Page 72 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

I glance at the elevators and make a beeline for the open one, ignoring the curious stares. As soon as I step inside, a tall, blonde woman follows. She’s pretty in that cookie-cutter way: perfect hair, lips, and a perfectly annoying stare fixed on me like I’m a zoo exhibit. Great.

We ride in silence for a beat, and just when I think I might make it to my father’s office without losing my cool, she opens her mouth.

“I’m so sorry about what Silas Waverly did to you,” she says, her voice dripping with pity.

“Who are you?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.

“Petra.” She touches her chest and flashes me a million-dollar smile. If I had to guess, she just got her teeth done. I can’t lie; they look good.

“Petra,” I repeat the unfamiliar name and stare at her unfamiliar face.

“It must be terrible being groomed by someone your father’s age.”

I cock my head, caught between disbelief and rage. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” she continues, not picking up on my death stare, “you’re so young. And to be taken advantage of like that by someone so much older? It’s awful, and boy, do I pity you? Men, right?”

Is she serious?I take a breath, trying to keep myself from exploding. “I don’t need your sympathy, Petra,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “What I have with Silas is genuine. And it’s legal. Jesus, who are you to pity me?”

She nods like she’s heard this a million times before. “Leah, dear, It’s normal for victims not to want to admit they’re victims.”

Victim?I stare at her, dumbfounded. She’s gone mad. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the elevator dings, and she steps out, flashing me a saintly smile with her new teeth glinting in the golden lights.

“I’ll keep you in my prayers,” she says, making the sign of the cross like I’m on my deathbed.

I’m left alone, the doors sliding shut. The quiet hum of the elevator does nothing to soothe the white-hot rage boiling in my gut. Victim? I didn’t suffer a damn crime! And now, thanks to my father’s brilliant PR move, the whole world thinks I’ve been manipulated.

God!

As the elevator climbs higher, I feel my pulse quicken. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to spin out of control. But my father has a talent for turning every situation into chaos. He’s probably sitting in his office right now, smug as hell, thinking he’s done me a favor.

When the doors open, I head straight for his office. My father’s assistant, a buttoned-up, attractive woman in her twenties, tries to stop me. “Miss Grayson, your father is—"

“Busy. Yeah, I know. But this can’t wait,” I snap, pushing past her.

I don’t knock. Why bother? I throw the door open and march in.

There he is, Dad, king of the goddamn world, sitting behind his oversized mahogany desk, staring at me like I’m a hurricane that’s just blown in unannounced. He looks good, and I’ll give him that—salt-and-pepper hair, perfectly groomed, and wearing a dark blue suit that probably costs more than most people’s yearly salary. But the sight of him makes my skin crawl today.

“Leah,” he says, leaning back in his chair, trying for casual. “I was just about to call you.”

“Don’t. Just don’t, Dad.” I cross my arms, glaring at him. “How could you do this to me? What the hell were you thinking?”

He lifts an eyebrow, pretending not to understand. “Do what, exactly?”

“Don’t play dumb, Dad. You leaked that story. You made it sound like Silas is some kind of predator who took advantage of me when I was barely legal. You mademelook like a victim!”

He tilts his head, studying me like I’m some puzzle he can’t quite figure out. “Leah, youarea victim.”

I can feel my hands trembling with anger. “No. I’m not. Jesus, do you even know when you’re full of shit anymore?”

“Careful.”

“Or what, Dad?” I open my arms. “You’ll leak another story to the press and make me look like a bigger fool?”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about—”

“Your ego.” I cut him off, nodding. “Right? Your goddamn ego.”

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