Page 2 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

“You’re one observant lady, aren’t you?” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You don’t have to be an asshole, you know?” I frown.

“I’m American.” He shrugs, and without warning, he removes his towel. I swirl quickly to avert my gaze, but I’m not fast enough. Thankfully, he’s wearing briefs underneath the previously tied towel.

Is that a bulge?

“You should’ve seen your face.” He chuckles, fixing the waistband of his briefs.

I glance pointedly at the towel he’s holding up. “God, you’re a fucking jerk, you know that, right?”

“Are you still ogling me?”

My face heats up. “I’m notoglinganything. I’m—”

He interrupts, holding up a hand. “Please. I know ogling when I see it.” He steps closer, and I feel my breath catch. Damn him and his stupid towel.

Realizing I’ve done enough damage, I mutter, “I’ll be going now,” and spin on my heel, marching out the door before I can make a bigger fool of myself. I make sure to glance back one last time—okay, maybe Iamogling a little. But can you blame me? It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.

My heart is racing as I find my real room. I throw myself onto the bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. What thehelljust happened?

It takes me hours to fall asleep. I keep seeing those blue eyes, that smirk, the towel . . .

***

The next morning, I grab breakfast from the hotel café—coffee and a bagel, trying to shake off the memories of what happened yesterday. But it’s not easy when your mind keeps replaying embarrassing scenes like a bad movie.

Fortunately, Rome distracts me soon enough.

The morning is beautiful, the sun casting golden light on the ancient buildings, the scent of fresh bread and coffee in the air. I walk around till I’m at a museum, admiring the grandeur of it all, lost in the magic of being in such a historic place. It’s like stepping into another time.

And then everything shifts.

“Tourist, no?” A man comes to me with a bag filled with hats, postcards, and other memorabilia. His mustache twitches as he flashes me a bright smile. “Buy this, no?”

I shake my head, but he persists. “American, no? Tom Cruise.” He mimics holding up a gun. “James Bond.” He grins.

I want to tell him that James Bond is about as American as biscuits and tea, but I stay quiet. He raises a couple of hats to me, waving them in my face. I notice a scene being shot in the corner of the museum, and I wonder what that’s all about.

“Um, I’m not sure I have—” I ruffle through my purse for some change, and luckily, I find some, “Oh, here you go.”

The man seems pleased as he places the black hat with the Italian flag on my head. He leaves me alone, finally getting some much-needed quietness. I stare at some paintings as I hear the director quietly sayingactionandcutin the background. He looks American.

I’m getting a little bored with the art, and my stomach’s growling. Perhaps it’s time to go back to the hotel and—

“What the hell?” I mutter as I feel a vibration. Everywhere goes quiet, so I know I’m not the only one who feels it. Movements stop as we all look at each other, wondering what will happen next.

And that’s when it hits.

At first, it’s a low rumble, like distant thunder. But it gets louder, and before I know it, the ground beneath me lurches. People are screaming and running, and then the walls shake. My legs buckle, and I hit the ground hard; my breath is knocked out of me as something heavy crashes down nearby.

Everything’s happening too fast.

The building cracks, dust filling the air, and I can barely breathe as I try to pull myself out from under what feels like a ton of rubble. My leg is pinned, and panic surges through me.

“Help!” I yell at the racing strangers. “Somebody help! I’m—” I try to shove the massive wood on my leg. “I’m stuck! Help!”

Is this how it ends? Is this how I die? Alone in the middle of Rome, buried under a museum?

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