One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

Miss Poe stares at me like she’s trying to decide if I just stepped out of one of her ancestor’s short stories.

Say something, idiot. You don’t need to scare her.

True enough. She writes clean copy, and I don’t want her to walk out of here so rattled she quits on the spot. Especially since Lucy told me this morning that she’s starting to have contractions.

“You have to admit, the Regis rolls are worth a princely sum.”

“Yeah—they’re good. Just not psycho-stalker good.” She looks at me, her green eyes glittering and her lips twisting before they purse up in a duck face. “...can I tell you what it looks like to the rest of the world? Assuming you even care, anyway.”

“Is there any way I’d stop you?” I throw back.

She ignores that. “I don’t think your mantrum—”

“Mantrum?”

“Man tantrum—”

“Hardly, Nevermore. Also, that’s a pretty sexist remark and sexism doesn’t belong in this workplace. My mother would storm the place like a mad hornet if I let that shit fly,” I grumble.

“Nevermore?” For a second, she looks at me, too stunned to speak.

I should apologize. Juvenile nicknames aren’t exactly becoming around here either.

I should.

Only, I don’t want to, especially when the name suits her.

“Look, Mr. High and Mighty, I didn’t want to start my first real morning here debating office power dynamics. I’m pretty sure you’d lose. May I continue?” She ignores the hot glare I level on her and barrels onward without waiting for an answer. “The rest of the world thinks your mantrum over the cinnamon roll happened because you’re an entitled prick. You’re so used to being handed everything you want that you couldn’t handle not being able to get your hands on your morning sugar fix, so you freaked.”

I glare at her as she continues.

“Then, when I wouldn’t immediately cave and relinquish it for what’s probably pocket change to you, it bruised your fragile little ego so much that you just had to clobber me the second time with the only thing that matters to you. The only thing that makes you think you’re better. Money.”

Fuck, the mouth on this raven.

When she puts it like that, I’ll admit, it does sound pretty bad. I want to tell the pastry witch she’s wrong, but my brain seizes, tripping over the way she’s called me out.

“I called you in here to offer an olive branch, Miss Poe. Not to burn this place down,” I warn darkly.

“Oh, okay.” She pauses, rolling those eyes like jade marbles. “I have a better idea.”

“What?”

“I quit. Effective immediately.”

Before I can even breathe, she’s out of her seat, heading for the door.

I’m up like lightning, flying past her and blocking the door.

“Quit? You can’t just—”

Her look says try me. “This just isn’t worth it, Burns. I wanted to make this work, but it was wishful thinking, and wishes don’t come true.”

“Ninety days,” I snap off, my mouth moving faster than my brain.

“Huh?”

“Ninety goddamned days,” I repeat, pinching the bridge of my nose before I look at her again. “If you make it until then, I’ll quadruple your performance bonus. And based on what you turned in this morning, keep that up, and I’m sure you’ll make at least an extra hundred thousand. Not from the company coffers, but my own.”

There’s a long, terrible pause before she huffs out a breath.

“Again, you’re trying to buy me. How cute.”

I inhale sharply. “Nevermore, I’m trying to make you comfortable the only way I know how. I’m offering you a choice.”

She tilts her head with a sarcastic smirk.

“Even you can’t sneer at six figures for a few months of work. If you’re out the door after that, I won’t stop you,” I say, shaking my head. “I want you here. Working on my wedding line. Not wasting another minute bickering over frigging sweets.”

“Ninety days,” she repeats to herself, her brows pulling together thoughtfully.

I wait, trying not to make it obvious I’m holding my breath.

I’m not sure when the fuck I started to care this much, or why.

She’s a stranger and a royal pain in the ass. Letting her go before she’s even started shouldn’t feel like losing something critical.

“Well?” I prompt, scuffing my shoe against the floor. “We don’t have all day, lady.”

“I suppose a quick payoff like that might be fair compensation for putting up with your rudeness.”

I blink. “My rudeness?”

Does she hear herself? I’m offering to pay her from my own pockets for the privilege of retaining her services—and she’s calling me fucking rude?

“That’s right. And to help make sure it won’t be a problem, I’ll make the Sweeter Grind run every morning and grab your stupid coffee and your stupid Regis roll. And I’ll do it on my bicycle. In the event there’s only one Regis roll when I arrive, I’ll generously give it up to you.”

Not what I expected her to say.