One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

I doubt it gets us anywhere, except for frustrating Wyatt more, causing him to dig his lonely heel into the ground.

My eyes flick over him, cool and assessing.

Part of me says make him get back on his feet. Just haul him off in a headlock and get him help. I’m sure Louis would help me wrestle him into the back seat.

He’s on one leg and losing a few more pounds of muscle every month, even if he’s still as strong as a pit bull.

It’s not like he could run, but the only thing that’s kept the poor SOB alive this long is his damn stubborn pride. His agency.

Take that from him—however well intended—and he might break forever.

I reach in my pocket and pull out a phone, holding it out to him.

“If you won’t come home with me, at least take this. It’s prepaid and has a lot of minutes on it.”

He stares at it silently. He doesn’t reach for it.

“Damn you, Wyatt. Take it. Keep it handy, just in case you need to call me or have an emergency. It’s no big deal. I got a deal on it when I upgraded my phone, and yours broke a long time ago.”

He stares into the fire for a minute before he reaches out and grabs the phone.

Thank God.

“My number’s pre-programmed in the contacts. Number one. Call me anytime,” I say.

He doesn’t answer.

We sit there in silence for a while together, two old souls set in their ways like concrete.

It’s getting late. I should go. But how will he even get back in the tent on one leg without crawling? If I ask, he’ll bite my head off.

Maybe if I sit here long enough, he’ll ask for help.

He doesn’t, though, and eventually I take the hint and leave.

As I’m heading back to my town car on the curve, I wish the rain was colder. It can’t dampen the hot fury lashing around inside me.

“I hope you’re happy wherever you are, Olivia, you backstabbing fuck.” I growl to no one, my fist tightening as I picture Wyatt’s ex.

That’s another thing we have in common, even if he took more damage from his cheating ex.

As the rain picks up, I mutter a dark prayer to Mother Karma.

Just this once, I wish that a good man who’s suffered so much could find some relief.

I also wish prayers actually came true.

Monday morning, I get to the office before eight a.m.

There’s already a draft of new ad copy from Miss Poe waiting in my Inbox.

If she thinks a rushed job warrants her salary, she has another thing coming. I’ll bring her in and set her straight. I open the document, almost salivating at the opportunity to rip it apart and haul her into my office to chew her out.

Hold the drool.

I blink at the screen, seeing neat lines of ads mocked up with punchy phrases and paired with eye-catching images.

It’s damn good. Spotless, in fact.

There isn’t anything to sink my teeth into. I can’t be disappointed at a job well done.

At least my hiring decisions are spot on, even when they involve a pastry thief in a seductive black dress.

Regardless, I have a meeting scheduled with her today so we can clear the air. I’m not interested in leaving either of us languishing in a hostile work environment—no matter if she’s eighty percent responsible for said hostility.

Yeah, I won’t admit I’m to blame for how we started out.

This line needs talent, focus, and zero distractions. Something tells me she won’t be the one to swallow her pride and make peace.

Time to step up and be the leader everyone respects around here.

If I’m lucky, I’ll win her respect, too. She might start looking at me like I’m the boss instead of an inquisitor holding her salary hostage.

Fifteen minutes later, she steps into my office. Her slender legs, curvy hips, and annoyingly luscious ass are outlined in fitted black slacks today.

Her full breasts are hugged by a sparkling silver blouse that yanks my eyes to the tightly formed V on her chest, straight to her cleavage.

Fuck me.

For several heady seconds, I can’t yank my eyes off her. My fingers drum against my desk, wondering if I should impose a new dress code, because there’s nothing inappropriate about this outfit.

Fuck, Linc. Get it together.

“You summoned me?” She says it too obediently. I half expect her to add Master to the end.

Then I catch the cactus-like look in her eye and realize it’s all sarcasm.

Damn this insufferable woman.

Damn her lips, too, so full and so sweet it’s a crying damn shame they’re also full of it.

I never noticed her pout before. Maybe it’s just the siren-red lipstick accenting her look today, but hell.

Her eyes, man.

Focus on her eyes. Prove you’re a man in control of his faculties and not a gibbering orangutan, I growl inwardly.