Page 53 of Stuck with Mr. Grump

“Hello?” I say, my voice low.

There’s no reply. I wait one second, two. By the time five seconds have passed, I start to grow a little confused.

“Mr. Harrington?” I question, my brows furrowed.

Still nothing but crackles on the other end. I hear something else, though—the sound of jazz music playing quietly in the background.

“Sterling,” I say, softly this time. “Where are you?”

Finally, I hear a muffled groan. “I have no idea. I got into a car and drove for a while, ended up in some dive bar in the middle of nowhere.”

The first question on the tip of my tongue is why he started driving in the first place. Instead, I ask, “How long is a while?”

It takes a couple of minutes before he replies. “An hour or so.”

My mouth drops. “Are you serious right now?” He doesn’t reply. “Then drive back. You can, right?”

“I would. But I’m several glasses into a bottle of whiskey, can’t drive back in my state.” He mumbles the last words a little but I’m able to make it out all the same.

I run my hand through my hair, pushing it back as I stare incredulously at no one.

“Wait, are you saying you’re drunk? Are you fucking kidding me?” I question, uncaring if that’s a rude thing to say to my boss.

“I didn’t say I was drunk, just too inebriated to drive,” he says lowly.

My jaw tightens. “Why did you call me, Sterling?”

“I need your help.”

“There’s literally nothing I can do. Call someone from your house. You have, like, two dozen people working for you. Ask someone to come pick you up or something.”

“Can’t do that,” he murmurs, sounding a little sleepy. “Please, Emilia. I wouldn’t be calling you if I had any other options.”

I want to tell him to fuck off. He made the mess and he can get out of it himself. But then I think about how wildly out of character this is for him. Something must have happened tomake him act this way. He’s been off ever since the call with his grandfather earlier this morning.

“Sterling, it’s almost midnight,” I remind him gently.

He makes a small sound that I can’t interpret. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m being way out of line. It’s late and I can’t expect you to come all the way here to get me. I shouldn’t have called you. Goodbye, Emilia,” he hurriedly says.

“Wait,” I blurt out, shutting my eyes as I consider the consequences of my next actions. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” he says softly.

“You already did, Tin Man,” I reply with a small smile.

Argh. Curse my bleeding heart.

I tell him to ask for the name of the bar and the location, and once I have that information, I hang up. In less than five minutes, I’m dressed and ready to go. I sneak into the living room, careful not to wake Anika up, and grab the car keys on top of the table. Thankfully, my dad insisted I drive his car home earlier because he thought it was too late for me to walk home on my own.

It’ll be fine. The roads are safe and this should honestly be a piece of cake. Especially when I think about the fact that I once ran away from home at 2 a.m. after watching my mother overdose.

My life is nothing if not eventful.

A little over an hour later, I arrive at Sterling’s location. It’s a small, rundown place called Tim’s Bar. It’s the kind of establishment I would have never expected Sterling Harrington to be caught dead in. But there he is, seated on a stool right in front of the bar, a glass in his hand and a far-off expression on his face.

The bar is quiet, a little dirty, with about four patrons. All of them are men, with beer bellies and inebriated expressions.They stare as I walk past them with my head up high, heading straight toward Sterling. I gasp softly when I catch sight of the two whiskey bottles in front of him, one of them empty and the other one halfway there.

“Please don’t tell me you fucking drank all of that!” I state, my voice hard.

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