Page 4 of The Grump I Married
“Bloody hell! What do you want?” he snapped. “Some sappy, cliched rot with me down on one knee? Will that make all of this easier?”
“No, I don’t want you down on one knee!” I didn’t want him in any position, especiallythatone.
“Then what do you want from me?” he growled, something simmering in the tension in his voice. Something that made my skin prickle.
“Why don’t you start with trying not to insinuate that I have nothing else going for me,” I said, my voice layered with irritation. “And that my sole purpose in life boils down to my availability to be your fake wife.”
“I was merely pointing out the fact that this shouldn’t inconvenience you,” he said through his teeth.
“Right, sure,” I muttered sarcastically. “Why would getting married to my boss inconvenience me? Especially since my entire world revolves around you, Your Royal Jackassness.”
He bristled, his shoulders hunching up by his ears, but I wasn’t done.
“Oh boy,” I continued. “I can’t wait. Do I get dental with this promotion to wife? Is there a dress code to be Mrs. Kincaid? Let me guess, a lot of tartan, right?”
“Enough of this!” he cried. “Call the courthouse.”
I crossed my arms. “No. I willnotbe marrying you!”
His eyes flashed, something icy and sharp in their depths. “That’s not an option, Lena. We’re getting married today. You’ll come with me to Scotland to do a little song and dance for the solicitor and then?—”
I threw my hand up. “You can stop right there. Even if some delusional part of me wanted to consider this, I’m on vacation starting the end of next week. Or have you already forgotten? What am I saying—of course you have. You always conveniently ‘forget’ when I take time off, or bulldoze over my vacation requests, because you can’t fathom the idea of me having a single sliver of a life that doesn’t revolve around you.”
He sneered at me. “You’ll just have to reschedule to another week.”
I clenched my jaw so tightly my head throbbed. It felt like it was going to explode as I willed the heat of my anger to suffocate him. “And miss my best friend’s bachelorette party? The one I spent months painstakingly planning to work around your already ridiculous demands on my time? The one I gave you a heads up aboutlastyear?” He was out of his mind. “Yeah, no. That’s a hard pass from me.”
“Tess will understand,” he said dismissively. “And I’ll compensate you with generous overtime. You can send her an expensive gift and call her from Scotland.”
“Bah!” That was it. That was the final straw. Something inside me snapped at his sheer audacity, speaking for Tess. Speaking forme. Assuming I’d ever be okay with ditching my best friend since childhood to play pretend with Weston while she wasgearing up to get married forreal. That any kind of gift would make up for my absence.
“If anything, you should be compensating me with hazard pay for having to put up with you! I can’t just go another week because I’m not skipping Tess’s bachelorette. And you can go to hell!”
He walked around his desk, coming toward me. Silence stretched between us, electric and dangerous, tinged with irritation and anger and something I couldn’t name. All I knew was that we were standing too close, breathing too hard, and I wanted to throttle him.
“This doesn’t have to be so dramatic,” he snarled.
“I’m not being dramatic. You’re making assumptions you have no right to make,” I hissed, tasting fire on my tongue, “and expecting everyone else to put their damn lives on hold for you. My God, Weston, I don’t know where you get the audacity. Maybe they start mailing it to you with your interest payments once you make your first million!”
“It’s actually auto-deposited!” he snapped.
“Along with the entitlement and the super-sized ego and that smug little smirk?”
His eyes flashed. “If you see my capable,professionalassistant anywhere, let her know I’d like her back instead of whatever,” he gestured to me, “insanity I’m currently dealing with.”
“Why don’t you try throwing some more money around! That always helps, right?” The fact that he’d even suggest there was a dollar amount out there that would make it worth missing the bachelorette party was the most insulting part of all. As ifanything could replace all the life experiences I’d be missing out on with my best friend.
Fuck that. And fuckhim.
“You waltzed over and decided that poor, pathetic Lena would be grateful for the chance to marry you because you assume she has no life, no prospects, and nothing to offer except for her availability!” I was practically vibrating. “Well, let me assure you, I have plenty going for me outside this job. And I will be enjoying my happilyunmarriedlife on a beach next week with my best friend, drinking margaritas, and there’s not a single damn thing you can say to change my mind.”
His mouth flattened into a thin line, his nostrils flaring. But it seemed he had no response to give to that. Not even an apology. I shook my head, all desire to continue this conversation leaving my body.
“You know what? Enjoy your inheritance crisis.” I needed to get the hell out of here before I added “murder obnoxious boss” to my to-do list. “I’m sure there’s a mail-order bride catalog somewhere that can solve your problems.”
I twisted away from him and marched straight for the office door.
“Lena!” he called. “We need to figure out a solution to Grandad’s will!”
