Page 49 of The Grump I Loathe (The Lockhart Brothers #3)

BLURB

Months ago, I had a scorching one-night stand with Harrison Winslow. CEO. Sin in a suit. Human red flag.

Also? The grumpiest man alive. Think smoldering glare, dripping sarcasm, and the emotional range of a brick wall.

He ghosted me so hard I had to check for a pulse.

Then we collide again in an airport lounge—just as he’s going viral for trash-talking Scarlett Rush, America’s sweetheart and the world’s most beloved pop star.

Now he’s public enemy number one, the fandom is out for revenge, and his private jet company is bleeding money.

And he wants to hire me to fix it.

I’m a crisis PR pro, not a billionaire wrangler. Babysitting a grumpy jet mogul with a god complex and a grudge against joy—who had me breaking all my rules, then vanished—is not in my five-year plan.

Still, the money’s obscene. The jets are private. And the job? Temporary.

I can keep it professional.

I can ignore the tension in every private jet and late-night strategy session.

I will absolutely not fall for the man who ghosted me.

…Right?

Grab your copy of Handling the Boss

Available January 8, 2026

Chapter One

Gwen

My career was eighteen minutes away from complete disaster.

And that right there is why I hate air travel.

The minute I set foot in the terminal, I’m at the mercy of forces completely outside of my control, which is my personal version of hell.

I could do absolutely everything right pre-trip, meticulously planning my itinerary down to the minute, and bad weather three states away could muck it all up.

Which was exactly what was happening right now as I sprinted through Terminal 1 on my way to Terminal 4.

Because of course my connecting flight was at the opposite end of the airport, and the flight that brought me here arrived late.

As usual, I was wearing pumps that looked lethal but were as comfy as sneakers, so aside from the lumpy carry-on clutched to my chest, I was built for speed.

I felt myself getting a little sweaty as I dodged my fellow travelers. I was going to spend the first half of my flight to Vegas blotting and primping, so I’d be presentable for my next meeting. Was it my fault I scheduled two client intake sessions back-to-back with minimal margin for error?

Okay, yes, it was my fault. But the first one had been a quick hop up to Denver to get a contract signed—an in-and-out no-brainer meeting. If the plane hadn’t been delayed, my plan would’ve been seamless. Hence my hatred of flying.

Flying was exactly what I was doing, though, juking, bobbing, and weaving through the crowds of travelers like an athlete.

I narrowly avoided knocking over a pair of sweet senior citizens, so I turned to apologize to them, still running backward.

They laughed and waved sympathetically, which made me realize I probably looked like an absolute lunatic.

I didn’t care, though; I just cared about not missing that damn flight.

All of the decision-makers were scheduled to be in the meeting, which meant I needed to be on my A-game.

Up until the whole running-for-my-life thing, I looked like the professional I was, in a smart navy skirt and cream blouse.

I was representing the firm on my own this trip, which was a huge professional win for me.

Alan rarely showed any faith in my abilities despite my strong track record.

I wasn’t going to let anything screw this up.

It didn’t matter that the late flight was out of my control. All my boss cared about was signing new clients.

I glanced down at my phone to check the time.

Fuck . I was cutting it close.

The terminal map on the wall made it look like I still had a couple miles to go. I squinted at it as I ran past, picking up my pace until?—

WHOMP .

I slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Except, of course, brick walls didn’t smell like expensive cologne and weren’t quite this warm. For a split second, I was pressed against a very solid, very male chest before I stumbled backward.

The splash of cold liquid that hit my chest immediately after we ran into each other was shocking enough to make me squeal.

“What the hell?” I recoiled a few steps back and plucked the wet fabric away from my skin.

“ Gwen ? ”

I looked up at the person who’d just annihilated my chances of making the flight and froze.

My stomach dropped like I was in a free fall.

“It’s… you …” I managed as shock and anger welled up inside of me.

I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d see Harrison Winslow again, but there he was, looming over me in a bespoke suit and bright blue tie, staring like he’d just planted his Ferragamo loafer in a wad of gum.

“It is me. But I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said in a sarcastic tone that made it clear he was just as pissed off as I was. “Certainly not all of you.”

He pointed at my chest, and when I glanced down, I saw that whatever he’d just spilled on me had turned my blouse see-through, to the point where my formerly invisible hot-pink bra was now on display for the entire airport.

Perfect, just perfect. Even if I could make my flight, I’d now be forced to lead the meeting looking like I’d come straight from a spring break wet T-shirt contest. And the jerk had yet to apologize!

Actually, he looked downright pissed at me .

Just my shitty luck that “downright pissed” looked incredibly hot on him. Of course, I already knew most things looked hot on him. It came with being ridiculously, unfairly gorgeous.

I was usually drawn to tall, dark, and handsome guys, but there was something about Harrison that short-circuited my normal settings.

He had the tall thing going for him, but he was fair, with light hair that was perfectly styled now, but I’d seen it in full bedhead mode.

And his eyes…they were a dreamy, clear green that didn’t look real .

I could still remember staring into them, up close and personal, and wondering how I’d gotten so lucky.

If I’d known how things would turn out, I never would’ve gotten mixed up with a trainwreck like him.

“Not a surprise that the Jetliner Jackass refuses to apologize for his mistake,” I seethed at him, still holding the wet fabric away from my skin. “Kind of how you roll, huh?”

“Oh, please,” he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those damn Scarlet Rush groupies.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Hey, I’ll support anyone who reveals the real you.” His beef with the hottest pop star in the world meant he was facing a whole ocean of bad press lately, in a way that was deeply, karmically satisfying.

“The real me?” Harrison sputtered, moving a half step closer to hover over me. “You have no idea what I’m like.”

“Believe me, I already know more than I want to. I would love to snap my fingers and forget all about you,” I sniped back, holding my ground as I glared up at him. “But I do know for a fact that you’re good at magic tricks, like disappearing. You like to keep things mysterious, huh?”

“And you don’t.” He nodded to my see-through blouse.

My mouth dropped open in shock, and I shifted my carry-on to cover my chest. “This free show is one hundred percent your fault!”

“ I wasn’t the one running through the terminal like I was fleeing wolves,” he said.

“Well, most of us don’t have a fleet of airplanes at our beck and call. Speaking of, why are you even here, slumming it with the rest of us poors?” I couldn’t imagine the CEO of a private luxury jet company ever having reason to fly commercial.

He stifled a laugh. “Just passing through. Where are you off to?”

“Thanks to you, nowhere.” I glared at him. “My connector was late, and I was trying to make my flight to Vegas.”

“You didn’t miss it,” he replied casually. “It’s delayed.”

“No, it’s not,” I huffed at him as I pointed to the display on the wall beyond where we were standing. “It’s…”

“Delayed,” he finished for me. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

I squinted to read the departures monitor. “Wait, how did you know that?”

“Knowing is what I do.”

His unflappable certainty was almost soothing, and for a moment I was transported back to when I believed the man was actually decent. Yeah, he did have a knack for figuring shit out, like my need for white noise at night and real sugar in my coffee in the morning—not the artificial stuff.

The Harrison Winslow I’d thought I was getting to know had been perceptive and thoughtful. Too bad he’d turned into the drink-spilling asshole confronting me now.

The man I’d met a few months ago was nothing more than an illusion.

“Well, even if I’ve got an extra thirty minutes, I look shipwrecked thanks to you,” I said.

“Eh, I’d say the effect is more stripper-adjacent,” he replied as his eyes skimmed down my body. “The hot pink is a choice .”

“And that’s all you get to see.” I clutched my bag tighter against my chest. “Damnit, I need to figure out what I’m going to do. It’s not like I can show up to my meeting in an ‘I heart California’ T-shirt from the duty-free shop.”

I started to walk away, fuming at his audacity. “Have a nice life, Harrison. Stay the hell out of mine.”

“The code is 4313,” Harrison called after me.

I turned to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a secret first class lounge in Terminal B, which you’ll pass on the way to your gate.

It’s down a hallway by the Cinnabon. Opaque doors, no signage.

The keypad code is 4313, which will give you full access to the lounge, and more importantly, the concierge who will dry and press your blouse. ”

I was dumbfounded he was actually doing something to help me.

“Uh, thank you?”

Harrison adjusted his tie. “Least I can do. People like you need all the support they can get.”

“People like me…” I sputtered as I stormed back to him. “What does that mean?”

“Frantic,” he explained, gesturing up and down my body. “Messy. Disorganized.”

“Are you kidding me?” I hollered at him, causing a few people passing by to slow down to watch. “None of this is my fault!”

He chuckled, which only made me angrier. “Which one of us was tearing through the terminal like a rabid velociraptor, hmm?”

“That’s it, I’m taking back my thank you,” I fumed. “And replacing it with a ‘fuck off, Harrison.’”

He tipped his head and winked at me. “Works for me. Safe travels. ”

I wanted to say something about hoping his private jet would end up in the ocean…

but I’d already made enough of a scene. I didn’t like that I’d let him bring out the worst in me.

Normally, I could keep my emotions in check.

My work in public relations required a cool disposition and a level head, and I rocked at my job.

I wasn’t going to let this poltergeist from my past rattle me any more than he already had.

“Whatever,” I said. “Good luck with the Rushies coming after you. No other fandom carries a grudge like them, so expect to be enemy number one for a long time.”

I doubted he caught my reference to one of the singer’s most popular songs, “Enemy Number One.” The woman could write a phenomenal revenge song.

“I’m not worried about Scarlet Rush and her minions,” he responded. “That’s being taken care of.”

I laughed in his face. “Minions? You better watch yourself. If word gets out of you talking like that, it’s only going to piss them off more. And from what I’ve heard, you’re already in deep shit with them. First you screw up her flight, then you insult her entire fandom. Messy .”

His expression hardened as he glared at me. “Like I said, it’s being taken care of.”

I bit my tongue to keep from asking if he was smart enough to hire a PR firm, because he definitely needed one. I had a ton of ideas for how he should be dealing with the Rushies, but I’d be damned if I wanted to share my opinion with him.

“I was so wrong about you,” I muttered, half to myself.

Harrison stalked closer to me. “How’s that?”

We glared at each other in silence for a few seconds .

“The person I met in Aspen was a facade. And what’s funny is that I had my suspicions. I should’ve known you were too good to be true.”

Based on the micro-expression that flashed across his face, I could’ve sworn I’d struck a nerve.