One Bossy Date: Chapter 25

Stupid man.

Stupid job.

Stupid life.

I’m staring at my bank account and crunching numbers, wondering if I have enough to jet off to somewhere warm and free from hot billionaires. If Dad keeps improving, then maybe in a few months.

How nice would it be to leave the heartbreak at home for winter?

Knock. Knock.

I look up from my phone and yell, “Come in!”

Maisy strolls into my room with a puckered smile she tries to hide and totally can’t.

“What now?” I huff out, folding my arms.

“Your hotel prince came bearing large gifts. Gotta give him props for trying!”

Oh, boy.

Here we go again.

Brock may be an enormous douchenozzle, but he’s a persistent one.

Seriously.

An old jewelry box in the corner catches my eye. I frown.

Maybe there’s a reason why I’m extra resistant to his material charms. While Maisy waits for me to launch into a tirade, I walk across the room and pick it up before I pass it to her.

“Remember this thing? Why don’t you take it, Mais?”

“Huh? Pippy, you haven’t touched that thing in years.”

“That’s the point. You can get more use out of it than me,” I say glumly.

That’s not the truth.

I never wanted this jewelry box. I wanted my mom.

The fact that it’s still around is just a hollow reminder of my loss. That’s the only thing this ‘gift’ can ever be, and it’s the same for Captain Heartslaughter.

Maisy thumbs it open, staring at the silver ballerina inside the box.

“Eh, I don’t know. I don’t have much jewelry.”

“Then trash it. I don’t care what you do, honestly.” I turn away, hating that I have to ask. “Well, what did he send this time?”

“Oh, you’ll like this!” she gushes. “New suitcases, and they’re straight dripping.”

I assume that means good.

Naturally.

This man doesn’t know the meaning of bargain shopping, and he’s oblivious to the fact that I don’t want ginormous expensive suitcases.

“Want me to bring them in?” Maisy asks, biting her lip.

“Leave them at the door. I’ll deal with it later.”

“Aw, no fun. Maybe you should just give him a chance—”

“I gave him a chance, Mais. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

She sticks her tongue out. “I’m old enough, and you’re being ridiculous. He’s your typical dumb dude but he’s not so bad—”

“Neither is a mosquito bite, but you don’t go tromping through swamps for fun,” I counter.

Her eyes soften.

“You know, I don’t agree with everything, but…I’m proud of you, Pippy.”

I stare at her.

Proud of what? I just had an ill-advised fling with my boss that exploded my heart. Real gold medal material.

“Are you going to tell me why?”

She giggles and shrugs. “He’s hot and loud and determined. But you’re holding your own, sis. If some moody billionaire guy who’s just missing the Twilight sparkle came to my house day after day with gifts, I’m not sure I’d have your strength. I couldn’t just ghost him.”

“If he ripped your heart out, you’d be surprised.”

Her face falls. “Right. Sorry. I’ll lay off it for a while.”

I watch glumly as she slips away, leaving me with my misery.

“Prince Apology again.” A day later, she’s back, standing in my door.

“Tell him I died in my sleep,” I say, looking up from scouting freelance writing gigs online.

“You know he won’t believe that, and on the off chance he did, he’d go on the warpath trying to find someone to blame.”

“Don’t care. Still not talking to him.”

“But at least check out what he brought today!” She’s practically squealing, her eyes huge with excitement. “Pippa, trust me. You have to look.”

Sigh.

I almost limp over to her, afraid to see what she’s hiding behind her back.

But I’m surprised when there’s nothing and she just holds out a piece of paper.

I take it and turn it around.

An envelope. Inside, there’s a round trip ticket to Budapest, redeemable anytime in the next year. There’s an egift card to a premier Hungarian hotel affiliated with Winthrope brands—and a damned note.

Sunshine,

I know you won’t let me be there when you make your five-star dreams come true. However, I’ll be waiting for the videos with you smiling.

Your biggest fan,

Brock

I facepalm, wishing I never had to look up again.

“You’re crazy if you throw that away!” Maisy says sharply.

“Just move aside, please.” I walk past her, grabbing a roll of tape and a pen from my desk.

“Pippa? What are you doing?”

“Dealing with yesterday’s gift and saving you some breath.”

I scratch out a few words on the back of the envelope and head for the front door, noticing the luggage Maisy left for the first time.

Ugh.

The suitcases are absolutely beautiful and he nailed my favorite color. My heart flips over when I see the flamingos.

Stay strong.

“See? I told you,” Maisy says, following me.

I don’t answer her as I tape today’s gift to the door and read over the words I scratched out one more time.

This is probably an unfamiliar concept for a man who never learned to take “no” for an answer, but I’m not for sale. You couldn’t send me away and you can’t buy me back.

With a reluctant sigh, I drag the luggage to the porch, too. I’m going to leave it there, even at the risk of someone from the street swiping it.

Maisy watches me in stunned silence.

When I walk back inside, she says, “Unbelievable. You’re really giving up Budapest? Pippa, think of the pierogies!”

“That’s Poland,” I say.

Not that it makes it any better.

I wish she’d never told him about my travel dreams.

He clearly listened. He remembered.

That stupid, stupid man.

Another day.

Another overbearing, totally outrageous bribe.

This time, it’s a ticket to Paris and a gift card to the Winthrope de Gaulle resort there.

“You should have just pointed him to the note I left and told him to scram,” I tell Maisy, trying not to sound angry.

“I did. He just didn’t care. I know you don’t want this…but here.”

She hands me another note, this time with no envelope.

Piper Renee,

I’m not stupid enough by half to try to buy your love.

Freeze me out as long as you want. It doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget you or stop trying to win you back.

And you really shouldn’t leave your luggage outside.

-Desperate

My hand crumples the note.

For a second, a voice screams shred it! but I just don’t have the strength.

I run into my room for a pen and come back, smoothing the paper against the wall and using it as a writing surface.

“Now what?” Maisy asks.

“What do you think? He needs to learn.”

Muttering to myself, I slash angry lines across the paper with the pen.

“So, um, I know you two are old hat, but if you want to fight there are faster ways,” Maisy tells me.

“I don’t need speed, Mais. I need him to get the point!”

I twist away and stare at what I’ve written.

Dear Desperate and Pathetic,

Keep sending outrageously expensive crap as long as you want. I don’t care if you escalate to fancy cars and golden elephants next. They’re not entering this house.

You’re so far off the mark you can’t even find the darts.

Money can’t fix everything.

-Annoyed

Hello, morning.

I wake up with a yawn, plodding to the door for Dad’s paper. I find three months’ worth of rare peaberry coffee packed and shipped overnight from Wired Cup farms, the roasting label marked for the Winthrope Lanai.

Pure torture.

Aaaand there’s another note.

“Jackass,” I swear, peeling it open so I can read and throw the stupid thing away.

Miss Disagreeable,

Here’s something to help you wake up.

And if you’ll tell me what you want, it’s yours.

Anything.

If money can’t buy it, I’ll find it. Just give me a goddamned chance.

-Stubborn Jackass

“You sad, strange donkey-man. At least you’re right about one thing,” I mutter to myself as I scratch out a reply and tape it back up.

Mr. Hee Haw,

If I have to tell you, it doesn’t matter.

Figure it out or better yet, don’t.

Leave. Me. Alone.

-Pissed

But no matter how frustrated and exhausted I am, the hits keep coming.

More tickets. This time an entire flipping booklet of them.

London, Montreal, Prague, Capetown, Bali, Auckland—oh, God, I’d die to see New Zealand if it was with anyone else on Earth—and my travel packages start coming tucked into large bouquets I can’t stomach throwing in the yard to wilt.

That ginormous dick.

Four more days of this crap, and I’m over it until the morning when Maisy screams like she’s stepped on a cobra. Maybe a whole nest of them.

“Pippa! Pippa! Pippaaaa!” She’s turning her lungs out.

Holy crap.

I come flying out and find her standing at the front door with—not Brock.

There’s an elderly Japanese man, and next to him, the biggest shock of my life.

A black-and-white penguin roughly waist high tilts his pointed beak up and looks at me with a soft squawk.

“May he come in for a minute? Special delivery,” the man explains. “Mr. Winthrope flew us in from Kyoto to deliver a message for Miss Renee. I am Takishido’s owner.”

Message? What message requires a flipping penguin?

“Oh my God! No way.” Maisy laughs, squeezing my arm like she’ll tear it off if I say no.

But I doubt I’ll ever see anything like this again, so…

I lean up on my toes, looking over the man’s shoulder for any sign of Brock. I don’t see him, but there’s a familiar black SUV parked on the curb. He’s out there, no doubt watching everything.

“Fine. The penguin can come in,” I say with a sigh.

I hope this isn’t the world’s cutest Trojan horse.

But I’d be the most frigid bitch in the world if I didn’t break into a giddy smile, watching the funny creature waddle into our house. I don’t notice there’s something stuck to his flipper until the penguin holds it up.

Another envelope. What else?

I grit my teeth as I peel it off and say, “Thanks, Takishido.”

The penguin follows Maisy around the living room while I tear it open, too stunned to even breathe.

Piper,

You’ll never know how many strings I had to pull to bring you a rare bird you’ve never seen this close.

If you still won’t talk to me, then I hope like hell you’ll hang on to these tickets. I owe the city council bribes for their next four reelections so they’d look the other way with a penguin on a public street. Bring Maisy on the adventure of her life if you won’t go with me.

-Frozen Without You

Behind the note, two thick tickets fall out for a luxury cruise to Antarctica, complete with guided penguin sightings. By the time I collapse in Dad’s worn recliner, I’m crying.

The penguin waddles in front of me and tilts his head up again, belting out a sympathetic squeak.

Yep, it’s official.

I’m never, ever living this down.

Maisy rubs my shoulders while I laugh and cry and smile so brokenly at the unreal sight traipsing around our living room until the owner man lures him outside with a fish.

“Pippy? You’re going to talk to him, right?” Maisy whispers, grabbing my hand.

I’m reeling too hard to answer.

Right now, I’m not even sure I’ll ever be able to speak, much less make up with a man who’s getting way too good at groveling his heart out.

Maisy appears at my door the next day with more flowers.

“Leave them in the kitchen,” I yell through the door before she even knocks.

“Can’t! Dad says there are so many hanging around he can’t taste his breakfast through the smell. He’s also mad he missed the penguin.” She laughs.

Ouch. The last thing I want is a perfumed reminder of Brock Winthrope’s assholery in my room.

Luckily, Maisy pitches in to help. It takes us half an hour to relocate the plants. Even with a few more packed up to drop off at the community garden, my bedroom turns into a green room and smells sweeter than a candy shop.

Maisy looks around and snickers. “Oh my God, he’s trying so hard.”

“And failing miserably,” I say.

“Pippa, I think he cares about you…”

My jaw clenches. “Enough to send gifts. But I don’t want any of this stuff, and honestly, sending me plane tickets just feels like being told where to go again.”

“Girl, what do you want? He gave you a note by penguin.”

I look at her slowly and sigh. “I just want him to love me and I want him to say it.”

“You don’t think he does?” Disbelief rings in her voice.

“Not enough to tell me.”

“Holy shit, is this how it is? High school is so much easier. If any boy started showering me with trips to these magical places and exotic birds, I’d assume he was madly in love with me and—”

“Yeah? What boy would that be?”

“Um. Never mind.” Maisy goes bright red and runs for my door. “I’ll tell him to buzz off if he shows his face again. Later!”

I laugh.

An hour later, after I’m cleaned up and hacking away at the job listings again, Dad leans into my room, watching me.

“You can come in and sit like a normal person,” I say, looking over my shoulder.

“Sorry, Piper. Just wondering how you’re doing besides the obvious.” He steps inside and surveys my room. “Damn. Haven’t seen this many flowers since the superbloom on Rainier in ’88. You’ve got yourself a Romeo.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still finding homes for these. They won’t keep stinking up the house.”

“That’s not my point, girl. And keep a few.”

“I don’t want them, and since you’ve outlawed flowers in the rest of the house…” I shrug.

“Tell me one thing,” Dad says, sinking down on my bed. “Just how long are you gonna make this boy suffer?”

I narrow my eyes.

“Dad, I’m just defending myself, okay? He doesn’t get it, and he’s not going to. He just needs to go find some new debutante and leave me the hell alone. Why are you taking his side?”

He chuckles just enough to annoy me.

“Piper, you’re my daughter. I’ll always be in your corner. But is it possible the man doesn’t know what he doesn’t get? We menfolk can be walking bricks sometimes.”

Yep, here we go. The fatherly advice I wish I could ignore.

“If he doesn’t understand the one thing I want, it’s a problem. A nonstarter, really. It shouldn’t be this hard.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

He stares at me, waiting.

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with my dad.

Don’t get me wrong. I love him to death, and we’ve always been close, but we’ve never talked about guys.

“I just want him to show me he cares,” I manage.

It’s so much harder telling Dad than Maisy.

He nods slowly and glances around my room, smiling at the flowers. His weathered face always wrinkles up like a pug when he does and I can’t help smiling back.

“I’m willing to bet he might,” he tells me.

“Oh, Dad. Not you too. This is just bribery, sending me luxury vacations like I’m any other travel influencer he’s trying to buy off.”

He raises a hand. “Now, now, I understand. You’re tough as nails and even harder to convince, Pippa. That’s why we love you.”

“I am?”

He nods, still smiling.

I look away as my heart jerks.

God.

We shouldn’t be having such a human moment over Brock freaking Winthrope.

I clear my throat and say, “Full disclosure, he helped save your life. So it’s fair to be biased in his favor.”

“I know, baby girl, and I damn well appreciate it. If he thinks he’s gonna hold it over your head, tell me right away. I’ll take out a reverse mortgage on the house and pay him off.”

“No. I don’t think he’d ever do that.”

I hate that a sick part of me wishes he would.

It would make keeping this wall up so much easier.

“Either way, he can’t force you into anything. It has to be your decision, Piper. Any man worth his salt needs to get that through his noggin. I’m thinking he cares, though—and cares an awful lot—so I’ll cross my fingers and hope this Winthrope guy’s got enough common sense to grow a pair and say the truth.”

“The truth?” I whisper.

We share a long look where Dad says nothing. The way my stomach twists says he doesn’t need to.

“What-ever. I mean, you’re right about one thing, he’s not a bad guy.”

No. He’s a terrible one in all the best ways.

“If it wasn’t so messed up, you might like him. He was in the Air Force,” I say.

Dad points at me and says, “You love him.”

I blink, turning away while every part of me goes red. I can’t even try to deny that.

“That was…never the point, Dad. I’ve never said it, and neither has he.” My face burns.

“So? What if he’s just waiting for you to spit it out first?”

I laugh at his dad logic, shaking my head.

“No way. I’m not going first.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “What if he’s thinking, ‘shitfire, I’ve done everything I can think for this girl, even sent her a damn penguin and she still doesn’t feel it!’”

“He doesn’t think that,” I toss back.

Dad just stares at me and smiles again. “And you know that how?”

“…I mean, it’s obvious.”

“Is it? I hope he mans up, Pippa, but I think you both have some talking to do. I’m not sure hiding from him is the answer.”

“If he showed up just to talk like a normal human being without the bribes, that might be one thing—”

“He showed up empty-handed the first day, didn’t he?” Dad points out. “You wouldn’t see him then.”

“I wasn’t ready. But if he kept showing up empty-handed, maybe—” I stop.

Dad tilts his face down and stares at me.

I know how dumb this sounds.

“No telling what you would’ve done when it didn’t happen.”

“Dad! I thought you were on my side,” I hiss.

“I am. Don’t much like the idea of him trying to lure you in like a fish. But he can’t ever tell you what you want to hear if you won’t give him an ear. Maybe you should—”

A loud knock at the front door interrupts us.

I freeze and we share a look.

Oh, God, do I really have to talk to him? I’m so not ready for this.

Dad sighs, sensing my panic. “Hold tight. I’ll go let him down this time. I think Maisy’s tired of running interference.”

I narrow my eyes. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not going to say anything else, are you?” My heart twists.

Dad laughs. “Relax, honey, it’s not my place. I haven’t been mixed up in this sort of drama since before your ma took off, and I’m not hankering to jump back in and drive myself batty.”

Thank God.

I listen in as the front door squeaks as it opens, wondering how Mr. Congeniality will react to my father. He’s a thousand times harder than Maisy.

“Hi, Harold. Is Piper home?”

Oh, wait. Jenn?

I recognize the voice immediately and run to the front door.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll take it from here,” I say.

The wild-eyed look on her face instantly scares me.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” I ask.

“Have you heard? I’m sure he’s going to be a mess when he gets back to the office,” she rushes out.

What? Something happened to Brock?

I shake my head. “What happened?”

A horrible thought flashes through my mind. Oh, no, I hope it’s not his grandparents.

Dad moves out of the doorway so Jenn can come in.

“Massive food poisoning at the fashion conference!” Jenn belts out, flapping her hands.

I stop and stare at her.

“You’re serious? How is that even possible? Corporate was combing through every kitchen to make sure those crappy reviews were unfounded, and the Winthrope Seattle never had tons of food complaints…”

“Thought the same thing, but it’s all over the news, Pippa. It looks like a warzone. People throwing up in plants because the bathrooms were overflowing, others carrying out their friends. Everyone got hit. Famous YouTubers, fashion designers, even the press. Total disaster.”

I slink against the wall with my throat burning, still trying to understand.

“Holy hell. Come on, follow me.” I duck back in my room and grab my phone.

I have to see this for myself.

A quick search for Seattle fashion conventions proves Jenn right. It’s all over Twitter and the local press sites.

More than a hundred people rushed to the hospital—ranging from influencers to paper pushers—all over a fast-acting food poisoning believed to be caused by bad oysters.

I scan the article. “Jesus. They’re already talking about a class-action lawsuit.”

“This is the kind of thing that leads to layoffs. I hope there aren’t layoffs. We’ll be dead meat for years and guess who’s on the chopping block when you can’t market your way out of this?” She falls on my bed, bouncing like a statue.

“God, I hope he’s okay.”

My stomach sinks as soon as I say it.

Guilt pummels me.

I want to help so bad, but how?

Things might be ugly personally, but he’s still the man who saved Dad’s life.

He can’t just suffer through this, alone and ruined and isolated.

“Pippa, are you okay? You look pale.”

“I have to help Brock,” I whisper.

“Like how? You’re not a lawyer. It already happened. It’s all over except for the tears and some major money changing hands.”

“I shouldn’t have quit before the conference,” I snap.

“Don’t go there. You had nothing to do with this. He didn’t give you much choice, remember?” she reminds me. “Besides, it’s not like you planned the menu or the catering.”

I look up sharply. “Who did?”

Her brow knits together. “Good question. Probably the hotel manager or the chef? I think there was a catering company too. Oof, everyone is going to be coming for their head.”

“Isn’t the award conference next week? This won’t just blow over. It’s not the kind of thing he’ll ever let go, especially once his grandparents find out. But there were other reports of food poisoning and they were unfounded,” I say, racking my brain.

“What? You think a hundred people are in on the lie?” she asks.

“No. But there were some well-known influencers who bought into the last lies—”

“Pippa… I don’t know. That’s pretty out there,” Jenn says, folding her hands in her lap.

Out there, but not impossible.

“Remember when we were in Chicago?”

She nods.

“We found proof the knives were out for Winthrope, and I’m pretty sure Brock was right about that Apollo guy. Total lunatic.” I wince, remembering how he grabbed me.

“You think something like that happened here?” She frowns, turning it over in her head. “I dunno. It’s a pretty big leap from mangled towels and fake duck eggs to mass poisoning people. It’s so horrible.”

“Oh, I’m not denying it. Still…” I pace the room a few times. “Still, it’s also the knockout punch some hypercompetitive moron needs who’s after that award like a greyhound chasing a rabbit.”

Jenn looks down. She clearly doesn’t want to believe it.

“You think it’s impossible?” I challenge.

“Not necessarily. I’m just trying to imagine how crazy you’d have to be to do something that illegal. Who makes a whole crowd barf over a freaking award?”

I have to stop and ask the same question.

Am I going too far?

Paying a few bad actors to leave craptacular reviews is one thing.

The other means millions in damages and probably some jail time.

Is Finch really that criminally insane?

A chill rolls up my spine as I ponder.

And if he is, what else could he do to Brock?

“You know, I’m not sure I buy it, but I’ll tell you one thing,” Jenn says, spinning her phone slowly as she thinks. “Brock and Keenan were talking about the menu. I heard them arguing over it a few times. I can’t see them making this kind of mistake with bad seafood when they were so invested.” She sighs. “I guess it’s always possible. But it’d be a supplier thing, probably, and it’d be like getting hit by lightning while a rabid bat bites you in the tit—”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Um, sorry,” she continues. “Anyway, Brock has been out of it since you gave him a piece of your mind. He’s skipped out on meetings with everyone except like Keenan—”

“That doesn’t sound like Brock at all. Why would he do that?”

“Why do you think?” She smiles and makes a finger gun, aiming it at me.

There’s that sharp stabbing sensation in my gut again.

Oh my God.

Oh. My. God.

If I threw him off somehow and accidentally caused this catastrophe…

I swallow thickly.

“Well, I don’t care how out of it he’s been,” I lie. “I can’t believe he’d ever allow a slipup this bad.”

And if he didn’t allow it, it shouldn’t have happened.

“Fair enough. It’s so weird. Just feels like the same BS we’ve dealt with before, but I have a hard time believing some dude would poison people to win an award. How psycho could he be?”

I wish like mad I had an answer. But I don’t know enough about Apollo Finch or his weird bad blood with Brock.

I also don’t want to agree when the best-case scenario is a lunatic competitor getting people sick.

“He’d have to be pretty whacked out,” I say weakly.

Then I remember how crazy protective Brock got when Finch approached us in Chicago.

He shoved me in the car and basically threatened Finch with an all-out brawl. He also freaked out and demanded I put my whole life on hold for the same reason, didn’t he?

Did he have a deeper reason?

“What are you thinking?” Jenn asks tensely.

“Nothing good. Because on the off chance we’re right—if he’s deranged enough to poison a hundred people—there’s no telling what else he’s capable of.”