Page 10 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

“Wow, you’re glowing,” I say, not even looking up from my phone as she saunters past me.

She escorts the guy to the front door with a grin that says she’s already forgotten his name, gives his butt a playful smack, and sends him on his way with a wink.

“I’ll call you,” the guy says with a hopeful smile.

“Don’t bother,” Penny replies sweetly. “It was fun, though! Thanks for the workout, champ!”

She shuts the door behind him and turns to me with the smuggest expression I’ve ever seen. “What’s up, prude? Hear anything interesting?”

“Only that you’ve developed a remarkable lung capacity,” I quip, tossing a pillow at her from the couch. “What happened to the whole ‘no strings attached’ thing? It sounded like you were signing up for a relationship in there.”

Penny stretches lazily, arching her back like a cat. “Yeah, well, fun is fun. But the guy’s got a thing for calling out his own name in bed. Kinda kills the mood.”

I choke on my laughter, clutching my stomach as I fall back on the couch. “Wait, what? He called his own name?”

“Yup.” She plops down next to me, her legs crossed. “Like he was some kind of pro wrestler. ‘Yeah, Brent, yeah! You’re doing so good, Brent!’ I felt like I was third-wheeling his love affair with himself.”

I burst out laughing, holding my closed laptop for a moment. Penny always has a way of making me forget how much everything sucks: joblessness, rent, my total lack of sex life, the works.

“I can’t.” I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “I’m dead. You’re a saint for sticking it out as long as you did.”

“Girl, what he lacks in brains, he makes up for in,you know what.” She winks at me. “But yeah, hearing his name got old very quickly. You should’ve seen his face when I told him not to call me. Looked like a kicked puppy.”

I shake my head, grinning. Penny is . . . well, Penny. We’ve been roommates for two years and best friends for five. She’s a software designer who could pass anArmanimodel without much of an effort.

She’s got this perfect blend of sass, sex appeal, and zero tolerance for bullshit that I wish I could bottle up and sell. Today, she’s rocking the post-sex glow like she just stepped off the set of some rom-com while I’m sitting here in my ratty yoga pants, a tank top that’s seen better days, and my hair piled in a lopsided bun.

“At least one of us is having some fun.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “It wouldn’t kill you to get a date every once in a while,” Penny says, nudging me with her elbow. “When was the last time, again? Oh, right. Mr. I-Only-Wanted-You-As-My-Beard.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Don’t remind me.”

Penny laughs, tugging at my bun. “You’ve got the worst luck, babe. I mean, who dates a guy for six months only to find out he’s using you as cover?”

“It was eight months,” I mutter through my fingers, “and he’s a good guy. Just . . . not into women, apparently.”

“Well, at least you didn’t catch feelings.”

I drop my hands and stare at her. “Oh, but I did. Stupid, heart-eye-emoji feelings. And now, I’m officially retired from the dating scene.”

Penny arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh, please. You’re not retired. You’re just, what’s the word: Bored. Distracted. Horny.”

“Uh-huh. Discovering you're a beard really takes dating out of you.”

Penny laughs, tipping her head back. “Hey, in his defense, you are gorgeous. I can see why he’d want you on his arm. Even if it’s just to distract from the fact that he’s really into Brad from accounting.”

Her words have me laughing too. But then, like a reflex, the memory ofhimslides into my mind. Silas. The way he looked at me—touched me—the way he tossed me aside like I meant nothing.

I laugh again. But it’s half-hearted this time. It’s been five years since Rome, and Silas still haunts me, creeping into my thoughts at the worst possible moments. Penny notices the change immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow.

I shrug, trying to shake it off. “Nothing. I’m just done with the whole dating scene for now. Right now, I just need a job. Something that doesn’t involve taking my clothes off or selling organs.”

“Leah—”

I raise a hand. “I need rent. Not romance.”

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