SWNOVELS One Bossy Date: Chapter 17
I swear we’ve been driving forever and we still haven’t reached Brock’s place.
“How is this closer to the hospital?” I hope I don’t sound bitchy.
I’ve been fidgeting with my hands for so long my fingers are covered in half-moon indents from my nails.
“Fyodor takes this route to avoid the worst of rush hour. Give your fingers a rest, Sunshine. He’ll be fine.” He reaches over and takes my hand, stopping me from doing more idle damage.
“You think so? I wish I had your confidence…”
Maisy stiffens beside me.
Oops. I shouldn’t have blurted out my thoughts.
“I’m sure, Piper. Especially if they’re already talking about discharging him like you said this morning.”
“But there’ll be a ton of follow-ups,” I say weakly.
Brock nods. “Absolutely. And he’ll be home, ready to handle the care he needs.”
I side-eye him. Why does he sound so certain?
“How do you know so much about it?”
“I’ve dealt with hospitals before,” he tells me, looking out the window.
“Your parents?” I ask.
“No.”
“Your grandparents—”
“No.”
“Pippa, get a clue. Boss dude doesn’t want to talk about it,” Maisy snaps.
I shoot her a dirty look, hating that she might be right.
My face heats.
She’d better hope Dad comes home ASAP. She might need to beg him to intervene before I choke her.
Maisy looks at Brock and says, “How long have you guys been dating, anyway? She’s hid it pretty well if you’re already used to taking that much crap from her.”
Oh, God.
Brock chuckles. “I’m her boss. Nothing more.”
“Um, okay? But I saw you guys kissing from the window,” she says under her breath.
“You were watching us?” My voice is shrill, panicked.
Brock gives me a stern look.
“I saw it, too,” Fyo chimes in from the front.
I’m so flipping dead.
“Never mind him. He has the vision of a vodka-drenched mole.” Brock taps the controls at his side, raising the privacy screen.
I bury my face in my hands.
“Kindly leave her alone,” Brock says. “Your sister’s got a lot on her plate.”
What? I drop my hands.
He’s talking to Maisy, but the way he looks at me scrapes me so raw.
Until my brat of a sister giggles.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re just funny. You think I need your permission to harass my sister?”
“Fine. I’ll pay you to be quiet then,” he clips.
Maisy’s eyes go wide. “Seriously? How much?”
“Twenty bucks,” Brock tells her.
Maisy wrinkles her nose.
Oh, boy. Are we really negotiating over my sister’s stupid jokes?
“Thirty,” she counters.
Brock chuckles. “Thirty it is. I left a stack of three-dollar bills somewhere.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. It comes out so sharp and unexpected my belly hurts as Maisy realizes she’s been beat.
“Keep laughing it up, chucklefreaks. You guys suck. No wonder you’re together,” Maisy says bitterly. “Should I tell him his nickname, Pippy?”
Brock’s smile fades as he looks at Maisy again. “I have an alias?”
Crap.
“She gave you the nickname, not me. Her and Jenn…”
“This kid is going to be hell in the boardroom someday,” he says. “Do I want to know?”
Maisy looks at me and must sense I’m about to explode.
“I’m Venmoing you five bucks for coffee now. Will you shut it?” I snap. “And for the record, I’m twenty-four and I can kiss any man I want, thank you very much. Especially when I’m all emotional and my boss is just trying to be nice. But I don’t want you getting any crazy ideas, Mais. If you mention kissing again, I’ll—” I stop. I’ll what? There’s not much I can do. “I won’t buy you pizza. Ever again.”
Maisy gasps.
I guess the big stick works sometimes.
“I’ll buy it. I’m enjoying the show too much,” Brock says. I give him a glare that could melt the paint off this car. “Or maybe I won’t.”
Maisy’s phone dings and she glances at the screen.
“There’s my cash! No more BS, I promise. I need pizza.” She grins. “Pleasure doin’ business with you, sis.” She tips a hat she isn’t wearing.
Ugh, this girl. How are we related again?
“In my next life, I’m going to be the youngest,” I say. “And I’ll make sure you’re my mother so I can turn you grey by thirty.”
Brock is still grinning beside me. Even when he’s being a dick, there’s no denying I love that.
“You two should be grateful you have each other. Being an only child sucks more.”
Maisy leans up in her seat. “See? Listen to him. Be grateful, Pippa.”
When I look up from the jousting, we’re on a private road, pulling up to a lush green hilly yard peeking out at us from the openings in a tall rod iron fence.
This isn’t a house.
It’s a freaking compound.
An old-school estate in every sense of the word.
Fyodor pulls up to a keypad with his window down, enters a code, and the gate swings open.
A minute later, we’re stepping out of the car in front of the most picturesque mansion I’ve ever seen, complete with crawling vines and palatial white modern vibes. There’s even the guesthouse behind it he mentioned, an acre or two away from this castle.
“Holy…” Maisy rubs her eyes.
She’s not the only one. I’m so awestruck I can’t blink.
“Problem, Sunshine?” he whispers.
“I’m just surprised. I always saw you as more of a sleek, urban penthouse kind of guy. More minimalist.”
He shrugs. “Too much time with my grandparents growing up. Guess their tastes rubbed off. My grandmother is an American country girl who always loved the rustic look.”
“I thought your grandparents were English?”
“Gramps, yes, but Grandma came from upstate New York originally. She’s half-English now though. Her accent is mostly English socialite and with a touch of pure Yankee,” he tells me.
Interesting.
Hearing about his family is a nice distraction from my own troubles.
We follow him toward the house while Fyo grabs the luggage. As he leads us through the yawning door, Maisy asks, “Has anyone ever gotten lost in here?”
I want to tell her to mind her manners, but honestly, I’m wondering the same thing.
This place looks more like an art museum or some kind of imposing government building than an actual home.
The floors are pure striped marble.
The ceilings might be fourteen feet high, and even taller in the entryway.
A crystal chandelier dangles in the foyer, a fusion of regal old-world glasswork and modern edges.
Then I hear it.
This high-pitched yelping noise—and it’s coming straight toward us.
Gah.
Surely he doesn’t have an ex-wife locked in the attic…
I scan the room, trying to find the source, just as the squealy sound spills into high-pitched barking.
“You have a dog?” I’m still surveying the room, questioning my own ears.
Brock claps his hands and whistles. “Andouille!”
Something clatters on the staircase.
There’s the distinct sound of little nails slapping the floor, and then more high-pitched barking as a long, fat sausage shape lumbers toward us.
I’m already laughing when the panting black-and-brown wiener dog comes bouncing off the last stair and slams into Brock’s leg. It’s definitely the biggest dachshund I’ve ever seen.
He bends over it and picks it up.
“Andy, you okay?” He strokes its head as a long pink tongue wags out and slurps his face. “You’re breathing hard again. Don’t tell me it’s time for the doctor again.”
The panting gets worse and the dog coughs a few times.
Andouille breaks into another happy bark a second later as Brock strokes the dog’s back.
If his goal was to slaughter me with cuteness, it’s a done deal.
“He has asthma,” Brock explains. “I have to be careful with him when he’s overly excited.”
“This cute little guy?” Maisy asks. “Awww!”
She reaches up to join in the round of petting, and so do I.
“I’m still caught up on the fact he has a wiener dog named after a sausage,” I say.
“He’s technically a doxador—mostly dachshund with a dash of lab mixed in.” Brock holds his head up. “My grandma thought I needed a friend when I got home from Afghanistan. Andouille came from a litter she raised herself in London. The puppy came home with me on a transatlantic flight.”
“Your grammy named him? I love it,” Maisy says, laughing as the dog licks her hand.
I look at Brock as a slow, tight smile appears in his halo of beard.
“No. The name was all me.”
Oh my God.
I can’t help giggling.
“Thank you for having us,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Even Maisy’s bad jokes are a decent distraction.”
“Sorry,” Maisy says. “I wouldn’t have teased you this much at home, but—” She stops mid-sentence and her face scrunches up. I can see her struggling for words.
“It keeps your mind off Dad. I know. It’s fine, you brat,” I tell her.
My big little sister comes up behind me and gives me a quick hug. “Can I hold the pup?”
Brock nods. “Just be careful. If it seems like he’s panting too much, tell me.” He hands her the dog like it’s an overgrown baby.
I smile. “You’re one protective dog father.”
“I’m no dog father. Andy’s my best friend.”
Andy yowls his agreement.
“Your best friend is a dog?” I say, still laughing.
Well, that explains a lot. I’m not surprised a grumpmuffin prefers nonhuman company.
“In his younger years, he’d travel with me often. This dog has more hours on planes than some pilots,” Brock says proudly. “Now, with the asthma, he usually hangs back in good care when I’m busy.”
“Adorable!” I’m still about to fall right over at the fact that Brock damn Winthrope is an animal person. Who knew?
My phone vibrates against my hip. I grab it from my pocket.
Please don’t be the hospital.
Nope. Just a text from Jenn.
Jenn: Hi, are you okay? I heard you left Seattle with Mr. Unnameable. Some emergency?
Piper: Dad’s in the hospital again. Sorry, it’s been hectic and I didn’t think to text you. Brock got his private jet to take me back early.
Her response is immediate. How’s he holding up? I’m so sorry, Piper.
Piper: He’s okay for now. I’ll call you later.
I drop the phone back in my pocket and lean toward Brock’s ear. “So, not to worry you, but I think everyone else is on the way home from Chicago right now…and our absence was noticed.”
“Don’t worry. I told Keenan what was going on before we left. He’ll handle it,” he says with total confidence. “Let me show you girls around the house.”
Fyo comes in with the rest of our bags.
I turn to face him. “Sorry. I forgot we had so much stuff in the trunk. I would have brought it in myself.”
The big man smiles and shakes his head, glancing at Brock. “Guest wing or your wing?”
Wing? His house has entire wings?
I should be screaming, but I still can’t get over the weenie dog, who’s sniffing my feet now.
“See? That’s so Emma,” Maisy squeaks, yanking on my shoulder.
Dang. I’ve really got to get her back into soccer to burn off some energy.
Brock looks at me. “My wing would make it easier for us to work together. I assume Miss Maisy is old enough to pick her own room?”
I nod.
“Good. I’ll take the bags up, Fyo,” he tells his driver.
“Wait.” I rush after him. “We can do that ourselves—”
“Let me.” Brock cuts me off, lumbering toward the grandest elevator I’ve ever seen in a house—actually, I’ve never seen an elevator in a house at all—before I can say anything. “You can follow us up, so you know your way around,” he throws back.
O-kay then.
I shrug and follow him with Maisy and a bouncing Andouille trailing behind me.
So much for focusing on work.
I keep checking my phone with my stomach in knots to see if the hospital called or even Dad himself. Neither happens by evening the next day.
Maisy is so enchanted with her room she’s much happier. The entire place, really, and the dog is just the icing on her Mr. Darcy fantasies.
Her private bathroom is bigger than any room in our own house. There’s a small dressing room in front of the closet.
Andy hasn’t emerged since he followed her back inside after breakfast, and Fyo brought her a new TV and a laptop.
I’m so never living this down.
Not when my boss slash dirty secret is spoiling my little sister with goods that are going to make her head bigger than a hot air balloon.
I owe it to him to try to work—however insanely elusive it seems.
We’re sitting in his library-like office for what seems like hours, but it’s unproductive. Without Jenn, I can only slog through so much, picking at old ads and ideas for video shorts that’ll make Winthrope more than its trash reviews.
I check my phone again and sigh.
“That’s the eleventh time,” he growls suddenly.
I jump in my seat.
“You don’t have to push yourself so hard, Piper. Take breaks. Don’t let the worries swallow you,” he says.
Of course, in his royal-blue button-down shirt and a pair of reading glasses I’ve never seen before, he looks every bit like a hot professor.
Not helpful.
“We’re on a deadline,” I say.
“Are we? I’ll let your tyrant boss know you need a break.”
I shake my head. “He won’t care. He’s kind of a big dick, and I always meet my deadlines.”
“He’ll appreciate you for remembering the big dick,” he says, trying not to smile. “And I know you take deadlines seriously, but it’s okay to be human. You’ve got a lot on your mind. I’d rather have you working efficiently than rushing through this.”
“I’ll do a good job. I’ve got this.”
“Pick up your laptop. We’re going for a change of scenery and fresh air.”
I stare at him.
What could ever be wrong with this scenery? This room is like every librarian’s dirty fantasy with bookshelves soaring to the ceilings and a pleasant wood scent tinged with old books.
But I don’t protest.
When he stands and starts heading for the door, I pick up my laptop and follow.
The small study just outside has tons of sunlight. It’s all glass, overlooking the Puget Sound. I’m so stunned I sit on the edge of his massive desk.
A few small round chickadees go soaring off a branch, dancing around the manicured trees closest to the windows.
Those little birds always make me smile, and I guess it’s too obvious. I’m not expecting his hand when it falls on my shoulder.
“Explain the bird thing,” he growls in my ear. “Was it really just too many documentaries like your sister said? I don’t see the appeal.”
I look up at him. “You’re missing out. I guess it started when I was young—Dad used to have a boat and I was so scared of the water. But then one day this little finch landed next to me while we were out sailing. He wouldn’t leave. The little guy just kept singing his heart out, and before I knew it, we were out on the water, halfway to Bremerton where I’d always get scared.”
“A comfort animal,” he says with a nod.
“Yeah. And I just thought maybe if that little bird was brave enough to be out here sunning himself, totally fearless, why not me?”
“It’s a nice story,” he whispers, rubbing my shoulders.
It’s also nice sharing it, something I’ve never done with anyone else. I look up at him and smile, stealing a kiss.
When I look back at the window, something moves in the shimmering water—a harbor seal, I think.
“Jesus,” I breathe. “Is every part of this house heaven?”
“It’s gorgeous scenery. Relaxing. Even an oversexed bosshole needs to unwind,” he explains. “Whenever I feel like I’m about to wreck my company and make my grandparents disown me, I work from this room.”
“I can see why,” I say, turning slowly to take in the panoramic views.
And then I realize what he just said.
“Oh. Would your grandparents really turn you out if you tanked the company?”
He sighs.
“No—and that makes it worse. If I destroy their legacy, they’d be too understanding.”
“I mean, evil reviews aside, I don’t think you have to worry about much. You’re a hardass, but the company runs well for the most part. And even if you left, I’m sure people would keep working out of fear you’d return.”
He glares at me.
“There’s more to leadership than having people tell their children you’re the monster under their bed, and the negative reviews—”
“Aren’t your fault,” I finish. “We’ll take care of them as soon as we can.”
He flops down in his leather chair and taps his desk, gesturing to the seat across from him.
“Only if we get to work,” he says, turning back to his screen.
I sit down and work for thirty seconds before I’m staring out the glass wall at the Puget Sound.
Yeah, there’s no way I’m finding my marketing magic here. Especially when the gorgeous view of the water isn’t the only pristine sight in front of me.
Brock’s mile-wide shoulders roll with every breath, light and rhythmic.
The man is just breathing, and he still looks like a giant.
We work diligently—I try—for the next hour.
Then his phone dings and I glance at the time.
It’s coming up on five o’clock and we need to get an early start tomorrow. So I pick up my laptop, ready to start heading back to my room.
“Sunshine?” he calls.
My hand lingers on the doorknob as I look back at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“There’s an email we need to talk about.”
“Okay.” I walk over next to him.
“I hired a medical research firm to look into your dad’s condition—”
“You—what? Why? How?”
My whole world starts spinning.
He shrugs like he just told me he ordered us lunch.
“I had a team inquiring this morning. You’d be surprised how little red tape exists when the hospital director belongs to the same country club. Now, I just need your signature to get his records sent over.”
Oh my God.
Am I still breathing?
“Brock. This is…really not necessary,” I force out.
“Pippy—”
“You’re not calling me Pippy now!”
“I told you I was.” There’s a smile somewhere in his electric-blue eyes.
“Sunshine, his condition is serious, I don’t need to tell you. The muscular issues causing him so much grief are beyond the reach of your average doctors from a very average city hospital. That’s why we need backup.”
“I’m aware. He’s in the hospital now because his muscle control keeps getting worse…”
“Degenerative myelopathy is nothing to play around with. He could take a turn for the worse rapidly if he doesn’t get more than pills and physical therapy. He needs real treatment.”
I sit down on the edge of the table.
“I know. That’s what I’ve been worried about. But it’s a progressive disease. There’s no cure.”
“There’s a new treatment, or so I’ve heard. It hasn’t been approved by the FDA yet, so it’s not available in the US outside carefully controlled trials—”
“Whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hands and stare at him. “Look, I appreciate you for digging, but medical tourism isn’t an option. Plus, new usually means ungodly expensive and impossible to get on a waiting list.”
“Family care is an employee perk at Winthrope.”
I shake my head. “You know I can’t put my dad on my health insurance.” I shrug. “He gets VA healthcare anyway—”
“VA? Your father’s a veteran?”
I nod. “It pays for the usual junk that might keep him alive and sort of comfortable for a while. But there have been lots of treatments it wouldn’t pay for, and if it isn’t approved in the States—”
“He’s going to Mexico. I can have him on a plane the instant he’s cleared to travel if you say yes.”
My heart stalls.
“Piper—” he starts.
I stagger back against the glass wall. “No way. Brock, you can’t make that offer. He’d never agree to it, for one.”
“Disagree. What man turns down free treatment to improve his life?”
“Improve it how?” I challenge.
“I’m no doctor. However, I’ve heard gene therapy can actually reverse some muscular damage at the cellular level. It won’t be easy and nothing’s guaranteed. He’ll still need regular physical therapy to build back his strength, but without the treatment and proper therapy, he doesn’t have a chance at a true recovery.”
I hate him for being so generous. Almost as much as I hate him for being right.
But I know there isn’t a prayer this works.
Hiding a few bill payments from Dad is one thing. But this?
The man hates handouts.
I’m not sure he’d be keen about leaving the country for treatment. But if it could give him his life back, shouldn’t we try?
“I don’t know. This sounds intense and expensive. It’s above and beyond anything you should ever do for me.”
“If you don’t want to consider it a company perk—which it is—fine. I’ll never deny healthcare to anyone that’s well within my means, especially a fellow veteran.”
“He’s not in the best shape,” I say, grasping at excuses. “I don’t like the idea of him being in Mexico alone.”
“Send your sister. She’s off for the summer, isn’t she?”
I blink. “How long are we talking?”
He shrugs. “A few weeks, maybe a month or two tops. I’ll get more details from the medical team.”
“Maisy would lose her mind,” I say with a long sigh.
“She’ll have the time of her life. Most schools have programs for earning extra credit for kids her age,” he says, leaning toward me across the table. “Don’t tell me she hasn’t been begging to travel like her big sister.”
God, he’s making this hard.
“You’re in the middle of a PR crisis,” I say quietly. “I wouldn’t feel right, just taking your money for treatment when we’re…” I don’t finish that thought. “Look, I’m just not sure Dad will ever agree to this. He’s a stubborn donkey.”
Brock studies my face. “Is that where you get it from?”
I bite my lip and glare.
He laughs. “Piper, I want your dad well, and we can make that happen. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
I hesitate, our eyes locked in this flaming silence.
“I’ll think about it. But I’m not okay with letting my boss pay for anything this crazy, especially when we haven’t even talked about what happened in Chicago yet.”
“So talk,” he whispers.
I swallow.
I’m so not ready.
“Piper, if he doesn’t start treatment soon, you may never get a second chance. I assure you this is the best way. We’ll call it a performance bonus and write it off as a tax deduction.”
“I haven’t performed at all yet!” I point out.
Bad choice of words.
The defiant look he gives me might just leave me red-faced for the next century.
“Stop doubting yourself. Stop doubting me. I never would have brought this up if I wasn’t completely comfortable with it. I expect nothing more from you than to do your job,” he growls.
“Okay. Thank you,” I say, turning for the door again.
But he’s up in an instant, grabbing my arm. “Where are you going, Sunshine?”
“Bed. I need a nap.”
“I have a very large, lonely, and comfortable bed just down the hall.” He pries the laptop out of my hand and sets it down.
I don’t even try to resist as he leads me into the grandest bedroom ever.
Inside, he pulls me closer, draping a blanket over me.
When he doesn’t make any moves to tear off my clothes, I’m stunned.
He guides me down on the huge bed with a kiss on the back of my neck.
Once we’re lying down, he wraps his arms around me, holding me so tight I feel his heart drumming against my skin.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I whisper.
“I don’t know what the future may bring any more than you do, but I enjoy your company, Piper Renee. I like whatever this is right now.”
That makes two of us.
“So, um, what happened in that trip—”
He brings me closer, and his breath on my neck silences me.
“It was goddamned intense. And when it happens again, we’ll make sure it’s under better circumstances,” he rumbles.
When, he says.
Holy hell.
This is too much.
Yes, I’m cocooned in his arms right now, but what’s to stop that from changing tomorrow?
He straight up didn’t promise me a future.
He’s still my boss and nothing else.
Before this weekend, I wasn’t even sure Brock Winthrope had a heart.
I’m falling too hard, too fast, too recklessly.
What if he comes to his senses and drops me like a hot potato?
Nothing good can come from living out this fantasy.
I’m trying not to cry as he strokes my hair, slowly threading his fingers through it. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”
“Like hell. Tell me.”
“I’m just worried,” I admit.
His grip tightens around me again as he leans in, pressing his lips to my cheek. “Your dad will get the best care, sweetheart. You have my word.”
That’s when my heart drops out.
Stolen and shattered by the world’s most eligible billionaire bachelor who will forget me the instant he finds his next supermodel to obsess over.
In the meantime, though, I’m going to close my eyes.
I’m going to enjoy this.
And I’m going to pretend this bossy lie we’re living can last forever.