One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

I bat his hand away, doubly annoyed and taken aback.

“You’re insane. Touch me again and I’ll press charges for robbery. It’s a cinnamon roll, dude. Calm down and come back tomorrow when they’re replenished.” I panic chug my latte and walk out the door.

Hot Stalker Shrek is undaunted.

He trails me outside as I stroll into the Seattle sunshine, taking a deep breath.

“Seventy-five!” he calls after me.

“What?”

“Seventy-five dollars.”

“Um, no.” I speed walk to the bike rack and unlock my wheels with one hand, balancing the Regis roll and the latte in the other.

“One hundred dollars even,” he belts after me.

Holy Moses. How high will he go?

“One fifty!” he calls two seconds later.

There goes my jaw, crashing to the pavement.

A chill sweeps through me. I’m worried we’re leaving eccentric waters for clinically crazy.

Part of me wants to keep him talking just so he doesn’t carry me off to his evil lair. I imagine a storage shed stacked to the ceiling with crumpled cinnamon roll boxes.

“Did you really just offer me a hundred and fifty dollars for a cinnamon roll?” I place the latte in a cup holder on my handlebar and climb on the bike.

He gives me an arctic look, like he knows he’s got me now and I’ve already accepted his bizarro deal.

“You’re welcome. You can Uber and still have a nice chunk of change.”

I scan him up and down, purposely glancing at his polished leather shoes a second too long. In another time and place, I’d take a nice big sip of my latte and spray it on his shoes but...that’s not how I roll.

I have my dignity. I plan to have a little more of it when I’m safely away from here, too.

“This may come as a shock, but not all of us worship money, King Midas,” I say.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says with a snort, squaring his hulking shoulders.

“You’re a nutter. Like actually insane.” My eyes flick to his wrists for good measure, legit wondering if I’ll see a hospital band.

“I am not. Have you ever tasted a Regis roll? Seattle’s top food critic described them as—what was it? A category ten mouth-gasm?”

My lips twitch. I try like hell not to burst out into a blushing laugh.

“Man, I am not discussing mouth-gasms with you,” I say.

“You’re missing the point,” he says sharply. “Help me and help yourself, Miss Dakota. We never have to see each other again and you’ll be three hundred dollars richer.”

“Three...hundred?” I say slowly, my mouth falling open.

“You heard me.” His eyes flash with hope and triumph, and he starts reaching for his wallet.

Stay strong.

Invisible crucifix.

Latte holy water.

Do not be tempted by Lucifer.

“See, you’re not making your case. Just further proving your insanity.” I eye him warily. Maybe there’s some wild story behind how he stole this suit and he really did just escape some mental institution.

That would be the most believable explanation for what’s happening.

Honestly, a lot less scary than thinking guys who look like billionaires want to spend their time reverse robbing strangers for their pastries.

“Five hundred dollars, damn you,” he rumbles. “Final offer.”

My jaw detaches from my face.

Five hundred flipping smackers?

That’s more than my student loan payment this month. Almost half my rent. I’m tempted to sign my soul away, but my fingers clench the bag tighter, demanding me to be brave.

Not today, Coffee Shop Satan.

A smile that’s almost comically pleading pulls at his lips.

Damn. Somehow, he’s even hotter when he smiles and makes those puppy dog eyes. A face like his should come with a warning.

“I see that got your attention,” he whispers.

“Did it?”

“Your mouth dropped,” he says, making me keenly aware his gaze is fixed on my lips. I don’t even know what to do with that.

He closes the space between us and reaches for my bag, trying to get the drop on me.

“Hey—no! I told you it’s not happening, crazypants.” I don’t like the way he so casually invades my space. I also have a pesky habit of not taking a single speck of crap from anyone. Especially this past year.

But there’s also this tiny thought nibbling at the back of my brain that screams this man is no different from Jay.

Just richer, stronger, better-looking, and possibly more arrogant.

Keeping this Regis roll out of his grubby paws is a little win for Dakota Poe against mankind. Against every swinging dick who brandishes his selfish ego like a club.

“I’m perfectly sane. I simply need that roll, and I can’t walk away empty-handed,” he tells me.

“Y’know, I woke up inspired to write today. But I wasn’t planning on getting real-world inspiration shoved in my face from someone so ridiculous.”

“I have no idea what the hell that means, but I need the roll and you need money. Do we have a deal?”

“Why am I not surprised you can’t follow simple English? Are you one of those guys who paid five hundred dollars for some poor geek to boost your grades too?”