Grump: A Grumpy Boss Romance by Michaela Scott

Author:Michaela Scott [Scott, Michaela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20: Callie

“There’s no way that couch costs nine thousand dollars,” I say, pouring myself another glass of Mammoth Cave in Hunter’s kitchen.

“Sit on it,” he says, his eyes dangerously close to playful.

“No, come on,” I say, rolling my eyes, “Somebody ripped you off because you’re rich, charged you three times the price, and now you tell everyone who comes over about your amazing nine thousand dollar couch.”

“Sit on it,” he says again, more firmly this time, as he comes up next to me and fills his own whiskey glass, “That’s an order from your boss.”

A very inappropriate pang of heat pulses through me as Hunter says that, unfortunately not the first one of the night. “You’re giving a lot of orders to someone who’s off the clock.”

Hunter shrugs. “My way of making up for the hell you put me through this morning with your spoiled girlfriend act. I have to re-establish control somehow.”

Pang. Pulse. Throb. They’re coming more frequently now that I’m over at his place, like tremors before an earthquake.

Stepping away from the fault line that is Hunter Mathis, I take my whiskey glass back into the living room and sit on his stupid couch.

“What!?” I shout, as I sink luxuriously into the cushions. “This is insane!”

“Told you,” Hunter says calmly, stepping out of the kitchen with his drink.

“You still paid too much,” I say, unconvincingly, and Hunter shrugs.

Hunter’s apartment, as expected, is pristine, stocked with everything a rich, single executive should have.

It also feels a little bit like we just checked into a luxury hotel, because it doesn’t feel like a place where anyone actually lives. The wine and liquor bottles on the silver rack in the kitchen are unopened. The carpet looks like it was just installed this morning. The couch looked like a picture in a catalog, pillows perfectly placed, until I sat on it. It makes me wonder just how many nights Hunter spends on that futon.

“Sorry it’s a mess in here,” Hunter says, brushing a tiny speck of dust off the arm of the couch, “I haven’t had time to clean up this week. I’ve been at the office.”

Hunter steps towards the couch like he’s going to join me, but then he pauses in front of his reflection in the high rise window and turns towards the glass.

I’m still not one hundred percent sure why he invited me back here. It doesn’t seem entirely…professional. We’re also sharing our fourth drink of the day, and as much as Hunter tries to hide it, I can see the change in his body language. His composure is thrown off, but he’s not nervous. His movements are looser, more fluid.

I can’t decide if I want to keep my distance or poke the bear. I mean, there’s a third option that certain nerve endings below my waist will not let me forget about, but I’m trying to keep it to just the first two.

Keeping my distance? Good move. Sensible. Let the whiskey lull me to sleep, lie down

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