Page 80 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

“You let ‘em talk.” I shrug and wink at him. “You tell them it isn’t true and if they still want to say all that stuff, you let ‘em. All that matters is what you know, and what you need to know is I’m not what they’re saying I am, okay?”

Caleb nods. “Okay.”

“I love you, kid, but no, you don’t have to fight my battles for me. That’s my job.” I take Leah’s hand and squeeze. “That’sourjob.”

We drive in silence the rest of the way home, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Leah’s fingers are drumming on her thigh, something she does when she’s nervous or overthinking. I want to reach out and stop them and tell her it’s going to be okay. But the truth is, I don’t know if it is.

When we finally pull up to the house, Caleb jumps out of the car, barely muttering a “good night” before disappearing inside.

Leah steps out beside me, and I can see the concern etched on her face.

She hasn’t said much since we left the school, but I know she’s thinking about what just happened. We walk inside, and when we get to the penthouse, the familiar scent of marble and leather welcomes us. My living room’s spacious, with high ceilings and soft lighting, the kind of place that’s supposed to feel like a home. And it does, but only when Leah’s here.

I glance at Leah as she drops her purse on the couch and slips off her shoes. “I can’t believe Dad would pay the principal to mess with Caleb,” she says, shaking her head. “I knew he could be ruthless, but this?”

I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not surprised. Harvey’s always been brutal when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Her eyes meet mine, full of questions. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Tonight?” I exhale, loosening my tie. “I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

She nods, but I can tell she’s still uneasy as she stands beside the couch. What’s making her uneasy? Is there something on her mind—besides the obvious?

“In the mood for wine?”

“I’d kill for some wine.”

“Don’t move a muscle.”

I go grab a bottle of wine from the cellar, something old and expensive. The kind of vintage you save for a special occasion. Today isn’t a special occasion, but I just want to experience something good for the first time.

She’s beautiful.That’s the first thought that hits me when I glance at Leah, sitting there on my couch, two wine glasses in hand, legs curled beneath her like she’s always belonged in this space. My space. I should have never let it get this far. I should have never let her into my life, into my home, into my bed.

Yet, here I am, wanting nothing more than to drag her onto my lap and kiss the rest of the evening away.

“I got glasses while you were gone.” She raises the glasses and beams at me.

I raise the bottle of red wine. “And I got thisCheval Blanc 1947.”

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” She rolls her eyes.

I chuckle. “For people who know their vintages, it is, yeah.”

“Ugh, Silas, would you pour our wine or do you plan on talking me to death?”

I uncork the wine and pour two glasses, handing one to her before collapsing onto the couch beside her. I peel off my shirt, leaving just the thin undershirt underneath, and sink back into the cushions.

The room’s quiet except for the sound of the wine sloshing in our glasses.

"You look tense," Leah says, her voice soft, pulling me from my thoughts.

She’s watching me, her brown eyes full of concern. She taps her fingers lightly against the wine glass. Her hair teases her collarbone, and her red lips are almost all I can focus on.

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” She tilts her head, waiting for me to say something meaningful, but I offer a half-smile instead.

"Everything," I reply, though it feels like a cop-out.

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