Page 18 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

She’s every bit as frosty as I remember from that brief meeting years ago. Sharp features, hair perfectly coiffed, a blue dress that probably costs more than a car.

“Mr. Waverly,” Henry greets me with a handshake that feels as frail as he looks. The man’s hand feels like it could crumble in my grip, but his eyes are sharp and calculating.

“Good to see you, sir.” I take a seat, keeping my smile in place. The waitress glides over with menus, and I realize the first hurdle of the evening is choosing a wine that satisfies these two. Fun.

Elizabeth doesn’t waste time. She leans forward and asks, “So, Mr. Waverly. Why should we trust our family legacy to a man who seems . . . unattached.”

Unattached.She says it like it’s a terminal illness. But I know what she’s getting at. Family values. A stable home. A nicelittle wife and some well-behaved kids. None of them are in my repertoire right now.

“I believe in the strength of tradition,” I lie smoothly, hoping it sounds convincing. “And I’ve built my company on those same values—hard work, loyalty, and trust.”

Henry nods, but I can see it in his eyes: he’s unconvinced. His fingers tremble as he lifts a glass of water to his lips, and I wonder why he won’t just pass the company to Kane already. It’s clear he’s not in the best health. Instead, he’s hanging on, selfishly keeping the power in his hands.

“And family?” Elizabeth’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I clear my throat. “My son, Caleb, is thirteen now. Family is everything to me.”

It’s not a total lie. Family is something to me. But let’s be real. I’ve got a son who barely talks to me, a brother I lost years ago, and a romantic history so screwed up I don’t even know where to start.

We’re barely through the appetizers before I know it’s a lost cause. They aren’t buying what I’m selling, no matter how much I talk about legacy and stability. By dessert, I’m sure of it. The deal isn’t happening yet.

“Thank you for dinner,” Henry says as we leave. “We will consider your offer.”

Right. That’s code forwe’re thinking about changing our minds.

I leave the restaurant, loosening my tie and pulling out my phone to text Harvey. “On my way,” I type quickly before entering the car. This night isn’t over yet.

***

Harvey’s office is a stark contrast to the stuffy restaurant. It’s a space that screams Hollywood—the air smells like cigar smoke, the walls lined with movie posters, and the man himself sits behind his massive desk, a half-burned cigar clamped between his teeth.

The walls are lined with posters of award-winning movies produced by his studio and a shelf crammed with so many awards that he’s using one of them as a paperweight.

“Well?” Harvey asks as I step inside, shrugging off my jacket and dropping into a chair. “How’d it go with the Caldwells?”

I rub a hand over my face. “Not great. They’re stuck on this wholefamilyimage thing. Family values. They don’t want to sell unless the buyer has a squeaky-clean personal life. Which, as you know, isn’t exactly me.”

An actress, Amy Reinhart, walks into the room without knocking. “Amy!” Harvey stands to kiss her cheek. “You know my friend, Silas,” he says, pointing at me.

“Nice to meet you, Silas.” She stretches a hand to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met, although I think I heard something about you buying a studio.”

“I’m familiar with your work.” I offer her a smile as I shake her small hand. “You were incredible inWoman of War.”

Amy is a tall, blonde woman who looks like she spends five hours a day doing squats in a gym. Her smile is dazzling, but there’s something ungenuine about it. I wonder if she’s acted for so long that she doesn’t know when she isn’t acting anymore.

“I need to talk to you, Harvey.” She glances at my friend, who’s lighting up a cigar. “When will you be free?”

“I’ll see you on set in one hour, darling.”

Amy nods, offers me a smile, and walks out. “She’s one hot woman, isn’t she?” Harvey watches her walk away.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Because a man has pizza, he can’t try tacos?” Harvey cocks his head. “So, the Caldwells want you married?”

“Basically, yeah.”

Harvey leans back in his chair, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “Well, that’s a load of crap. But I’ve got an idea.”

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