Page 34 of Falling for Her Grumpy Boss

Between reorganizing his impossible schedule and watching him work himself into exhaustion day after day, something shifted without my permission. I’ve seen him survive on four hours of sleep while handling problems that would flatten most people. I’ve watched him remember details about employees most CEOs wouldn’t bother learning. Seen him cancel personal plans because a shipment issue needed fixing immediately.

That man doesn’t resemble the tabloids at all. The stories paint him as some spoiled former football star coasting on charm and money, burning through women because he can and replacing them the moment they ask for something real. The Dylan I know is many things. Gruff. Impatient. Occasionally rude. But there’s nothing careless about him when it comes to his business, his people, or the life he built after football ended.

My fingers tighten slightly around the stem of my wineglass, because hard-working men are still capable of hurting people. Just because the tabloids exaggerated him into something ugly doesn’t mean every story was completely false, and that thought settles in my chest heavier than I want it to.

Maybe he did sleep around. Maybe women really did move through his life as quickly as assistants moved through his office. I don’t actually know. Neither of us owes the other explanations, and yet every time I imagine him with someone else, something unpleasant twists low in my chest.

Because when Dylan looks at me now, nothing about it feels casual anymore. There’s weight in it, heat in it, a kind of focus that settles over my skin and stays there long after he looks away. I feel it every time he steps too close in the office, every time his voice drops lower when it’s just the two of us, every time his attention catches on me like he forgets for a second that anyone else exists in the room.

Movement near the side of the house pulls me abruptly out of the thought. Jeremy rounds the corner first, walking fast enough that the tension in his body registers immediately. Dylan follows half a second later, and every muscle in my body tightens on instinct before I even understand why.

Something happened.

Jeremy’s shirt stretches oddly across one shoulder, the fabric wrinkled like someone grabbed him there. Dylan’s hair looks rougher than it did earlier, dark strands falling across his forehead in a way they normally don’t. Both men move with a contained kind of tension that prickles across my skin.

Beside me, Clara goes still.

Her entire body shifts before she even rises from the chair, instinct pulling her upright despite Lily sleeping awkwardly against her chest. She fumbles slightly, trying not to wake the baby.

I immediately steady her elbow.

“What’s wrong?” My gaze flicks back toward the men crossing the yard. Dylan still hasn’t looked toward the porch. Jeremy says something low to him, his jaw tight. “Did they fight?”

Clara narrows her eyes, studying them the same way I am.

“Hm.” The sound vibrates low in her throat. “You notice it too, huh?”

Then Dylan lifts his head.

Our eyes meet across the yard.

The look that lands on me feels raw in a way I’ve never seen from him before, stripped clean of the controlled polish he usually wears like armor. Something sharp flickers beneath it, restless and unsettled, as if whatever happened behind the house followed him back and he hasn’t fully locked it down yet. Dylan is always composed, always deliberate, every movement measured before he makes it. But right now, there’s a crack in that control wide enough for me to glimpse the man underneath, and the sight of it sends heat sliding slowly down my spine.

I’m moving toward him before my brain catches up.

CHAPTER 9

Dylan

The gravel crunches beneath my boots as Jeremy and I round the side of the house, but the sting in my knuckles barely registers anymore. Neither does the ache pulling across my jaw every time I clench my teeth. Adrenaline still rides too close to the surface for pain to settle properly.

Jeremy wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and exhales sharply beside me. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah.” My voice comes out rougher than usual. “Probably.”

He snorts under his breath, but neither of us slows down.

The backyard opens up in front of us again, sunlight slanting gold across the deck and grass, smoke curling lazily from the grill where Caleb stands with a spatula in his hand and Maggie tucked against his side. She laughs at something he mutters without even looking up at him, like she already knows exactly what expression is on his face.

A few feet away, Logan reaches around Josie to steal something off her plate while Asher argues with him, one hand spread possessively along the small of her back. The movement is absentminded. Automatic. Like touching her has become part of breathing.

My pace slows slightly as the backyard comes fully into view again. Three years ago, a gathering like this would’ve looked completely different. Louder. Looser. Half the men here would’ve been working the crowd instead of gravitating toward one woman like the rest of the world stopped mattering. Back then, we lived like everything temporary was enough. No roots. No permanence. No reason to stay still longer than necessary. But now the entire damn yard feels anchored somehow, every one of my brothers tied to something solid enough that it steadied them instead of trapping them.

Caleb fought his way back to the woman he never really stopped loving. Logan and Asher found someone who somehow fits both of them without either man needing to carve pieces off himself to make room. Jeremy looks calmer holding Clara’s hand than he ever did winning games under stadium lights.

They look settled. Grounded. Satisfied in a way I never fully understood until recently. Until Tess. The thought knocks the air out of my lungs right as we round the corner, and my gaze lifts toward the porch. Straight to her. Everything else falls away immediately.

Clara stands first, awkwardly because of the sleeping baby against her chest, but Tess moves before Clara fully finds her footing, one hand already reaching out automatically to steady her elbow. Concern sharpens her expression as she looks toward us, dark eyes moving quickly over Jeremy first, then landing on me.