Bachelor grump, p.1
Bachelor Grump, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Willow Fox & Allison West
All rights reserved.
Edited & Proofread by Marla VanHoy and Melanie Kirk
Cover Design by GetCovers
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
About this Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Willow Fox
ABOUT THIS BOOK
We’ve all had that nightmare date, the one that makes you want to throw yourself off the platform in front of an oncoming train.
Mine is my hot next-door neighbor who just moved into the building.
He’s a bachelor. And while he’s gorgeous and easy on the eyes, his mouth needs to be zipped shut.
It’s my fault. He asked me out, and I said yes, not knowing that he was an arrogant jerk.
I’d love to say that I’d never see him again, but it gets worse…
He’s also my new boss, and I’m his assistant. He overhears me mocking his “junk” to my colleague, and I swear I didn’t intend to show my face at the office ever again.
Because Mr. Grump is the ultimate bosshole.
Arrogant.
Demanding.
Manipulative.
I swear he planned it, showing up at the bar, knocking me off my game. And then the bet… There’s no going back.
Imagine my surprise when I find out he has a son.
Mr. Grump is a single father. Boy, do I feel bad for the kid.
This steamy romantic comedy is an enemies-to-lovers romance. It is a standalone, with no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a happily ever after ending.
ONE
Elisa
His name is Weston Grump. I kid you not, the man’s last name is Grump. It’s funny, he does look like a grump. His jaw is always tight and he does seem rather serious when I’ve run into him in the hallway.
He’s the new tenant in our building.
And from what I hear, a bachelor.
There’s no ring on his finger, and I’ve smiled, made polite conversation a handful of times.
And he asked me out for drinks at a bar down the street. To say I’m ecstatic would be an understatement. But I know it’s dangerous.
If it doesn’t work out, we live in the same building.
Yikes.
He’s gorgeous and easy on the eyes, with his thick, dark hair and scruffy beard. Every time I see him, he’s always in a suit. He could be a professional male model. But I honestly don’t know what he does for a living.
I head to the bar, having agreed to meet him there after work. I’m a little surprised he didn’t offer to pick me up, since we’re next-door neighbors, but I can’t fault the man. Maybe he had plans before our date?
As long as it wasn’t another date with someone else first.
But I’m sure he’s not like that. Just because he’s hot, doesn’t mean he hooks up with a random girl every night.
I stalk into the bar, but he’s not there. I glance at my watch. I’m two minutes early, not a lot of extra time, but I was running late curling my hair and fixing my makeup.
I grab a seat at the bar, putting my coat on the stool beside me to save Weston a seat. I order a martini and hand over my credit card to open a tab.
Wes hurries into the bar, glancing around. When he locates me, he nods and steps toward the bar counter.
I move my jacket, giving him a place to sit. He gestures to the bartender and orders a rum and Coke. “It’s nice to see you again, Elisa.” His gaze moves over my dress. “You look very nice.”
“Thank you, you don’t look so bad yourself,” I say with a smirk.
He grabs his glass and takes a swig, offering me a nod. “How long have you lived in our building?”
The way he calls it our building sends a warm jolt of lightning through me. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Three years,” I say. “Almost four. What about you? You moved from Denver, is that right?”
He cocks a sly grin. “That is correct, although I don’t remember telling you that.”
I press my lips together and reach for my martini. The girls in the building talk, especially when it’s about a handsome new guy who moved in and he’s evidently single. “Word travels fast,” I say, and sip my drink. Guilty as charged.
“Gossiping will get you nowhere in life,” Weston says. The smile fades from his face as he glances at my drink and then at me. “Have you eaten dinner?”
I shake my head. “I just got off work. Looking forward to a nice long weekend before I have to face my new boss.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything. Weston takes another swig of his rum and Coke. “We should get some food.” He stalks across the bar for an empty booth and waits for me to get up to join him.
“Okay,” I say, and climb down from the barstool. I grab my coat and purse, taking everything with me to the booth.
Weston examines the menu while I return back to the bar counter to grab my drink. The waitress is already at the table, taking his order.
“We’d like an order of Philly cheesesteak meatballs, mozzarella sticks, quesadillas, nachos, one pound pretzel, and artichoke and quinoa stuffed mushrooms.” The waitress scribbles it all down before rushing off to put the order into the computer.
“That’s a lot of food for one person,” I say, sliding into the booth and placing my drink on the table. I reach for the menu to look it over.
“I ordered for both of us.”
“I can’t have dairy,” I say. Most of what he ordered would make me sick. Six months ago, I had emergency surgery, and my gallbladder was removed. Since then, I’ve been plagued with lactose intolerance.
“Then I guess you can have the pretzel.”
“Or I can find something on the menu to eat,” I say, and open the menu, finding something that looks appetizing. I gesture the waitress over and add an order of wings.
“Anything else?” she asks.
“That’s it for me.”
Weston stares at his phone, nestled in his hand. He seems more interested in his smartphone than me at the moment. “I’ll have a Flaming Dr. Pepper. Do you want another drink?” He doesn’t so much as glance up at the waitress.
“I’ll have another martini. Thank you,” I say as she hurries off to put the rest of our order into the system.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s nothing.” He shoves his phone into his pocket.
“Work?” I guess.
“Just family stuff.” He doesn’t elaborate. “You’ve been in the building three years, you mentioned. I take it you like it?”
“It’s nice. I haven’t had any issues with any other tenants.”
“Good.” His eyes wander toward the bar, and I shift uncomfortably as he stares at a blonde with another guy. They’re having drinks in the spot we vacated.
“Do you know her?” I ask.
“Who?” Weston gives me the clueless look, but I get the feeling that she might be an ex.
It doesn’t matter. “No one.” I exhale a sigh and finish the last of my martini, relieved when the waitress brings a second one to the table, just in time.
There have been rumors that our boss, the Executive Producer and, more importantly, head of acquisitions was leaving. I’m not sure whether it was willingly or not, but the gossip has been spreading like wildfire.
“Elisa, oh my gosh, you got your hair cut short and I love the new color. It’s cute!” Sloane is chipper this morning.
“It looks okay?” I ask, worried that it didn’t turn out after the disaster of a date.
“Of course. Why?”
I exhale a breathy laugh. “Well, my next-door neighbor, and hot date, set my hair on fire.”
“What? No way!”
I wish I were joking. “Well, it wasn’t his fault. The waitress got bumped into when she lit the flame and the next thing I know, my head is slammed against the table and there’s a jacket on my face. Utterly romantic and mortifying,” I mutter.
“Did you get burned?” Sloane asks, her eyes wide. She glances me over, but she doesn’t see any evidence of the fire. That’s because there isn’t any, except for my hair, which went up in seconds.
“No, thankfully, my date was quick to act and pretty much beat me with his coat.”
“Sounds sexy. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks, and it really wasn’t. It was embarrassing and just awful. I mean, the date went from bad to worse.”
“Wait?” Sloane’s mouth drops. “That wasn’t the worst part?”
“No, it probably was, but he kept eyeing this blonde girl, like he wanted to be with her instead of me.” I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. “Bad date.”
“Date from hell,” Sloane corrects me. “Oh, did you hear that we’re getting a new head of acquisitions? Rumor has it that some new bigwig from out west is getting the Executive Producer role and we’ll be forced to report to him.”
“I sa
w John clean out his desk on Friday. Have you seen who they hired?” I keep hoping they’ll promote someone on our team.
“I caught a glimpse of him when he met with HR this morning, and let me tell you, girl, he’s eye candy.” Sloane’s cheeks are red as she fans her face.
“Yeah? When do we meet him?” Not that I’m excited to gain a new boss, but reporting to the CEO has been difficult, since he’s never at the office. He works at a different location, and our Executive Producer typically had direct contact with the CEO.
“You get to meet him now,” a deep voice says, and I inhale sharply. “Weston Grump, and don’t you dare comment on my last name.”
My tongue swipes across my top lip. How long had he been standing out in the hallway? How much had he heard?
“Mr. Grump,” I say, and stand, holding out my hand to properly introduce myself. “Elisa Emerson, I’m your acquisitions editor.”
“Wonderful,” he says, staring at me, locking eyes, and the air seems to be sucked out of the room.
“I’m Sloane Michaels,” my colleague says, standing up to introduce herself.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Michaels,” Weston says.
“Just call me Sloane. We’re all pretty informal around here.”
I’m glad Sloane is talking, because, right now, my mouth is prickly like a cactus. Does Weston recognize me? The last time he saw me on Friday night, my hair was long, blonde, and lit on fire.
After that disaster, I bolted and went home, vowing never to see him again.
On Saturday, I made an emergency appointment at the hairdresser’s. I had her fix the disaster, and in the process of cutting, we also did a full color. With my pale skin, I look a bit gothic for my taste, but I don’t care. I’m grateful for the change.
Is it possible Weston doesn’t know I’m the girl from Friday night? He hasn’t let on, other than the long stare. Maybe he thinks I’m familiar? I’ll go with that. But it’s not like a name like Elisa is all too common.
“Miss Emerson, I suggest you grab a paper and pen. My office. Ten minutes.” He turns and heads back toward his private office.
“What do you think he wants?” Sloane asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Stop it,” I hiss, glaring at her. I don’t have the courage to tell her that he was my lousy date. “He’s our boss.”
“And he’s hot as sin. Girl, let me have the fantasy, at least until he starts bossing us all around.”
“You know he will,” I say. “With a surname like Grump, it’s inevitable.” I don’t tell her how he was an awful date. And while catching my hair on fire wasn’t his fault, him constantly ogling the blonde and checking his phone was entirely on him.
I guess he had a thing for blondes. It’s a good thing I’m no longer his type.
Sloane’s laughter bounces off the open walls. “Girl, get it together.” My eyes widen, and I dread that Mr. Grump might come out to see what all the fuss is about. There’s no chance we’re letting him in on the joke.
Although it kind of feels like the joke is on me, having gone out with him.
Chalk it up to experience and lousy dating apps. You have to kiss a lot of frogs to meet your prince. And Weston Grump is one hundred percent a frog. I mean, he’s easy on the eyes, has a gorgeous body, and that smile, when he offers it, makes my heart strum, and I get those tingly flutters that make me flush. But he’s still a grump.
I grab a pen from my desk and a blank notepad to jot down whatever Mr. Grump wants to discuss. I head for his office and give a firm knock before entering.
“Come in,” he says, and I step into his office. “Shut the door behind you.”
I inhale a nervous breath and try not to let him see my hand tremble. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Grump.”
“Call me Weston.” He glances up from his desk, not amused. “Take a seat.” He gestures to the empty chair across from his desk.
“Yes, sir.” I follow his instructions. It’s not that big of a deal, him having me sit in his office. I’m sure that I’ll have to work with him quite a bit if I’m going to be working under him. Unless he realizes that he hates it here, and there’s a chance he’ll move on, go and work someplace else?
“How long have you been with the company, Miss Emerson?” he asks, respecting my request to be addressed by my last name.
“Seven years, sir.”
“And in that time, have you ever met the CEO?”
I inhale sharply. “No.” My brow tightens. What is this line of questioning about?
“Pen. Paper?”
“Right here,” I say, tapping my uncapped pen against the blank slate. “Do you have a meeting, sir? You mentioned that I would need to take notes.”
“That was an assumption that you made, taking notes. I need you to draft a proposal that will be going out company-wide and then to our PR department.”
“Okay,” I say, unsure what I’ll be writing.
“The CEO of Blazing Media, my father, passed away last night. I have taken over the company as per the terms of his last will and testament—” Weston stares at me. “Why aren’t you writing?”
“Oh, right. Sorry, Mr. Grump.” I jot down the information that Weston provides me with, which isn’t very much.
“With the passing of my father and his absence from the media house, I am the new CEO.” His eyes narrow. “Scratch that. Put something like, in this unforeseen circumstance, Mr. Weston Grump has been appointed the new CEO. While there will be changes in the coming future, everyone can rest assured that Blazing Media will continue to produce romance films for the foreseeable future.”
I jot down as much as I can, but my wrist cramps, and Mr. Grump doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m sorry for the loss of your father,” I say.
“Save it, Miss Emerson. Your sucking up won’t do you a lick of good around here.” There’s a harshness that resonates with him, but I want to believe it’s because he’s grieving, and his father just passed away unexpectedly. “I need a draft of that typed out and on my desk within the hour.”
It’s not a question. “Of course, I will get right on that,” I say.
He stares at me. “You’re dismissed.”
My jaw drops. “I have a question for you, Mr. Grump.”
His nostrils flare. “I hope you take direction better when you write, because your listening skills are significantly lacking. It’s Weston. Call me Weston.” His jaw is clenched as he glares at me. When he realizes that I’m not leaving his office, he gestures to speak. “Go on.”
“Will you be hiring a replacement for the Executive Producer position? Sloane and I thought that you were the new hire this morning,” I say, putting the cap back on my pen.
“No, we will be under a hiring freeze for the next several months while I examine the books and our profitability to see what is and isn’t working around here. My father, technically stepfather, wasn’t very hands-on with the company. I intend to change that moving forward.”
Mr. Grump stands and heads to the office door, opening it.
“You will be reporting directly to me, Miss Emerson. I expect that letter on my desk in fifty-five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hurry out of his office and back to my desk. In a matter of minutes, I’m tapping away at the keyboard.
“So, any gossip?” Sloane asks.
“He wants me to draft a company-wide memo,” I say.
“Anything juicy?”
“I’ll give you one hint; he’s not the Executive Producer.”
Her eyes widen. “Savage. Who is he? What’s his role?”
I click away at the keys on the computer, trying my damnedest to get the memo finished ahead of schedule. Not like Mr. Grump gave me a lot of time to finish the email.
“You’ll have to wait,” I say, not ready to spill his secrets. She’ll find out when he sends the companywide email to all employees.
Sloane stares at his office like she’s envisioning the man naked or something. I swear she’s drooling and obsessed with him. “He’s hot. Any word on if he’s married?”
