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

How the fuck did I wind up trapped in a flaming wreck for the second time?

This is worse than the spinning crash to Earth I survived once.

Because this wreck has no eject.

No parachute.

No end.

No mercy.

Everybody and their damn dog who went to that convention is ready to sue. Everyone except Lincoln Burns, I should say, who left a message telling me it wasn’t my fault and I should fight it tooth and nail.

The sad part? He still sounded queasy as hell on voicemail after a whole evening heaving his guts out.

Goddamn.

Legal has blown up my phone so many times this morning there’s a crater where it used to be. I had to shut the damn thing off.

There isn’t much I can do to help.

Not by any conventional means.

I just know I’m going to annihilate Apollo Finch for taking this sick little game too far.

This isn’t just about the reward anymore.

It’s vengeance.

He blames Winthrope for collapsing his marriage, losing his kids, ruining his family.

So far, he’s done a fine job of paying us back in spades.

I’m so done with sorting this out the nice way.

The legal way.

I’m also done pretending I have a path as the CEO. Someone needs to take the fall for this fuckery, and the sooner I land on my sword, the faster the press forgets this shit and buys precious time for my people to come up for air.

I just hate that I’ll disappoint them.

Even if I know I’ll only give my grandparents more grief by staying on and acting like anyone respects a single word I say.

A knock at the door drags my eyes up from my misery.

Keenan enters a second later and clears his throat.

“Report,” I bite off.

“I spent the entire night digging. Here’s what we know—I had the oysters brought in from a fishing boat in Bellingham, but you already knew that. They were kept on ice as standard procedure the whole time. They used the same local delivery outfit they’ve always used once the ship unloaded—”

I’m melting in my seat and he gives me a worried look.

“Go on,” I grind out.

“The supplier is still working like hell to figure out what happened from there. It turns out, the delivery company subcontracted to a smaller outfit since it was a one-time delivery, and the smaller place—”

“Stop,” I belt out.

He pauses, studying me. It must be the absolute fury etched on my face.

“Boss?” he asks.

“I don’t care anymore,” I growl.

“You don’t? I don’t follow. Is this some weird new test?”

I answer him by fishing out a second mug from under my desk and pouring a few fingers of scotch into it plus the mug that’s already there. That’s my new go-to drink since Piper ruined brandy for me forever.

I look at him and push the cup over.

“A little early, don’t you think?”

“Not when the whys can get fucked. It’s over, Mr. Dutton.”

Soon enough, this will be someone else’s problem.

Hopefully, someone with the competence to solve it.

Keenan’s eyes flick to his glass and he takes a whiff, pulling back with his face screwed up. “Whew, that’s heavy stuff. How much have you had today?”

“Since I’m still conscious and mostly coherent, not enough.”

He watches me toss back the drink and pour another round.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boss?” he whispers.

“I’m a billionaire’s loser grandson. You’re a good employee and you deserve a stronger chief.”

Keenan’s mouth twists. “Big guy, are you okay?”

“Never better. Why?”

“Because. On a normal day when our revenue fell even a quarter point, you’d be tearing the office apart trying to figure out who was dragging. You don’t sit around with unanswered questions,” he says.

I chuckle bitterly.

“No mystery here. I know who’s behind it. Now, I just need to make his greedy ass regret ever being born. And I will, especially once I have all the time in the world to make it happen.”

He tilts his head, adjusting his glasses.

“I really hope you’re not thinking what I think you are,” he says quietly. I don’t answer and he continues. “Well, do you at least know that the delivery subcontractor seems to belong to a shell company?”

Just like I thought.

I need more poison in my veins, so I reach for the bottle as I look at him. “Another round?”

“No.” He sets the mug down on my desk.

I move to my sideboard and pour myself another shot, gathering my bombed-out thoughts. “I’m not the least bit surprised.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s exactly the sort of devious, harebrained shit-scheme Apollo Finch lives for. I know that. I’m not stupid—” I pause. Given the state my life is in, I’m not sure how accurate that is. “Well, I’m not that stupid.”

Keenan goes quiet. “Are you sure? Look, you convinced me he was dicking around when you finally found proof he had us review bombed, but this…this is a whole different ballgame.”

I throw back another shot.

“It’s an immediate red flag.”

“But it could be a tax trick. You know how some of the smaller contractors like to run things around here,” he points out.

“The whole purpose of a shell is to shelter money without having to do any work. I guarantee you, Apollo Finch knows how to manage one, and he’s probably sloppy enough for someone to notice. He was having towels and other shit swapped out in Chicago. Unless you have another explanation, he’s suspect A, B, C, and goddamned Z.”

He heaves out a sigh.

I don’t care how crazy it sounds. I’m right.

“Either way, what are we going to do about this?” He sinks down in the chair, resting his arms on his knees.

“I have a few ideas,” I say cryptically. “However, I think the first thing we should do is reassure our media contacts there will be an investigation. And not the kind that drags on for months, turning up jack shit.”

“I’ve already got Jenn on the damage control team. It’s slow going.” He looks at his arm and taps his smart watch.

“Anything else?”

He looks up at me. “At the risk of pissing you off more, we know a certain someone who’s really talented at dealing with these messes. Should I try to get her back in?”

“Knock yourself out. She won’t talk to me, and I tried with a penguin,” I growl.

He gives me a bewildered look.

Probably trying to figure out whether or not I’m absolutely shitfaced drunk.

“Boss, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“Like what?”

“You’re never this calm on good days. I keep waiting for you to yell at me or throw something at the wall or—”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I insist.

“You keep saying that, but you don’t seem fine.”

I’m about to deny it for the thousandth time when I wonder what’s the point. Lacing my fingers, I exhale around the burning rock in my throat.

“Keenan, I’m sure I’ll regret this, but to hell with it. If a woman says you’ve given her everything but the one thing she wants, what does that mean?”

“Oh, that’s pretty straightforward. You could ask.” He smiles cheerfully.

“I tried that, dammit. She said if she had to tell me, it doesn’t matter.”

Keenan laughs. “See, this is why I like guys. So much easier.”

Why do I bother asking him for advice?

“The good news is, she’s waiting on you to figure it out. Maybe you will once we’ve put out some fires.”

“She isn’t,” I counter. “She doesn’t care what I do. She won’t talk to me.”

“Then she’s not done with you, dude. How can a guy who pulls unicorn solutions out of his butt all the time be this dense?”

I snort, narrowing my eyes. “How would you even know?”

Keenan laughs again. “My bestie on mall runs is an awesome lady, and I never missed a slumber party in middle school. Look, if she was done with you when you asked what she wanted, she would have told you. And she definitely would’ve listed all the ways you fucked up. She didn’t, did she?” He waits while I shake my head. “Yeah. So she’s still waiting on you to figure it out. She doesn’t want to have to tell you because she doesn’t want it to be meaningless or easy. You’re being put to the test, my man.”

Fuck.

Is he right?

Do I still have a chance?

Even if I do, I might not after this Finch meltdown. That’s going to require bringing in Fyo and there’s never any guarantee there won’t be blowback with that.

Especially if it’s the kind that lands me in prison.

“Go work on damage control. I’ll figure this out.” The least I can do for my grandparents is have Keenan on the hunt.

He stands up and gives me a look like he’s holding back more comments.

Wise decision.

He’s been with me long enough to know what I should do if I still had a functioning brain that wasn’t occupied with begging Piper to talk to me and tearing Apollo Finch ten new assholes. He’ll be the biggest asset this company has when the board selects a new executive.

“Shut the door behind you,” I add.

I wait until he walks out with a deafening click of the door.

Once I’m alone, I turn to my computer.

Here we go.

I pry open my laptop and start typing. There’s no good way to say any of this, but it has to be done.

Gramps,

I’ve let you down. I’m not the leader you were and my mistakes are too painfully obvious to ignore.

That’s why I’m writing to let you know I’m doing the only thing I still can—and the only decision I know you’d have the stones to make in my place.

I’m taking the fall.

You’d never fire me, and it isn’t fair to put you in that position.

Therefore, I’ll be resigning by end of day.

-Brock

Short, sweet, and straight to the point.

I read it twice and hit send. Then I click over to my pre-written resignation email to the board and email that, too.

Done.

Now, I just have the rest of my life to make Moon Bitch regret the day he ever met me, and win back my girl.

I go through the office and throw my things together, trying to finish before Keenan tries to talk me out of it.

Every memory here feels like an uppercut.

The photos of me when I was six, perched on Gramps’ shoulders, both of us dressed in these ridiculous neon-orange shirts.

A scale model of the Winthrope Chicago, my grandparents’ legacy, a gift from the Brandts.

That black mug with the owls I pushed into a corner two weeks ago, still smeared with Piper’s lipstick. It was the last morning we were together in the office, having coffee, laughing and planning what felt like world domination.

Or at least dominating those damned reviews.

Goddamn, that hurts.

This isn’t the way I ever planned to leave this place.

I was supposed to stay here until I got too old and grey and senile to run the place.

Just like Gramps.

Instead, I ran the company into the ground in record time.

As I slink out of my office and head home, I’m glad I don’t have to go to that fucking joke of an awards ceremony.

I’d be the pariah everyone mutters about under their drunken breath.

At home, Andy flies up from his nap at my cleaning lady’s feet and follows me into my room. He’s pacing back and forth for an hour before he breaks into the same mournful howling he’s been doing ever since Piper walked out.

Just my fucking luck.

She messed with my dog’s head, too.

“Hold on, little air raid siren. We’re getting your walk in early today,” I tell him.

It’ll also get me the hell out of this miserable house.

We head out into dusk. Andy wanders the path listlessly, barely sniffing at the flowers like he normally does. I ignore the nonstop vibration of my phone in my pants.

After our walk, I scoop Andy up on the couch and drink myself into a stupor.

I wake up with a brutal headache, my chest buried under dog.

I hear the thud as he jumps down and lets out another long baying howl at the moon rising through the window.

“Andy! Enough. Are you trying to split my head in two?”

I drag myself over to the table, shoving a few handfuls of cashews into my mouth from a tin. A few more for Andy gets him settled again.

I resist the urge to pick up my phone. I’ll have to call Fyodor tomorrow and tell him we’re using the nuclear option, but first I need to sleep off this damn hangover.

Leave it to the sandman to be a colossal prick.

I toss and turn half the night, growling at the nauseous images flashing through my brain.

Darren laughing in the mess hall, talking shit to other airmen about the woman he was cheating on Vanessa with, goading me to walk over and knock his teeth out.

The heat in Piper’s eyes, her lips, her soul the first time I slid into her.

Awful, glassy tears spilling out of her the day my dumbassery cost me everything. Fuck, how did I let her go without even telling her—

Wait.

I leap out of bed and wince as my hungover brain screams at me. There’s also something buzzing on my nightstand like an angry bee.

Is that what Piper needs? To know I love her?

If I’d found my balls and told her, would I be waking up next to her right now instead of this dreary Piper-shaped dent on the other side of my bed I can’t bring myself to smooth over?

“You magnificent idiot,” I mutter.

My phone hums again and the noise drills through my head. I grab the bastard thing to shut it up and hold my breath, irrationally hoping it’s her.

Nope.

Keenan again.

I knew he wouldn’t let go easily. I sigh as my eyes flick over his text.

Scratch everything I told you earlier. Apparently, the delivery company here in Seattle never subcontracts for a high-dollar order as big as you placed. This is totally out of the ordinary and the CEO can’t tell me why it happened. He’s stunned.

I grind my teeth, wondering if the headache from hell will disappear when my blood turns to acid.

The phone buzzes again.

Keenan: We’re investigating now, but it stinks for sure. Don’t make me tell you I think you were right twice. Because everyone has a pretty thorough account of where these oysters came from, how they were handled, and where they went. Once they got to Seattle, that’s where it gets murky.

You know I’m not your boss anymore, right? I send back. Save your sleuthing for the new CEO. He’ll need it.

I’m mid-yawn and stroking Andy’s head when my phone pings again.

Keenan: You’ll be back. And honestly, new boss or not, you’re the only one who can ever fix this.

I frown.

He isn’t wrong. I need to shower and get on the horn with Fyo to see if he’s managed to grab Apollo Finch’s schedule yet.

Keep me posted if you find anything else, I send.

Outside, it’s a typically drab summer morning, purple-grey and lifeless before the sun explodes over the horizon.

Even so, I wonder if my luck is turning around.

I woke up with a better chance at settling the score with Finch.

And if dreams mean anything, I think mine just told me how to bring my Sunshine back.