Page 89 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

“Olivia got assaulted by one of the protesters while on a cigarette break.”

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Who’s Olivia?”

“She’s my cinematographer,” he rasps. “Look, Silas, if we don’t fix this soon, we’re going to miss the festivals. We’re bleeding money here."

"I know," I reply, rubbing the back of my neck. "I’ll handle it. I’ll get the cops on it tonight."

When I hang up, I lean my forehead against the cool glass; Harvey’s words echo in my head. Leah, or everything else. Give her up, and I get my movie, deal, and career. Keep her, and I risk losing everything.

I close my eyes, weighing the options.

What the hell is the right choice?

Chapter thirty-one

Leah

Sometimes, I wonder ifmy dad’s just a really persistent toddler who discovered loopholes in adult life. Like now, I stand in his backyard, wondering whatemergencyrequired my immediate presence. But the sight of him lounging poolside even though he can’t swim, his girlfriend Lizzie rubbing sunscreen on his bare shoulders, isn’t exactly urgent.

“Leah!” Dad waves, a wide, pleased grin spreading across his face. He’s far too relaxed for someone who just sent a life-or-death text. “You’re here.”

Why’s he so fucking happy?

“Tell me this isn’t the emergency.” I cross my arms, eyebrows raised, catching a whiff of the chlorine and Lizzie’s perfume—a powdery, overpowering floral scent that sticks to the back of my throat and almost makes me gag.

Almost everything nauseates me nowadays.

Dad chuckles, settling back into his pool chair like a sultan overseeing his kingdom. “It got you here, didn’t it?”

I stare, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? I thought you were in danger or something. I had to drop everything I was doing and rush over here.”

“Oh, so you do care about me.”

“Dad,” I say the word like a warning.

Dad shrugs, barely acknowledging my tone. Instead, he angles himself slightly to let Lizzie continue her sunscreen routine, his skin gleaming under the midday sun. “Leah, you’re being dramatic,” he says, his voice as smooth as the linen shirt draped over the back of his chair.

“I’m being dramatic? You said this was a matter of life and death!”

“Hey, Leah,” Lizzie says, like she’s just registering my presence.

She’s all smiles, though she barely glances my way. She’s decked out in a tiny white bikini made for someone half her age—and size—the kind of swimsuit that’s more about strategic stitching than coverage. She’s focused on Dad, pressing her fingers along his shoulders with exaggerated care. I bite back a grimace.

Ugh.

The image is nauseating. She leans into him with that fixed, glossy smile, like she’s just about to ask him if he’d like anything else. Maybe a fresh glass of minty lemonade or a foot rub.

I take a breath. Alright, Leah, get it over with.

“Honestly, Dad, if this was just a way to haul me out here on my day off, I’m leaving.” I turn, my feet already halfway to the exit.

“Fine, go,” he says, like he’s calling my bluff. Then, as casually as if he were discussing the weather, he adds, “I just wanted to tell you I have a proposal for you. Or rather, a choice.”

My feet stall. I glance over my shoulder, wary, as he straightens up, patting Lizzie’s hand. She steps back, arms crossed, a slight pout on her glossed lips as she watches him intently.

My teeth grit. He got what he wanted. I’m curious.

“Well, since I’m already here, how about you get to the point?” I snap, folding my arms.

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