One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

I never asked him to give up his band. Not in a million years.

Old me would’ve even followed him to California in a heartbeat if he’d asked me to stay like the lonely, loyal puppy I was. He didn’t.

Just give me a chance to explain. If you still hate me after that, fine.

Oh, jackass. I don’t need anyone’s permission to hate you.

I block his number. Again.

Ugh. I might have to take Lincoln up on that offer to shut him up, whatever it involves.

Then I move to the next message in my box.

Lincoln: Is he still harassing you? Don’t try to convince him you’re better off without him. He’ll try to prove you wrong. Just block his number. Life is too short.

Cute. Now I’m getting advice about handling rotten exes from the bosshole.

Dakota: Thanks, but I’ve been blocking him. He just keeps finding new numbers. You have to buy twelve Regis rolls tonight and they won’t be ready for half an hour. Is that okay?

Lincoln: Yes. Do whatever it takes for the rolls. If he keeps finding new numbers, let’s put an app on your phone to send unknowns straight to archive. The security is pretty good at deleting anything made with Google or other quickie tools as spam.

Is that a thing? I didn’t even know.

Also, what is happening? Lincoln Burns is really helping me? Not just scolding me or having a laugh at my expense with some foot-in-mouth swipe.

Thank you. We’ll try it, I text.

I drop the phone back in my purse.

“Yeah, I’ll take the dozen. Can I get a latte for the wait?” I finally confirm for Barista Boy.

“Of course, no problem.”

I pay for the order and move to the counter where my drink slides across momentarily before I sit down at a table and wait for the rolls.

My phone goes off again. I doubt it’s Jay this time. He may be ridiculously fast, but I’m sure he hasn’t had time to spoof a new number yet.

Lincoln: I think you’ll understand why I need the cinnamon rolls tonight.

Dakota: The same reason you need the mystery package? You’re so weird.

Lincoln: I don’t want to risk you freaking out when you arrive, so I’ll tell you now. The mystery package contains a prosthetic leg.

I stop cold. What?

Dakota: Why, pray tell, am I traveling around with an artificial leg?

Lincoln: Just don’t mention the damned leg. He hates that.

Again, the mystery deepens. I realize this must all tie back to his weird charity pastry runs, but a single prosthetic? Apparently for someone very specific?

He? I send back.

Lincoln: You’ll see.

Dakota: You’d better not have an imaginary friend, or I swear I will go full Poe on your butt.

There’s a pause before his next message sails in.

Lincoln: I have something worse—a very mouthy assistant.

Damn him. But maybe, for once, I deserved that.

Dakota: Meh. You knew that when you hired me, and I was just supposed to write copy, remember? If I’d known I’d get stuck babysitting you all day, I never would’ve taken this job. No matter how well it pays.

God help me, I’m smiling. I’m also hyperconscious of the few people milling around Sweeter Grind watching me and wondering what’s gotten in my head, so I hide my smile behind my hand, nibbling at my knuckles.

Lincoln: Liar. You belong to me, Miss Poe.

Oof. I wonder if that was a slip or intentional. A normal boss would say you belong here, but this is Lincoln Burns and he’s—

Yeah. He’s not making this suffocating tension any better.

I don’t respond this time, although arguing with Lincoln does make the evening go faster. It’s a warm, clear night. My favorite kind of moon rises high out the window, slowly, casting a pale-yellow sheen over everything that feeds my Gothic fantasies in this city.

Well, Gothic-ish.

I try not to think about the fact that I’m meeting up with my boss under the moonlight to deliver a freaking leg.

He might be an irredeemable vampire of a man, but if it’s meant to be moody and romantic, the weirdness outshines everything.

My phone hums again.

Lincoln: Anna isn’t giving up on her fake marriage idea, you know. Word gets around. Other people think it’s a good idea too, even if they won’t come out and say it.

Dakota: Other people like...?

Lincoln: Half the marketing team. Plus design.

My heart sinks. I wonder how many of my coworkers are whispering behind my back, hoping I’ll take the bait and fake it with Lincoln for their amusement.

With a sigh, I text back, Do you want me to call a talent company and set something up?

Lincoln: Fuck no. The last thing I need is a high maintenance model hanging around and trying to seduce me. Wouldn’t be the first time.

I roll my eyes. He can’t go ten minutes without brandishing his ego, and the worst part is, I know it’s probably true.