crack a tooth.
He caps and uncaps his pen like it’s a stress ball. I slide a little stack of neon flags across the desk.
“For your convenience,” I say sweetly.
He slides them back with one finger. “These are only necessary for unobservant morons.”
“Nonsense. They’re all the rage with the C-suite crowd.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Clause twelve-b.”
“Force majeure. Pandemic, God, acts of Santa,” I say. “Supplier obligations prorate; we renegotiate in good faith within thirty days.”
His pen stops clicking. “Fourteen?”
“Termination. Cause, convenience, cure period—seven business days. You just need to initial the revision on page nine because legal suggested ten and you hate double digits.”
He lifts a brow. “Hate is a strong word.”
“So is stall.” I pull a gold pen from my blazer. “Would a festive writing instrument help?”
He eyes it. “That pen is obnoxious.”
“You take that back. My boss gave this to me on my one-year anniversary with the company. It’s engraved.”
His eyes zero in on the pen, then raise to my face. “Is that seriously a thing we do here?”
I shrug. “It’s a thing Human Resources does.”
“Dumb. I could buy a better gift. Had I known you required a work anniversary gift, I would have been more thoughtful.”
“Gifts are never a requirement. That’s the point.” I sigh. “Sign and I’ll save the CFO from yet another thrilling walkthrough of math we’ve both already triple-checked.”
“Bribery.”
“Incentive.” I lean in, lower my voice. “What do you want for your cooperation?”
“Careful,” he says, but his mouth is definitely thinking about being a smile. “What do I get?”
“Five minutes of silence where I don’t say ‘for your convenience.’”
“Impossible.”
“Fine. Three minutes and I’ll stop reorganizing your snack drawer by rainbow order.”
He studies me like I’m a puzzle he likes pretending he can’t solve. “Timer?”
I lift my phone and show him a meeting block labeled SIGN THE THING . “We have thirteen minutes left.”
He taps the tablet screen, skims, and then—of course—glances up. “You added a holiday co-marketing clause.”
“Two social posts, one in-store tasting, a tree-lighting tie-in,” I say. “Exposure both ways. Don’t be grumpy; you like win-wins.”
“I like accuracy,” he says.
“Which is why I brought receipts. Annex C.” I flip, he follows, and his pen hovers.
He exhales. “You’re relentless.”
“Duty-bound.”
He goes quiet, the room filling with the soft hum of the air vent and the citrus-and-hops thing that always clings to him. He makes a note on a sticky note, but the ink skips. He shakes the pen.
He eyes my ridiculous gold pen. “It writes terribly.”
“It’s for morale,” I whisper.
“Morale doesn’t need glitter,” he says, but the corner of his mouth tilts—traitorous, unfair.
“Say that to the entire holiday economy.”
He clicks the cap back on his own pen with a tidy little snap. “If I sign all of these now, will you stop calling the CFO ‘my numbers guy’ like he’s dealing illegal mathematical equations?”
“I will consider a cease-and-desist. But you could just sign everything instead of inventing another reason to marinate?”
“I do not marinate.”
“You baste.”
He huffs—almost a laugh—and lowers the pen.
Then we’re both saved by the appearance of Hawthorne Cumberland, Limestone Brewery’s in-house counsel and Ford’s closest friend.
Thorne, as he’s known to most people, is as charming and affable as Ford is terse and grumbly.
They’re even opposite in their looks. Where Ford is all dark hair and dark ink and broody glares, Thorne is tall, and ginger and freckled and adorable in his slutty little glasses.
“Mia, you look lovely today,” Thorne says as he skirts around me to take a seat in a chair across from the desk.
“Thank you, Thorne. I was just leaving, I guess.” I drop the contract onto Ford’s desk. “I’ve marked everywhere you need to sign. For your convenience.”
Ford nods. “Thank you.”
When I reach my desk, I grab my cell phone and immediately start texting my sister.
ME: Quitting might not be enough.
ME: Do you think we can dig a big enough hole?
ESME: Unlikely. Especially since you don’t like to be outside or sweat too much.
ME: It’s hot outside.
ESME: Of course it’s hot. We live in Texas.
ESME: AKA the surface of the sun.
ME: More like Dante’s seventh circle.
ESME: Anything new or just him being his charming self?
ME: Just trying to get him to sign the damn contract for you.
ESME: I still think a blow job would make all the difference in his attitude.
ME: I’m sure daytime orgasms make everything better.
ME: Not that I would know.
ME: Not everyone has a hot movie star boyfriend in love with them.
ESME: Not everyone is in love with their grumpy boss, either.
ME: I am not in love with Ford McCall.
ESME: Oh, right. I forgot that’s the story we’re going with.
ME: I do not even like you.
ESME: You love me. Not quite like you love Ford, but still.
ME: I hate you.
ESME: Like you hate your boss?
ME: ARGH!!!!!!
ME: middle finger emoji
ME: eye rolling emoji
ME: sobbing emoji