Page 29 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

“Leah—"

She walks away. And as does, her hips swaying,I can only think one thing:

I’m glad she accepted my offer.

Chapter eleven

Leah

It’s definitely the wine.

That’s what I keep telling myself over and over again as I sit across from Silas in this overpriced restaurant, pretending I’m not replaying that kiss in my head. What the hell had possessed me to kiss him at my father’s house the other night? It’s not like Iwantedto kiss him. No, I didn’t. Not even a little bit. It was definitely the wine.

God, I hope it was the wine.

Silas suddenly shifts in his seat, eyes fixed on me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking. I can tell because his brows furrow a little, just like they always do when he’s trying to read someone.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice low but with that annoying, familiar note of command.

I glance up from the half-empty glass of water I’ve been staring at, like it holds all the answers to my problems. No wine for me today. I don’t want to start kissing him again.

“It’s none of your business,” I snap back, sharper than intended.

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He keeps watching me. And it’s doing things to me that I’m not comfortable with. Damn him. He looks so good sitting there in that charcoal suit, broad shoulders filling it out like it was made for him—which, knowing Silas, it probably was.

His hair’s starting to gray at the temples, just a little, but instead of making him look old, it makes him look distinguished. Sexy, even.

Fuck.Why does he have to be so good-looking? I hate it. I hate this. I hatehim.

Well, maybe not hate, but something close. I’ve spent years trying to forget that night in Rome, trying to push the memory of his hands on me, how he made me feel, to the back of my mind. And now here he is, back in my life, like a bad habit I can’t kick.

Hell, I can still feel his hands on my ass from last night.

I shift in my seat and cross my arms, trying to get a handle on my spiraling thoughts. The waitress arrives with our order—a ridiculously fancy plate of something I don’t even recognize.

I don’t touch it. Silas doesn’t touch his food, either. Instead, he leans forward slightly. I take a long sip of my water. Then, he starts, lowering his voice as he says, “I need you to stay engaged to me for four months.”

Four months.

I nearly choke on my drink. Four months with this man. This absolute control freak who’s somehow managed to worm his way back into my life like a damn parasite.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Four months?”

He nods. “Until Caleb passes his final exams and gets into Livingston High.”

Caleb. Right. This is about Caleb. It’s always been about Caleb. I owe Silas for saving my life, and this is a way to pay him back. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, though part of me wonders if that’s really true. Maybe, just maybe, I’m doing this to get back at my father.

The thought sends a small thrill through me, but I push it away before it can take root.

Silas leans back in his chair, arms resting on the chair, looking way too relaxed for someone who just dropped that bomb.

“Four months,” I mutter under my breath. “Fuck.”

He looks like he’s about to smirk, but he keeps it under wrap. Of course, he does. “What?”

“I just can’t imagine spending four months pretending to be engaged to you.” I put a hand to my temple.

“I’m not that bad.”

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