Page 4 of Grumpy Boss in Love

“At least smile and pretend to have a good time,” he said.

Huffing, I sat back in the leather upholstered chair and proceeded tonotsmile. I was still irritated with myself for giving in to his begging to accompany him tonight. My Friday nights were usually spent grading papers or going over reports for Westwood Collective.

This weekend, however, I sat in a dimly lit room with a bunch of men ogling scantily clad waitresses. My eyes roamed, taking in the space that Ben called “A den of extravagance.” He wasn’t wrong. The club was in the upscale part of town and once you stepped inside, there was indeed an immediate sense of luxury that enveloped you.

The space’s aesthetics screamed classic elegance. Shimmering chandeliers, which were muted to cast just the right glow, hung from the ceiling. There were marble floors and intricate moldings adorning the walls. The upholstered sofas were arranged in a way that afforded a certain amount of privacy, whether you were alone or in a group. The music wasn’t obnoxious as it would be in a typical nightclub which was something I appreciated. The liquor selection was top-notch, and Ben claimed that the food was superb.

He said Luxe Elite was a safe space for men to socialize, relax, and escape the pressures of everyday life. So, it was a gentleman’s club. That’s what I asked him, but he denied it.

The exclusively male patronage and the mostly female staff who were dressed to reveal as much skin as possible… This was definitely a gentleman’s club. Did Ben’s wife know about his favorite Friday night haunt?

“I can practically see you internalizing and judging.” Ben’s voice seeped into my thoughts.

My lips quirked upward, and Ben leaned forward and squinted. “What’s this? Youalmostsmiled. Hm, I must be a miracle worker.”

At that, I glowered but ignored the dig. I was accustomed to him calling me “Ebenezer Scrooge.” Responding to his earlier observation, I admitted, “Internalizing, yes. Judging, no. I understand that plenty of men find riveting entertainment in a place with alcohol galore and scantily clad women.”

“Not you though, right?” He placed the Robusto cigar he held between his lips and took a slow puff.

I watched him with mild amusement. “I won’t deny appreciating women, fully clothed or not.”

Ben sniggered. “At least now I know you’re notactuallya robot. You’ve got feelings. That’s great.”

I gave him a dirty look. “Since when do you smoke cigars?”

“Since Richard told me to give it a try.”

Richard would be one of the members of Ben’s usual hangout crew. I was just the replacement tonight, the last resort of sorts. “Still susceptible to peer pressure at thirty-six. How sad.”

“It’s called being adventurous, Elliot. Try it sometime.” He tapped the cigar on a tray, letting the ash fall. “Oh wait, you have.”

“I have?” The only adventure I’d indulged in for a while was that takeover of NexusTech that I executed so perfectly a few months back. Another notch on my CEO belt.

“Sure. Haven’t you been committing identity fraud for an entire year?”

Still surveying the interior of the club, I stopped to glance at him. “What are you talking about?”

Ben’s acorn-colored eyes gleamed with mirth. I swear, he was amused byeverything. Sometimes I envied his ability to be so laid back.

“You’ve pulled off being Elliot Sinclair for an entire year, lecturing at the university.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Frankly, I’m impressed that you’ve taught a class that long without someone recognizing you. And in this age of social media, no less.”

Running my index finger over the rim of my glass, I stared at the brown liquor in it. “First of all, Ben, I’m not a celebrity.”

“I beg to differ.” He held up a finger. “You’re a Westwood—close enough to celebrity status.”

True. The Westwood name was well-known and synonymous with business worldwide. My family was constantly in the media. Not me, though. I excelled at keeping a low profile. “Second, it’s not identity fraud if I’m using my real name. IamElliotSinclair-Westwood. I’ve been careful. It’s not that hard to keep a low profile.”

Ben nodded. “Especially for a hermit like you. So, your first year as a marketing professor is complete.” He held up his glass. “To new endeavors ending in success.”

Cheers to that. I tapped my glass against his. Ben was the one who suggested I look into teaching when I mentioned having the urge to do something more. I didn’t know whatmorewas at the time, but when he mentioned that a position for a professor of marketing was open at the same university he taught at, I looked into it. It turned out that I was qualified to teach, so I became an entry-level marketing lecturer.

“The new gig doesn’t seem to have had the desired effect though,” he murmured.

My eyebrows drew together. “I beg your pardon?”

“When I suggested it to you, I was hoping that interacting with students and colleagues would get you to…” He shrugged. “I don’t know, become less… broody.”

If looks could kill, Ben would keel over from the way I glared. “Seriously?”

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