One Bossy Date: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)

“Pippa, hold up. Is this a date? You have to tell me everything!” Jenn squeals before catching herself. “Sorry.”

Winthrope Chicago has a popular brunch. We’re nowhere near the only people in the room. I scan the light crowd to see if anyone heard us.

“You’re blowing this whole secret agent thing.”

She winces. “But tell me.”

“He said it isn’t a date. Not technically.”

She laughs. “Yeah, right! I saw the way he was looking at you last night. Pippa, those were textbook bedroom eyes. I had to dash away so you guys could get a room. Literally. I figured I’d see you again with sex hair or in handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs?” I snort at her.

“Yeah. After you killed him. You were doing a pretty good job of laying into him and that only ends one way.” She smiles as I look at her. “Sexy time or murder.”

“What is wrong with your brain?” I stuff a bite of my omelet in my mouth while she giggles. “I don’t know where this is going—probably nowhere good—so don’t get too excited. He really is bad for me. He said he’d send me a dress, but I told him not to. I probably won’t even wear it.”

“Ohhh. That’s so Pretty Woman. I like it!”

“Can we not compare my life to movies older than we are?”

“Yet you still get it,” she points out.

I snicker. “I doubt he does it. I told him no way. Of course, he sucks at listening.”

“I can’t wait to see what he sends,” she muses.

“I’d be more excited if we didn’t have this review thing hanging over us. Or at least if he’d cut us in on his theories now that he has some hard proof,” I say.

Jennifer sips her coffee before she says, “He probably thinks it’s an inside job or something. A disgruntled employee with some mad skills for sticking it to the man. Maybe even a former chief exec. He must have enemies. The boss is an ass in a top hat.”

“Usually. But not all the time,” I admit.

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your—”

“Jenn. He’s not my anything. A nightmare boss, yeah, but he’s not a total villain. I’m just saying.”

“Wow. You might be the first person I’ve ever heard say that.”

“People just don’t know him—”

“Like you do, right?” She grins. “Understandable.”

I kick her lightly under the table. “Since the company’s paying for this meal, can we talk about work?”

“Oh, fine. You’re no fun. Why would someone go after Winthrope reviews? How bad would he have to piss them off?” she asks.

“I did some digging last night. It’s a pretty common black hat technique called review bombing. It usually happens when there’s some kind of business policy somebody doesn’t like. The one stars just pile on, whether they’re from paid drive-bys or automated bots.”

Jennifer frowns. “I don’t think that’s the case here though—”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s true review bombing in the usual sense, and not from somebody with a point to prove. The reviews are all over the place—they’re not policy driven—and they touch on experiences. Even if they’re totally fake. This feels too personal.”

“They are pretty detailed. Written to provoke a response,” she agrees. “Like no one who reads a review about a lady and her four-year-old getting food poisoning over nonexistent duck eggs doesn’t get upset.”

“The disgruntled employee theory… Could it be a former copywriter?”

“They’d have the skills,” she says with a nod.

“Or maybe a competitor,” I say, chewing my hash browns.

“Hmm. Which one? I wonder who else in this space feels threatened enough by Winthrope to go dark…”

“A lot of other ego freaks, I bet. Winthrope has been on top forever.”

I wish I knew more about potential suspects.

After brunch, we decide to check out reviews of the pool. It can’t compete with Lanai, but as far as sleek indoor pools go, this is gorgeous. The vivid green landscaping around it makes it look like a secluded swimming hole rather than an elegantly tiled pool, and there’s a huge fountain cascading down from a makeshift waterfall.

“Whew! It certainly does the job,” Jenn says.

“It’s a Beatrice Brandt design. Winthrope Chicago took off running the day it opened because she and her grandsons helped with the features.”

“Fancy!” Jenn beams.

We hang out by the pool for a while in the long lounge chairs, enjoying the generous sunlight streaming in through the glass until she feels like she’ll get burned if we don’t pack it in.

“Probably the least productive part of our trip, but definitely the most fun. Just wish I’d brought my swimsuit.”

Jenn smiles. “Yeah, we should get paid to hang out in the pool more often.”

After she disappears to her room, I get in the elevator and push the button for the thirty-second floor.

One floor up, Brock gets in.

I almost forget we’re not supposed to know each other.

His eyes roam my body, lingering in all the wrong places.

Fire rushes under my cheeks. I notice I’m still a little sweaty from the pool room.

His gaze burns me, urging my temperature higher.

Oh my God, this is torture.

I have to pretend not to know him—an almost impossible task.

I want to say something so bad, but it’s better I don’t with the wild directions my mind keeps spinning. I don’t breathe again until he steps off on another floor with a lingering glance that melts through my clothes.

Will he look at me with that same intensity tonight?

Will I even be able to do anything but stutter if he does?

And if he kisses me again like last night, knowing we’re alone and meeting secretly—

Yikes.

I’m so hilariously screwed.

Possibly literally.

I flop down on my bed and call Maisy to settle my jitters.

It takes a few rings before she answers.

“Hey, sis. Why aren’t you out enjoying Chicago?”

“I’m doing that tonight. How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine. He was ready to go to the game with me, but it got rained out. Then he pushed a trip to the art museum to make up for it, but I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to be fumbling around in the rain.”

“Good call, Maisy. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. Are you still hanging out with Trina?”

“Her crush from the team took her out to a movie, so all’s well that ends well.”

“Is Dad taking his medicine, though? Do either of you need anything?” I hate that even good news makes me worry.

“We’re fine, mother. Grabbing Indian food for dinner from that place you love. I’m definitely blaming you for creating a monster with Dad and his palak paneer kick.” She laughs, and so do I. “Are you okay, Pippa? You sound…off.”

Ouch.

Am I that obvious?

“It’s been a long trip. Very busy so far. It’ll be nice to just kick back and have some fun. So, if you need me, I’ll have my phone, but I might not be checking much unless it’s an emergency.”

“Sweet! You must be doing something juicy tonight. Is he hot?”

“Maisy!” I hiss. “…I actually don’t know what I’m doing yet. It’s still technically a business meeting my boss and—”

She bursts into wild laughter like the chipmunk brat she is.

“Keep telling yourself that! Oh, I promise not to bug you unless the house burns down. Go have fun with your freaky boss.”

I wrinkle my nose, wondering how much she overheard me and Jenn.

“Mais, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but he’s my boss. That thing in Hawaii was just a crazy mishap, and I—”

A loud knock at the door chokes me off mid-sentence.

“Hang on,” I say. “There’s someone at the door.”

“Probably NIH.”

“NIH?” I cross to the door, playing dumb.

“Naked In Hawaii. Jenn said that’s her code.”

Shoot me now.

As I’m crossing the room, I wish I had time to figure out why my bestie decided to spill secrets with my little sister who gets easily obsessed with my razor-thin dating life.

I open the door after a quick look through the peephole.

There’s a woman in a hotel uniform standing in front of me, holding a garment bag.

“Mr. Winthrope sent this up. Could you please try it on? I’m able to arrange minor adjustments, or if it’s the wrong size, I’ll bring you other options.”

“Other options? Um…”

“He wasn’t sure about your exact size, so I helped him make the best selections.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Please try it on. Let me know if you need help,” she says, holding up her offering.

I nod and pull the bag into the room.

“Hey, Maisy?” I say into the phone.

“I know. You have to go because NIH sent you a Cinderella dress. I heard, and I’m jealous. Your life is so cool.”

“No—not cool. We met—”

“When he was naked in your room. I know. Hella wild story to tell people someday when you’re married and rich.”

“Maisy.” I grit my teeth while she laughs it up.

Sigh.

There must be some way to explain to my little sister why dating your boss isn’t remotely cool. I don’t want her getting the wrong ideas.

Like any big sister, she should do as I say, not as I do.

Also, we’re not technically dating.

…are we?

It’s a meeting. Dinner. And probably more soul-stealing kisses with a man who can make or break my entire bank account with a simple call.

“Maisy, I love you, but grow up.” At least I can still rock my scary adult voice. “One of these days, you’re going to meet a boy and I am going to hound you until you deliver your firstborn. Payback is a bitch.”

“Come on, Pippa. If I didn’t give you crap, who else would? Jenn’s way too nice.”

“Whatever. I have to go. Say hello to Dad for me. Love you both.”

“Love you too.” She hangs up.

My eyes flick back to the garment bag dangling from the hanger in my hand. I slip into the bathroom and start unpacking it.

Hello, fairy tale.

The dress is bright blue with a satin bodice embellished with tiny diamonds. The strings tie around the neck. There’s an opening in the back and the skirt is more flowing blue silk.

The whole dress is crisscrossed with neat lines and long rounded shapes.

Feathers, I realize.

I smile until my cheeks hurt.

I’m not sure I’m worthy.

I’ve never worn anything this expensive with a designer label.

I almost hate that it fits me perfectly, and I’m instantly in love with it, turning in the mirror to see myself from every angle.

When I exit the bathroom and open the door, the seamstress is still waiting outside.

She presses her hands together and smiles. “Excellent fit. Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful! Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Do you know if—I mean, did Mr. Winthrope pick it out himself?” It’s a tad more conservative than what I would’ve expected, but it’s absolutely gorgeous.

“He did. He left a card. It should be inside the bag somewhere. Since the dress works, I’ll see myself out.”

I head back into the bathroom and fish the card out of the garment bag. I’m not sure how I missed it the first time.

It’s just a Winthrope card with the trademark W with Brock’s handwriting on the back.

Your proof I know how to treat a woman—particularly a beautiful one obsessed with flying poop factories. I’ll see you at seven.

I can’t help but laugh.

It’s either laugh hysterically or die on the spot.

A dress like this calls for makeup.

But I hadn’t planned on doing any content this weekend, so I packed pretty light. Against my better judgment, I call Jenn and ask for her makeup kit.

She’s in my room a few minutes later, staring all wide-eyed. “You look like a sex-sicle! Someone’s decked out for prom night. Rich people prom.”

“Hardly.” I wave my hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “My prom dress wasn’t a hundredth this nice.”

“Should I do your makeup too?”

“I’ll take care of it.” I really don’t want her here when Brock shows up.

“Everything you need is right here.” She hands me an insulated lunch box.

I stare at it, trying to figure out why her makeup would be in there.

“Easy storage. Plus it keeps everything from melting,” she explains with a shrug.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t wait up for you—”

“You could. It’s no big deal.”

“Oh, yeah. Because I always dress up like Miss America when it’s no big deal too.” She winks at me. “Have fun. I’ll annoy you more when you get back.”

Just like that, she scurries out the door.

I go to work dusting my eyes with silver shadow, glossing my lips, and applying mascara and blush.

There’s another knock at the door while I’m twisting my hair into a bun. I barely finish just before I walk over, my heart drumming faster with every step.

When I open up, I’m not sure who looks more surprised.

We’re both speechless.

Frozen.

Barely breathing.

Brock stands in the doorway in a silver suit with a vest and lavender tie.

The outfit highlights his chest and abdomen like it was cut from pure granite.

“You look—that’s a really fantastic—” I stammer before I finally settle on, “—umm, nice suit.”

“Thank you, beautiful. I knew you’d look goddamned ravishing in that dress. Do you like it?”

I can barely mouth out, “Yes. It’s amazing.”

He studies me for a moment, his head cocked and jaw angled. “Are you wearing makeup? Shit.”

I nod.

“You didn’t need to. I like you better without it.”

I’m almost glad for his dumb male honesty. It helps ground me with the reality of who I’m going out with.

“Thanks! Just what every woman needs to hear in the first five minutes of a d—business meeting.”

“What? You should be happy knowing your face looks better naturally.”

I narrow my eyes. “I see we’re off to a great start.”

“Should we go before I piss you off? The chariot’s waiting.”

“Will you carry my phone?”

“What?” He flashes a surprised look.

“I don’t have a purse to match this dress, and I’m not taking my normal ratty purse around. But I can’t leave without my phone—”

His face grows serious. “Your family trouble again? Damn you, when will you tell me?”

I stop and stare at him. “If you don’t like a woman who has her secrets, we can always take a raincheck…”

“You promise me you’re not hiding a man. Is it really your father? You owe me that, at least.”

I laugh. “That’s absurd. I’ve had two boyfriends in my life, and none of them were very serious.”

“No secret kids whose father is still in the picture?”

I laugh harder and shake my head. “Nope. Unless you count my smart-ass little sister.”

“Give me your phone.” He holds out a hand.

I open the door wider. “You’ll have to come in so I can grab it.”

He follows me to the bed in the center of the room, where I retrieve my phone.

I watch him slide it in his jacket pocket.

“You do realize if we go on future outings after tonight, the time will come where you’ll have to quit hiding eventually?”

“But this is the first—um, outing—we’ve had. So I’m well within my rights to hide anything that isn’t your business,” I say matter-of-factly.

That wins me a grumpy scowl.

“You want me to work for it. Fair enough. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

He slides an arm around me as we walk out the door.

“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re inside the elevator.

He hits the button to take us down. “Not until we’re there. I’ll reserve my right to secrecy too.”

I frown at him. “Not fair. And you hit the wrong button,” I say when the elevator stops on the third floor.

Glowering, he shakes his head and leads me out of the elevator.

“We’re taking the private exit out so no one sees us.”

“So, does every place you own have a secret passage?”

He chuckles. “My family’s suite is on a private floor here. My elevator goes straight to that exit, but since we left from your room, we’ll get off here.”

Insane.

This whole situation is insane and feels like a disaster in the making.

“I have to wonder why a guy like you keeps chasing a fisherman’s daughter with a liberal arts degree.”

“She’s beautiful and brilliant. It would also be a crying shame to let that mouth go untamed,” he says, gazing right through me.

I swallow thickly. “I believe the last part.”

“Only because you don’t see yourself like I do, woman.”

Yeah.

I think I might be floating as he guides me through another private exit like the one in Lanai.

Time for another shock.

There’s a limo waiting on the curb.

“Keep moving. It doesn’t bite,” he whispers, placing his hand on the small of my back to urge me forward.

He’s about to open the door for me to get in when his head jerks in the direction we’ve just come from. That half smirk he’s been wearing since we stepped outside vanishes like he just stepped in dog poop.

“Fuck, what’s he doing here?” Brock snarls.

I glance over to see what he’s upset about.

This tall string bean-looking dude with coppery ginger hair—not quite red or blond—comes strolling forward at a steady clip.

“Mr. Winthrope himself! I thought I was dreaming.”

He slaps Brock on the arm with a high-pitched laugh.

Brock shirks away from the movement, but he also spins me in the process.

Now I have a shoulder to Mr. String Bean, and he’s standing between us like this weird scarecrow.

“Finch,” Brock spits the word like a curse.

“Bad time for chitchat, huh? That’s fine. I heard you were in town and stomping around my properties. I thought I’d catch you here. I couldn’t resist the urge to drop in and say, ‘hi.’”

Silence.

The look Brock gives this man isn’t his usual grumpybutt glare.

It’s downright hateful and disgusted.

“We should have drinks while you’re in town,” the man continues, unfazed by the stink eye. “We have a hell of a lot of catching up to do. Hell, the last time we talked, you were just back from the war and still all shaken up about that—”

“Finch,” he bites off. “You don’t have to bother.”

“Oh, right. Not in polite company, I suppose. I’m used to you sulking around all by your lonesome.” The stranger—Finch—slowly turns to me with a disarming smile.

Ick. Why does it feel like I’m being eyeballed by a snake?

Before I know what’s happening, he grabs my hand and kisses it, then looks back at Brock.

“Who is this beautiful creature, Winnie? You never told me you had a sister.”

Holy hell, what is happening?

My face heats.

I should probably never leave Seattle again and rethink this whole travel thing.

At least then I won’t fall into my hot billionaire boss sending me dresses or have this guy who rocks the Dahmer look getting all touchy-feely—and apparently trying to piss off Brock, too.

And I think it’s mission accomplished.

Brock’s vicious expression lasts for a nanosecond before he jabs his palm against Finch’s forehead and shoves him back.

The stranger staggers backward with a dirty look. “What the fuck? Jeez, man, territorial much? I didn’t know she was yours. You could have used your words instead of asking for assault charges.”

Brock reaches past me, yanks open the limo door, and shoves me inside.

“Touch her again and die,” I hear him snap, just before the door slams shut and his voice muffles. “I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

Welp, so much for tonight going well.

Brock steps closer to Finch.

His chest is bowed out and he’s already unbuttoned his jacket.

Holy crap. We might be here for a while.

I open the limo door.

Brock glares at me. “What are you doing?”

“It’s hot in here and you two look busy. I think I’ll just go back inside and wait.”

“Lovely idea,” Finch says. “Maybe we could all get a drink together and settle this like civilized people.”

“Stay,” Brock barks. He looks at Finch. “If she leaves that car, I’m blaming you.”

“Your threats are so very tedious. You really want more bad blood?” Finch scowls.

“You know what? You’re right.” He opens the door wider and slides in beside me before slamming it again. “At least I got to slam it in that asshole’s face twice that way.”

“What was that all about? Who is he?” I ask.

“Apollo Finch. A jackass not worth wasting breath on. He owns another hotel in town.”

“He walked up to you like an old friend—”

“Finch has no friends. He’s backstabbed damn near everyone. And he’s had some weird obsession with outgunning my family ever since Oasis Springs started losing bids to my grandfather in major cities and we swiped an award he was sure was his.” He pauses and turns furious blue eyes on me. “I think that cock is behind the review slaughter. I realized it after you pinpointed anomalies. He’s why you and Jennifer were working like hell, finding proof.”

“Him? What makes you think that?”

He shakes his head. “I went to his hotel yesterday. The same people leaving shitty low reviews for Winthrope give Oasis Springs five stars. But it’s a dusty, tired property with nothing new, and just now he came out of the private entrance. How did he even know it was there?”

Anger rolls off him in blistering waves.

I slide away to give him some space. “Are you going to be okay?”

He glares at me.

“You seem upset.”

“I’m fine. I just don’t like him probing me. It’s like he wanted me to know he was here snooping. Fucking maniac,” he grinds out.

Oof.

I have no clue what to say. This is so not how I ever wanted to go on an ill-advised date with my thunderhead of a boss.

“If you’re upset, we can always do this another time…”

“No. Who knows when we’ll both be free in Chicago again.” His gaze softens as he rakes a hand through his thick dark hair. “Why do you keep looking at me like I’m about to chomp your head off, Piper?”

I try to suppress a giggle, but it slips out.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing.”

“Sorry.”

“For looking at me like I’m going to bite your head off or laughing when I mentioned it?”

“Second one.”

“Apology accepted. Now tell me why,” he demands.

“Umm—maybe because I’m not sure you won’t? You’re freaking steamed. There’s obviously more to this than I know, and that’s okay. But if you’re not up for it, it’s really okay. We can do this another night.”

“Consider it forgotten. Apollo Finch is not fucking ruining this,” he vows, his voice so low it vibrates through me. “I’m out with a beautiful woman, and that’s all that should matter. Will you let me give you an enjoyable night off, Sunshine? You’ve earned it.”

The question hangs in the air.

I swallow, knowing I’ll probably regret this.

But how many times in your life does a man ever go full caveman for you?

So I answer by sliding my hand into his and smiling as his strong calloused fingers grip mine.