Page 59 of Just a Grumpy Boss

“I like your use of the word ‘we’ because Iaminvested in this. And not just because you and I are—” Ugh. How do I finish the sentence? I’ve joined him at the window. Maybe if I distract myself with how beautiful the lake looks right now, with the aspen groves bursting in autumn colors and the water a clear, glassy blue, I won’t have to figure out how to finish it.

Thankfully, he does it for me. “We’re . . . dating and enjoying our time together?” he ventures, and I catch his raised brows and tilt of his head as he looks at me. His shoulders begin to relax.

“Yes, yes we are that.”

We’re quiet for a moment before he goes back to the subject of Tate International’s bottom line.

“When I saw the charts today . . .” He shakes his head, returning his gaze to the view. “I can’t let this go. I have to give this all I have. It’s very important to me.”

“Why? Why this year?”

His jaw jots and jitters and his breath rate increases. It’s subtle, but I get the privilege of spending many hours a day with him at work, and sometimes longer if he comes to my place to watch a movie, so I can tell.

“You know about my father. You know how he raised us. Or didn’t raise us, because he was never there. He made the Deca Arete.”

“I think I understand that this is about . . .” I trail off, it’s all making sense now. The files are sliding into place.

“Yeah, so, you can call it immature or vindictive. I don’t care.” He snubs his nose and sniffs. “I decided when I was seventeen, I’d do it, too. And it’s going to happen, no matter what.”

“Why?” My voice is soft, and I hazard placing my hand on his shoulder. He flinches, and I back away.

He turns to face me, and our connection is raw without the buffer of the lake below us. “Why?” He’s not shouting. But there’s spite in his words. “It’s the only way to beat my father at his own game. It’s the only language he speaks. No matter how hard I try to show him he couldn’t beat me down, he couldn’t best me all those times he tried, it doesn’t compute in his brain. But this? This will.” His breathing is ragged now. He swallows hard.

I’m at a loss for words. Nothing will fit here, nothing will help. He’s in a turmoil of the past that nothing the present or future can fix. Still, even though my heart aches for him, this is a side of him I’ve never seen before, and my arms and legs break out in goosebumps—the cold, unforgiving kind.

I don’t like this subset of Sebastian Tate.

There’s a thud of a knock at the door and we both startle. I blink rapidly to try to clear my head, but I can’t for the life of me remember who is on The Calendar at this moment.

“I’ll answer that.” I snap into action. I can answer phones and doors. I can take notes and enter data and make appointments. But I can’t fix what’s going on inside Sebastian right now.

I open the door and a man stands there, muscle-bound stocky, fervor coiled up into every cell of his body. He’s in jeans and a tight, white T-shirt with some swooping, curling symbol insignia that I don’t recognize. Tattoos, maybe dragons and hawks, brand both forearms. His scowl rivals Sebastian’s and that’s when it hits me.

I know who this is.

Chapter 26

Sebastian

“Henry?” I demand, shuffling past Elianna to stand in the doorway. My voice is hoarse, but I hardly notice. I have to blink to clear my vision—to make sure it’s really him. His hair is shorter than it was the last time I saw him, shorn like a lamb.

Still, he’s my brother, and the relief at seeing him alive and well threatens to buckle my knees. Even before he reached adulthood, that’s the go-to emotion every single time I see Henry.

None of us are ever guaranteed another day on this earth. But with Henry, I’ve had the feeling, for a very long time, that he has less of a guarantee than any of us. And it’s as if he has been living to fulfill that prophecy, first joining the military, then working in “security,” which is, frankly, a stupid cover for what I believe is the CIA.

He glances in both directions on either side of him before walking through my door. It’s as if he was holding his breath, because now, as he steps toward me, he sighs, long and deep as he wraps me in a hug.

He’s a couple of inches shorter than me and looks like he was born and raised in a weight room, so his hug has the effect of both bowling me over with sentiment and terrifying me. There’s a lot of back patting going on, probably because hugging each other isn’t something we’re used to. Plus, he’s so freakishly strong, he could crush me like a boa constrictor if he wanted to.

“What in the world, man?” We’ve stopped hugging, and I’m looking him over like I’m his father and he’s been missing in the woods for the afternoon.

“Sorry to just drop in like this.” He dips his head and clamps his hand over his neck.

“No, no. You’re always welcome. What do you think of the resort, huh?” I can probably count on one hand the number of Tate International locations Henry’s actually been to.

“It’s beyond nice.” Henry nods his head and takes in the room, his gaze landing on Elianna.

I step to her side. “Elianna, this is my brother, Henry. Henry, this is my assistant, Elianna.”

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