Page 51 of The Grump I Loathe (The Lockhart Brothers #3)

He wrinkled up his nose as if he smelled hot garbage.

Clearly, someone like him, in his perfectly tailored suit and spit-shined shoes, wasn’t familiar with the concept of interviewing for a job.

I could see his daddy’s buddy from the country club hooking him up with a corner office gig right out of college.

Or maybe he was a trust-fund baby looking to invest his inherited billions in some ridiculous start-up app that pointed out where the naughty, sexy MILFs were in your neighborhood.

“A job interview.” I repeated. “That’s what people do when they’re hoping to actually earn a job,” I said slowly, overenunciating like I was talking to someone who didn’t speak the language. “You know, instead of getting whatever title you want handed to you on a silver platter.”

His expression darkened. “Oh trust me, you have no idea what real work looks like. But I hope whatever… retail establishment ,” he wrinkled his nose as he said the words, “you’re applying to thinks twice about hiring you. You’re rude as hell.”

“ I’m rude?” I shrieked so loudly that it echoed around us. “You practically trampled me to get to this cab. Ever heard of chivalry?”

“It’s easier to be chivalrous when the person on the receiving end isn’t throwing elbows like a linebacker.” He ran his hand down his blazer, adopting an injured expression. “I think you bruised a rib trying to keep me from the cab.”

“ Ha !” I jabbed my finger at him, victorious. “So you did know I wanted the cab! That confirms it, you’re a certified jackass!”

He leaned closer to me, smiling in a way that wasn’t at all kind. “I never said I didn’t know it—I just didn’t think you deserved it.”

I made an outraged noise that was a mix between a shout and a growl, breathing like I’d just run a sprint .

“You might want to close that pretty mouth of yours.” He pointed to the bags piled up on the sidewalk by the corner for garbage collection day. “The flies are brutal already.”

If I didn’t think he’d have me carted off to jail, I would’ve connected my curled fist against his perfect jaw. I wasn’t violent by nature, but I also stood up for myself when I had to.

“Okay, that’s it! Get out of my way!” I shouted as I stepped closer to him.

“Hold on,” he said, throwing his arm out in front of me but not actually touching me. “Let the driver decide.”

The guy bent over to rap on the window. “Sir?”

The driver rolled it down with a world-weary look. He seemed right on the verge of giving up on both of us and heading over to Central Park to find a nice, unargumentative tourist to drive around. “Yeah?”

“This woman ,” he said it as if he wanted to call me something else, “and I are having a dispute about who gets the cab.” He pointed at me, and I wanted to bite off the tip of his finger for getting too close.

“So which of us do you want as your fare? And before you decide, let me just say that I can pay triple your regular rate, in cash.”

The driver slid his eyes to me. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re cute, but this guy wins. Just lemme see the money first.”

When the asshole grinned at me in triumph, his entire expression transformed. Gone was the judgey furrow, replaced by…well, by the most incredible face I’d ever seen. I was about to stagger from the shock of being caught in his high-beam smile and crinkled-up hazel eyes.

Even if it was because he was gloating .

But then, the smile faded as he slapped his chest, then his ass, searching for his wallet.

“Uh…” he said, repeating the slaps and pulling open his blazer and staring into it as if staring hard enough would suddenly make what he was looking for appear.

“What’s wrong?” I asked sweetly, smiling up at him. “Wallet missing?”

“Hold on, did you?—”

“Oh my god, are you accusing me of stealing your wallet?” I asked, incredulous. “Are you actually calling me a thief now?”

The asshole went silent, and I could see him retracing his steps in his head as he stared off beyond me. “Fuck. I left it behind. Okay, you win this one, Fagin. The precious cab is yours.”

I froze when the unexpected name came out of his mouth. The leader of the pickpockets in Oliver Twist ? Did the man read Dickens? Because he looked like Maxim Magazine was more his speed.

“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” I said, but he’d already buried his nose in his phone as he walked away. “It was mine all along, and you know it,” I shouted after him.

He turned on his heel to face me, struggling to find the right insult to hurl back at me.

“Hey, you might want to close that pretty mouth of yours,” I smiled at him as I got into the cab, taking my time and drawing my legs in slowly, then posing like a pin-up. “Remember, flies are attracted to garbage.”

I slammed the door and leaned back in the seat, choosing to focus on this tiny victory instead of the fact that I was now running even later for my interview .

I gave the address of the Veritique headquarters to the driver, and as he pulled away from the curb, I finally felt like my luck was turning around.