One Bossy Date: Chapter 11

The next day, I find Maisy crumpled in a nest of blankets like the kitten she is.

She cradles her phone with both hands, her thumbs flying across the screen as she texts with all her focus. Her tongue pokes out the corner of her mouth.

So adorable.

So innocent.

It’s one of those rare moments where you can’t forget she’s still a kid at heart.

And she looks up from her screen and smiles, finally noticing me. “Pippy, what’s shaking?”

God, this is hard.

I fiddle with the knob of her open door so I don’t have to make eye contact.

“Big news. I have to go to Chicago for work this weekend.”

“Chicago!” She bolts up, wide-eyed and beaming. “That’s hella sweet. When? Are they paying for it? I hope you get me a job that pays for me to fly everywhere!”

I hold up a hand. “Not quite everywhere. It’s just the Windy City, and yes, they’re paying.”

“Then why do you look like you have to go to a freaking funeral?” Her gaze sharpens.

Crud.

Now comes the hard part. I try not to grimace.

“I don’t think you heard me the first time. It’s this weekend.”

It takes a few seconds to sink in.

Then her face falls. “Oh. But the soccer game—”

I sigh out my soul.

“I know. I’m sorry.” I pause, her kicked puppy look killing me. “Actually, forget it. I’ll call Winthrope and tell him he’s covered with Jenn. I originally signed on as an entry-level employee without these travel demands. If he needs more, let him demote me. You’re not missing your game.”

“Pippa, you can’t!” She pulls her knees to her chest and hugs them. “I’ll stay here and watch Dad.”

“Not happening. Maisy, you’re growing up, but you should still get to be a kid sometimes.”

“I’m not a kid!” she throws back with teenage indignity. “I’m seventeen. Old enough to move out in a lot of places. Just go do your job—”

“But your game—”

She shrugs. “It’s no big deal. It’s not like I’m playing. Trina and I were just going to watch and ogle her, um, crush.”

I raise a brow.

That tone of voice says it definitely isn’t just Tina’s crush.

“I feel awful for cramping your dating life. You deserve a better one than I had at your age.”

“Oh, sis, it’s no big. I promise.” She holds up her fingers like she’s being sworn in.

Yeah, I’m not convinced.

And even if I was, a seventeen-year-old girl shouldn’t shoulder the emotional burden of taking on a disabled father alone. I still have a life—in theory, anyway, whenever Captain Grumpmuffin isn’t working me to death—even if I’m covering the finances.

But you did your time. And took care of Maisy too.

That’s not the point.

“It’s settled. I’m staying. Tell Trina you’re planning to have fun. It’s your weekend.”

“What’s going on?” Dad barks over my shoulder.

“Jeez!” I jump at his voice and then laugh nervously. “Don’t make me put a bell on you, Dad. Did that last hospital stint give you stealth powers?”

“I could’ve walked in with a chainsaw with the way you two were carrying on. Now, what’s got you so riled up?” His eyes search mine.

It’s so hard to hold his gaze.

No matter how much his health spirals, nothing dulls his brain. He’s the same sharp man who braved the literal sea to raise us for years, never taking a single ounce of crap from anyone.

“It’s nothing,” I lie. “Just boring girl stuff.”

He glances over me to Maisy. “What’s going on, Margaret?”

“Pippa’s trying to wiggle her way out of a free work trip to Chicago.”

My expression ices over as I glare at her.

“Pippa?” Dad urges.

I turn to face him.

“You’re finally making your videos again?” He grins widely.

“No, Dad, this is just work—my day job. We’re supposed to go to Chicago to suss out problems with some reviews. And I guess my boss wants to spend thousands feeding conspiracy theories.”

Dad chuckles. “So he’s your typical stuffy suit with an ego? Everyone gets crappy reviews. Why investigate? The Green Mermaid takes flak yet they’ve still got millions lining up to drink that swill they call coffee.”

I roll my eyes. Dad never misses his chance to rag on Seattle’s biggest national coffee chain.

I have no idea how to explain it’s not the same clientele and reviews matter way more with luxury brands.

“We know. You’re a Wired Cup man for life. You need your morning brew tasting half-burned to enjoy it,” I say.

“And damn proud of it,” he says with a nod. “Now why don’t you want to go to Chicago?”

Silence.

I don’t know how to answer without lying through my teeth.

“Piper, what’s wrong?” he asks again.

I’m flipping speechless.

I rack my brain for excuses but I don’t dredge up anything that sounds remotely believable.

I’m waiting for Maisy to jump in and save me—as sad as that is—but she makes no effort, turning her attention back to her phone.

“I see. You two are busy conspiring again about how to take care of me without making me feel as useless as a greyhound with two legs,” he grumbles.

“Dad, no!” I say.

Maisy looks up and shakes her head. “No way. Pippy just got boring since she took the nine-to-five.”

“Girls, I appreciate it, but I don’t need you tied down making sure I get three square meals. I’m your dad. I take care of you.”

And he always has.

That’s what makes this so hard when your father’s as stubborn as he is kind.

It’s why I can’t let him down.

I wave my hand. “Oh, it’s not that. I just don’t like my boss that much. You were right about the ego part, and I don’t want to be stuck in Chicago with him for a weekend.”

“Make her go, Dad,” Maisy says. “She hasn’t been anywhere for months.” She meets my eyes. “Is Brock going to be glued to you the whole weekend?”

“Brock? Brock Winthrope? You’re on a first-name basis with him?” Dad asks.

“Not exactly, but, um, yeah. He’s the big boss.” I glare at Maisy to shush before looking back at Dad and smiling. “He’s a really friendly guy. Everyone calls him Brock.”

Biggest lie ever, but I’m sure the only thing Dad knows from the news is that the Winthropes are filthy rich.

Dad nods. I’m not sure he believes me.

His eyes flick from me to Maisy and back to me slowly.

“You ladies need lives. I won’t have you sacrificing when you’ve got the whole world in front of you.” He pauses and sighs. “I know. I know you want to take care of me, and I love you both for it. But I’m a grown-ass man. I can take care of myself, and when I can’t, well, that’s what the nurses are for. I’m not gonna be your ball and chain, and I won’t be your excuse for skipping out on life neither.”

“Dad,” I whisper, reaching gently for his hand.

“No, Pippa. I fought hurricane winds in the Alaskan crab season to pay this house off when you were still in diapers. I can handle this damn annoying autoimmune crap—”

“But your muscles—”

“They still work, don’t they? Just not like they used to.” He forces a smile. “As long as I’m breathing and able to walk, I’ll take care of myself. I’ve got my prescriptions. I know what to do when I’m having an episode and need to go to the hospital. That’s why you set me up with the alert.” He reaches for the little emergency alert unit on his necklace and holds it up. Go to Chicago, Piper. You wanna help me, then make me proud.”

Ugh. Low blow.

His stubborn ass knows I’ll do it, too.

Part of me wants to say, fine, but Maisy has to go to the soccer game, but I can’t. I don’t want Dad home alone.

After the better part of a minute where they’re both looking me over, I sigh and turn around.

“I guess I have to pack.”

I walk away, leaving Dad standing in Maisy’s room.

Then I start picking out clothes for Insta worthy photo ops, wishing grump-zilla knew half of what I do for him just to keep getting paid.

“Pinch me, Pippa. Pinch me right freaking now.” Jenn downs her second cocktail in the lounge, grabbing my arm so fast I think she’ll tear it off. “A private jet! Are we dreaming?”

“Nope.”

Part of me wishes we were.

She takes a massive gulp of something pink that smells like grapefruit.

“Hol-y shit! That’s good.” She claps her hands together loudly.

I sip my Shirley Temple and stuff more toast into my mouth.

We’re not even on the plane yet and I’m already feeling queasy.

But I’ve learned the hard way that Brock Winthrope, travel, and alcohol are a recipe for misplaced kisses and fighting. No point in adding fuel to the fire.

“Why do you really think he’s so obsessed with these bad reviews? Is it deeper than money?” I ask.

“Who knows?” She hiccups loudly. “Who cares?”

“Okay, let’s slow down a little.” I grab her glass and pull it away from her. “But really, do you think he’s worried about his grandfather’s legacy? Is it just an ego thing?”

Who am I kidding?

We’re talking about Brock freaking Winthrope.

It’s always an ego thing.

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s his problem. We’re getting paid to sleuth our little hearts out and traveling like queens. Just smile and accept it.”

Sage drunken advice.

I nod.

“Oh, I do have a question,” she asks before raising a glass of water to her lips.

“Okay? And at least you’re staying hydrated.”

“What’s really going on when Lucifer invites you to his throne room for those late meetings with the people overseas? And why am I always exempt?”

She gives me a knowing look.

Ugh, if only she knew.

But telling her our psycho boss kisses me like I’m Aphrodite reincarnated wouldn’t be wise, especially when she’s inebriated and loud.

“Boring ad stuff. I sit there taking notes while he rakes people on other continents over the coals. Only, they seem a lot more capable than anyone here,” I say. That much is true.

“Ouch. Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately.”

“So he just has you playing secretary?” Jenn wrinkles her nose. “Why doesn’t he have me help? Surely, three heads are better, and I could take some pressure off you. You’d have an easier time at home…”

Because he doesn’t want to shove his tongue down your throat, Jenn, I think glumly. And you’re smarter than me because you’d never let him.

I shrug. “Well, I appreciate it, but maybe he doesn’t want both of us cramping his style. We both annoy him.”

“It’s just weird. We’re on the same little team he’s cobbled together and we’re salaried.”

I drain the rest of my glass, hating the bitter truth.

The man pays me in heart-thieving kisses.

He tortures me with the eternal temptation to let him do more.

Heat pulses under my cheeks, and I stifle a messy giggle.

Jenn looks at me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Like hell. You’re all red. Now you have to tell me.”

I shake my head fiercely.

“Pippa—”

“There’s nothing to tell!”

“Clearly, it’s something. Let me guess—he hasn’t forgotten about your Hawaiian excursion?”

“Jenn, would you shut it? You’re so loud,” I hiss under my breath.

Her face drops like I’ve slapped her.

“Sorry. It’s just—the whole thing is awkward enough. I promise you it’s just business.”

I also promise I’m a terrible liar. Good thing she’s too buzzed to notice.

“It’s cool. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just teasing. But seriously, if Winthrope’s still making kissy faces—”

“Jenn, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me,” I cut in. “But I think we should go. It’s almost time to board the plane.”

We grab our carry-ons and follow the rest of the small Winthrope crew to the jet, waiting just outside the exit to the tarmac.

I’m surprised the plane is so lavish. Unlike most rich guys who probably use fancy jets to compensate for their micro-peens, he has nothing to worry about in that department.

This thing is a flying cabin of sleek ivory and gold. Every surface sparkles and it smells like ten new cars inside.

I’m about to pinch Jenn and myself just to make sure we’re not dreaming when we find our seats.

We’ve barely started rolling toward the runway when Brock appears in front of us.

My eyes almost pop out of my head.

Stupid man and his stupid sexy outfits.

Stupid black vest hugging his massive chest.

Stupid scowl that roils my blood.

Stupid glacial stare.

“Come sit with me, Miss Renee. There’s a lot we can review over three hours,” he says.

For a second, I glower, but then stand reluctantly.

“Bring your laptop,” he says over his shoulder, already plodding back to his seat.

I grab my messenger bag.

Jenn grins at me and waves.

“Have fun in detention!” She winks.

I don’t bother replying.

I just follow him to the plush chairs closest to the front and sit down beside him.

“Don’t tell me you’re drunk too?” he growls as soon as I’m in my seat.

“Would you let me nap if I was?”

The grim look on his face says hell no.

“I figured you needed one of us sober. She’s not a big drinker, normally. She just got a little carried away by the free cocktails.” Then I remember he’s our boss. I shut up. “Don’t worry about Jenn. She’ll be fine by the time we land. She’s kind of a nervous flier—”

“You worry too much. I’m not half the tyrant everyone says, and I only expect you to work on this flight. Not Miss Landers.”

Oh, peachy keen.

“How generous,” I spit back. “What are we reviewing, anyway?”

“I’ve forwarded you all the negative publicity for the Winthrope Chicago. It’s a new hotel, barely three years old, and impeccably designed. None of it makes any damn sense unless we’re being ratfucked.”

Here we go.

More conspiracies.

I should have brought my tinfoil hat to block the radio signals the reviewers are beaming directly into his head.

I open my laptop and start reading what he’s sent.

Another dismal review calling the restaurant slow and disgusting.

A supposed case of food poisoning from an order of duck eggs.

A review whining about ‘shabby’ towels with three loose threads.

The horror!

So maybe he has a few reasons to be annoyed, even if everything except the towel review seems sadly plausible after the mix-up in Lanai.

“Thoughts?” he asks about twenty minutes later.

“Well, hear me out,” I say, meeting his eyes. “What if this amazing hotel just isn’t as great as it’s supposed to be?”

“Excuse me?”

This is obviously a sore spot for him. I read up on the planning and expense that went into developing this place.

I make my voice as gentle as possible. “I’m sure the building itself is gorgeous. But is it possible there’s a problem with management? Maybe you just need to retrain some staff?”

“This was my grandfather’s goodbye project. He made sure everything was unimpeachable, including the staff, because he thought it might be his life’s capstone.” He drums his fingers on the armrest like a big cat slapping its tail in irritation. “Believe me, Miss Renee, he spared no detail. Yet somehow, the menu developed by world-renowned celebrity chefs is apparently causing food poisoning. The facilities are a Beatrice Nightingale Brandt design. Yes, the famous architect. My grandparents wouldn’t have put A-list ads in every high-profile magazine in North America and Europe if they thought there was a chance anything about this hotel might be less than breathtaking. I’m a hundred percent sure of it.”

I don’t know what to say.

He’s vibrating pure rage like a confused beast with its paw caught in a trap.

Humans still make mistakes, I want to point out, no matter how good they are. But he’s already seething, defensive, and grumpier than ever, and it’s not even lunchtime yet.

“I’m sure it’s a masterpiece. Look, I’ve never seen a Winthrope resort that didn’t look fabulous, but if we do find real kinks in the armor, you’d be willing to work them out, right?”

He studies my face so intently I almost squirm in my seat.

“Of course. You really think there’s something wrong with the hotel?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been. I just think if you’re not willing to consider all possibilities and you get caught up in this, um…cloak and dagger stuff, it could be hard to steer the reviews back on track. At least with factors you can control.”

I’m surprised he nods, stroking his chin like he’s actually listening.

“I don’t think these disasters are real. The head manager oversaw our Times Square property for more than a decade before coming to Chicago. He was selected because that property had rock-solid ratings and led the whole Winthrope pack for years. It was a well-oiled machine, easy to leave in new hands, and my grandparents believed he could bring the same magic to Chicago. Still, on the off chance we find a genuine problem, I’ll handle it.” He goes quiet, but doesn’t close his mouth.

“But?”

“I don’t think it’s likely, Miss Renee. I know you’d have me committed if it was up to you for going on this quest—you and Keenan both—but I’m certain these shitty reviews aren’t natural. That’s why we’re going there personally to find out.”

His eyes skim over me. I shiver.

Honestly, I hope we find something for his sake.

He’s slowly driving himself crazy over this.

“Another thing,” he bites off.

“Yes?”

“You never sent me whatever it was your family needed,” he says sternly.

I laugh. “Oh, no. Not this again. I told you I wouldn’t.”

“You did, and your modesty is admirable and annoying. Let me help,” he rumbles.

It’s shocking how easily we slip into another staring contest.

But my eyes don’t waver as I say, “Seriously, don’t. It’s none of your business. I don’t need my boss charging to the rescue every time my father—”

Oops.

I almost bite my tongue off.

He cocks his head, his eyes softening.

“I need you focused, Miss Renee. So, yes, I’m happy to take care of whatever it is you—or your father—need.” His gaze drops to my lips. “Just think about it.”

Oh, boy.

I can’t believe I’m living every forced proximity rom-com fantasy.

I grip the armrest.

His gaze is magnetic, impossible to glance away from. He looks at my mouth like he could devour it right here.

My toes curl at the thought. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Not here, Brock.

Not on the plane in front of everyone.

Because if you kiss me again, you know I won’t stop you and I’ll enjoy it so much it’ll ruin us both.

I swing my head around to look away—breaking our connection just in time.

Thankfully, the flight attendant who stops by helps.

He sinks in his seat after ordering a coffee while the woman asks if I want anything. I take an ice-cold soda.

Anything bubbly and caffeinated to save me from the unholy temptation beside me.

An hour and two sodas later, the gaping silence is just as awkward as having his intense stare fixed on my lips.

“So, did you spend a lot of time with your grandparents growing up?” I have no idea why I ask, looking up from my laptop.

It seems like a safe subject and I need to break up the monotony.

“They practically raised me.” He glances at me slowly. “Why?”

“You’re just…very protective of the work they left behind. It’s kind of cute, honestly.” I smile, deciding to test my limits. “What about your parents? Were they part of the Winthrope empire too?”

“I’ve always gotten along with my grandparents better than my folks. The hotel business wasn’t for them—or business of any kind that didn’t involve fluff speeches at auctions for wildlife preservation or gambling. In my circles, the workaholic gene skips a generation.”

Dang.

I didn’t expect him to be so open. It’s actually a little refreshing to hear that his parents were just unambitious and not responsible for some tragic backstory.

But why does he have such a heaping chip on his shoulder then?

“Were you always next in line?” I venture.

“No. I was still in the Air Force when my grandfather approached me about it. I sensed he was about to pull strings to end my duties early. I was flying missions in Syria and Iraq, and my grandma was freaking out. I asked him to let me finish my contract and we could go from there—” He studies my face and snorts. “What? You’re looking at me like I’m mad.”

“I’ve never met someone who wanted to go to war.”

“I owed it to my men. We trained together. Wouldn’t be right to let them risk their asses while I slinked off to board meetings. Money buys virtually anything, Miss Renee, but I’ve never let it lure me into an easy life.”

“Wow,” I mouth slowly. “So, under the egomaniac, there’s actually a guy who isn’t a colossal dick.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I don’t need you ruining my reputation—or implying I’m anything less than a centaur below the belt.”

I don’t know whether to blush or burst out laughing, so I do both.

“Did you like it, though?”

He blinks at me. “Like what?”

“The military?”

“The discipline was useful. If Gramps hadn’t asked me to come back and start working with him, I would have stayed for another term. At first, I was going to stay anyhow, but then—” He pauses, his face falling like he’s pushing away a memory. “He reminded me he couldn’t live forever and needed to train someone to take the helm. I couldn’t turn him down. It was almost like my birthright to preserve his legacy.”

“You being in the military makes sense. No wonder you’re such a hardass—”

“Careful. Most people don’t call their boss an ass of any kind to his face.”

And most people’s bosses probably haven’t kissed them so hard they were left winded, but I don’t dare say it and pump him up more.

“Anyhow, USAF training definitely helped me shore this business up.”

I smile. “Seems like Winthrope International was a rave success before you were born. I’m not sure you can take credit for that.”

“I know, which is why I won’t be responsible for fucking it up.”

“Mr. Winthrope, you can’t blame yourself for the negative reviews, wherever they’re coming from.”

“Who else would I blame? I’m the leader, last I checked. And it’s happening too frequently now. Only a jackass would blame some lower-level employee.”

This man was stark naked when I met him and still knew he was in total control. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand his thinking.

“We’ll figure this out,” I say.

“We’d better. Keep up the confidence, Miss Renee. It’s a good look on you.”

I try not to blush again. “Yeah. But you have to keep an open mind, and if we need to take a look at honest changes—”

“We will.” He’s cool and confident again. “Enough about my family and my problems, though. Now we have to talk about yours. What’s troubling you and your father?”

My lips pull into a line.

“Come on, Miss Renee. Humor me, damn you,” he whispers, leaning so close to my ear his breath feels like a campfire. “You’re not secretly married, are you?”

“What? No!” My mouth falls in horror. “And even if I was, does it matter?”

His jaw clenches. “You know it does.”

“Why?”

“Technically, your involvement with any man isn’t my business.”

“Technically, you hate it every time I use that phrase—”

He ignores me. “I’d just wonder why you had to hide the loser.” He’s quiet for a minute before he brushes his lips against my neck and says, “And I’d also wonder why the hell you let me touch you, and how much better I am at it than him.”

Oh. My. Gawd.

My cheeks go up in flames.

If he wants more than this conflicted office relationship, he should just say so. Two can play at this game. I tilt my head so my lips are against his ear.

“Y-you don’t need to worry about that. I’ve only ever had to hide kissing one loser.”

“Who?” His eyes glow with a jealous glint.

I stare at him smugly until he figures it out.

“Oh. Right. If you had to hide it, I hope you at least enjoyed it.”

“Eh. I mostly just kept wondering when it would end.”

“Liar brat.” He scratches his stubble, hiding what looks like a wince.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Tell me what I did to deserve you being sent to torment me.”

I smile at him and look away.

A sigh rolls out of him. “If you’re not hiding a man, then what the hell is this problem you’ve sewed your lips shut over? Tell me.”

“You’re growling again.” I lean my head against the back of the seat and look straight ahead.

“Miss Renee—”

“Try Piper before you get so personal,” I throw back.

“And you could stop playing games with me, Pied Piper.”

I steel myself, ignoring the hot chill slashing up my spine.

“And you could just respect the simple fact I keep telling you—it’s none of your business, boss.”