Page 9 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

“I can call a driver in town to have you taken to a hotel and—"

“I don’t need your driver,” she says, her voice hardening now. “I’ll find my own way back.”

I snap my head back toward her, stunned. “Leah, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t know Bracciano, and you—”

“No,” she cuts me off, this time, her voice firmer. She straightens her posture, her chin lifting. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need your help.”

I don’t know why, but her defiance, her sudden strength, stings.

She walks past me, heading for the bathroom. When she comes back out, she’s dressed in clothes from yesterday. Before she leaves, she turns back.

“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t just trying to sleep with you. I actually thought I could help you through this. But you’re too scared to let anyone in, aren’t you?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. She’s right. She’s so damn right. But I don’t have the guts to admit it.

“I hope you find Ezra, Silas. I really hope you do.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She doesn’t need one. She grabs her coat and walks out the door, her footsteps echoing through the hallway before fading into silence.

And just like that, she’s gone. And I’m alone again.

Chapter three

Leah

Five years later

“Jesus Christ, I think she’s doing this on purpose to taunt me,” I mutter to myself as I shake my head.

I’m convinced Penny is trying to set a world record for the loudest orgasm. Or maybe she’s just showing off. Either way, I’m about one moan away from going into her room with a glass of water and politely suggesting she rehydrate.

Instead, I turn my attention back to my laptop, scrolling through job listings with all the enthusiasm of someone looking for a dentist appointment. Rent is due next week—the notice on the fridge is a constant reminder of that. Not to mention, my bank account is a cruel joke, and I haven’t had sex in, well, longer than Penny’s been in there, that’s for sure.

God, I need money.

And maybe some sex. But mostly money.

Some sex wouldn’t hurt too.

There’s a specific kind of hell where your best friend is having sex with a guy while you’re trying to find a job. And the only thing louder than their moaning is the reminder that you haven’t had sex in five years.

“God, Penny,” I grumble, looking toward her door. “Is he killing her in there?”

Just as I’m considering what would happen if I sold one of my kidneys to pay rent, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. The screen lights up with a picture of my dad. Well, the image of him from the Internet because heaven forbids we take actual family photos. My finger hovers over the decline button for a second before I move my hand away.

Nope. Not today.

I let the call go to voicemail. The last thing I need right now is a lecture on how I should just come work for him at Grayson Studios. No, thank you. I’m determined to make it on my own, even if that means crashing in a shoebox apartment with thin walls and enduring Penny’s enthusiastic sex life.

I look out the window at the bustling city. “At least the view’s nice,” I mutter. We recently just moved to New York from LosAngeles. Penny got a gig in New York, and I had nothing solid in L.A., so I moved with her.

I hate being in the same city as my dad. But hey, I don’t plan on meeting up with him.

I shut my laptop with a sigh and rub my eyes, glancing toward Penny’s bedroom door. The noises have stopped, which means the guy’s either done or spent. I make a mental note to check on that.

A minute later, the door swings open, and Penny struts out like she’s just conquered the world. She’s wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt—one of mine, of course—and her blonde curls are piled on top of her head in a messy bun that somehow looks Instagram-worthy. She's grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Or, in her case, the guy from Bumble.

Everything about Penny screamseffortless. If I tried that look, I’d resemble a troll who got lost on her way to the bridge.

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