I blink my eyes too fast. It’s either that or cry. I want to tell him he’s a colossal prick.
If I could take it back, I’d have never left with him last Friday, and not because we have to work together.
Because he’s horrible.
I can’t reconcile the Warden with the image of the chivalrous grump I met at the museum.
First impressions can be wrong. Irony of ironies, I know.
That kind of works both ways here.
“I’m only going to say this one more time. I had one glass of wine. One.” I hold my finger up, desperately wishing it wasn’t shaking.
It’s not a snappy or punchy declaration. It’s tearful and pathetic and totally unlike me.
I’m the girl who dishes crap out and doesn’t take it. Except—oh, right—I have to gag on humble pie if I want to keep this job.
I’m so deflated the words are barely audible.
Maybe I should’ve just gone with Brina’s first option and pretended like it never happened. I could’ve tried to deny it. A mistaken identity lie seems better than this shitshow.
“You can quit lying to yourself because you’re not fooling me, Miss Holly,” he says coldly. “Believe me, if you’re ever such a lush on the clock, I assure you I will find out. And when I do, I’ll skip Grandma and go straight to HR. You’ll be promptly removed without an appeal—or even a sobriety test. We don’t dispense those here.”
“Ha, ha,” I sputter bitterly.
His eyes widen at the open disrespect.
It’s too much. I need this job but I can’t stay quiet any longer.
Now, I think I’m cool with the route I took.
This Warden—this Wardhole—isn’t turning me into a coward.
“Whether you believe I’m a drunk or not doesn’t change what happened that night.” I smile at him and keep my voice even. “I’m fine with arguing the truth. But then again, I don’t call my boss 'Grandma.'”
The last word hangs in the air like thunder.
Either he doesn’t get it or he doesn’t care.
Clearly, I’m not accomplishing much here, so I think I’ll escape to the lunch Beatrice insisted I take and clear my head before I have a nervous breakdown.
“Watch your mouth, Holly. I’m a partner!” he snaps, his pride and his ego showing its bruise.
I throw my head back and laugh. “God, you’re funny.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes bulge, and I can practically sense his blood pressure building like a mudslide.
“Oh, nothing.” I shrug. “One, it took you long enough for my comment to sink in. And two, you’re a partner in a family firm. My sister works for my dad. I don’t. I freelanced for two years before landing this job and I earned it honestly.” I grin at him. “On my own.”
His mouth drops.
Now who’s speechless?
I put two fingers to my head and move them away in a smart-ass salute before I pivot for the door. I leave it hanging open on my way out as I sail away.
He can shut it himself.
He’s a big boy, and a very thin-skinned boss.
I came here to apologize, not declare war.
If this Warden wants to play games, I’ll give him the jailbreak of his life.
4
Sloshed (Ward)
For a nanosecond, I almost regret being so harsh with her.
Almost.
Then that damn woman and her barbed wire tongue went and accused me of benefiting from family nepotism. We’d have both been better off if she’d simply crashed her hand across my face.
I’m a highly sought-after architect with years of experience as a CEO and two degrees from top-notch schools. I’ve added billions to this company. I fought overseas. I’ve made Grandma’s vision bigger and brighter than the sun. I’m worth more than most men can dream.
And I absolutely do not need this shit in any way, shape, or form.
Hell, I could’ve started my own firm if I weren’t here for Grandma. Not many people run a multibillion-dollar company at thirty-two.
Yes, it’s my family’s company I’m running, and after what we’ve suffered, no one would have blamed us for closing up shop and retiring to some remote island.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so blunt with her, but after Grandma’s last EA hit on me and then skipped out of the place without notice, I learned my lesson.
It’s best to drag these issues out back and shoot them between the eyes.
Plus, it’s bad enough I had to pretend to be someone else to rescue her from the grabby loser at the museum. I intervened on her behalf, drove her home, and set her up to deal with the imminent hangover.
My reward?
She repaid me by pointing out my lack of a ring—as if I drip pure defeated bachelor—and then had the fucking gall to imply I’m only where I am thanks to Grandma.
Yeah, I get it.
Girls go for fun guys like Nick who are better at concealing their baggage, but someone has to be the level-headed brain behind decisions hundreds of livelihoods depend on. Not to mention the family legacy.