The Grouchy One: A Bosshole Grump-Sunshine Billionaire Romance, page 1
BOSSY GLENHAVEN BILLIONAIRES
The Bossy One
The Grumpy One
The Grouchy One
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JUNE 2024
Copyright © 2024 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.
www.relaypub.com
BLURB
They say that diamonds are a girl’s best friend.
But the guy that sells those diamonds?
My worst enemy.
It took me precisely 0.1 seconds to start hating Cameron O’Connor.
I’m late to a job interview and it seems like kismet when a cab stops outside my apartment.
Until the grumpiest, grouchiest, and most outrageously handsome suit-hole steals it.
Of course, I get to my interview and who is behind the desk?
“You’re late. Couldn’t find a cab?”
This infuriatingly beautiful man makes my blood boil.
So I’m completely justified when I tell him all the ways his company is messing up their current PR disaster.
I wouldn’t touch this job—or the brutally chiseled bossbeast—with a ten-foot pole.
Until he offers me a number with more zeros than a box of donuts.
Now I’m working alongside the bosszilla.
Trying to keep the snark level to somewhere between brazen defiance and outright mutiny.
If only he hadn’t hired that influencer to promote the company’s engagement rings.
And if only she hadn’t announced that Cameron and I were hiding a secret romance.
Now suddenly, our relationship is all anyone can talk about.
Except there’s zero romance—we hate each other.
To sell the story, we have to go on fake dates… accompanied by fake kisses.
Only at some point, I don’t have to pretend anymore.
And I start thinking Cameron isn’t faking either.
Diamonds are forever, but will our love be as unbreakable?
There’s no way I’m falling for my bosshole.
Right?
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CONTENTS
1. Felicity
2. Cameron
3. Felicity
4. Cameron
5. Felicity
6. Cameron
7. Cameron
8. Felicity
9. Cameron
10. Felicity
11. Cameron
12. Felicity
13. Cameron
14. Cameron
15. Felicity
16. Cameron
17. Felicity
18. Cameron
19. Cameron
20. Felicity
21. Cameron
22. Felicity
23. Cameron
24. Felicity
25. Cameron
26. Cameron
27. Felicity
28. Cameron
29. Felicity
Epilogue: Felicity
End of The Grouchy One
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About Leslie
Also by Leslie
1
FELICITY
“Late, late, late,” I scolded myself as I dashed through the lobby of my building. “Always late. When am I going to learn?”
I was wearing a black pencil skirt, which prevented me from breaking into a full-tilt run, and the heels I’d borrowed from my roommate, Nina, were shaped to her feet, not mine, and I kept worrying they were going to fall off. I paused to glance in the giant gold mirror above the flower arrangement to make sure there was nothing in the teeth I’d forgotten to brush, making Carl the doorman laugh at me. He’d worked in the lobby since I’d moved into Nina’s apartment, which meant he had a front row seat to the mess that was my life.
“Ya look gorgeous, as usual, kid,” he said, his Bronx accent bouncing off the walls. He slid out from behind the desk to beat me to the door. “Prettiest tenant in the building.”
I knew that was a lie, because the Central Park Tower was also the home of models, mistresses, and well-preserved ladies who lunch. It was a luxury building I had no business being in, all thanks to the rich aunt who’d left her apartment to Nina when she passed.
“You flatter me, Carl. I feel like a total mess.” I managed to grin back at him as I re-tucked the back of the fitted pink blouse into my skirt. “Hopefully I can fake it because this is an interview with Veritique. I really want this job!”
And I really needed it, but I wasn’t about to admit that out loud. My gig work as a marketing and PR strategist for small businesses was keeping my bills paid, but just barely. I didn’t like looking at my bank account because the reality of how dire things were for me was always right there in black and white. Living like this, as a freelancer with my fingers perpetually crossed until the next gig materialized, was too stressful for me. I needed an income I could depend on—and hopefully one that would finally let me build up some savings for a change. Then, Nina and I could finally start thinking about how to make our dream of starting our own bookshop a reality.
That’s where this interview came in. It was my ticket to stability, and eventually, my next big step.
“Well, then, best of luck,” Carl said as he reached for the door. He tipped his head at me wearing the tight smile I’d seen him use with the fancy folks in the building.
I wondered why he’d switched to being formal when we were used to gossiping and cackling together, but then I saw movement near the elevator out of the corner of my eye. Someone was coming. Our casual friendship was probably considered outré by some of the snobs who lived here. For my part, I didn’t give a damn what they thought of me, but I didn’t want to get Carl in trouble, so I followed his lead.
“Why, thank you, sir,” I winked at him as I stepped out into the bright morning sunlight.
“Give ’em hell,” he whispered, making me laugh.
I felt like luck was shining on me as I stepped out into the late winter sun because someone was just getting out of a cab right in front of my building. Perfect!
I wasn’t usually that lucky—my life was more about near misses and almosts—but I intended to change that, and this interview was the way to make it happen.
“Taxi!” I screamed and waved my hand, even though the windows were closed and the driver engrossed in his phone.
I fumbled with my purse, making sure I’d remembered to grab my wallet so I could actually pay for said taxi. I was so busy digging through the massive thing I barely noticed the dark form striding past me. Until he knocked into me.
“Excuse me,” the deep voice said, somehow making it sound like I’d stepped in his way even though he’d drawn first blood. I stumbled a few steps.
“Yeah, excuse you,” I retorted, finding my footing and finally snagging my wallet. The sidewalk was huge, why the heck was he invading my space?
I realized why when he slid up to the cab.
Oh hell no. “Hey,” I shouted, indignant that he was going to try to steal my taxi. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He paused with his hand on the handle. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
The asshole didn’t even bother to turn to face me, like I didn’t warrant his full attention. The irritation practically dripped off of him, which made me even angrier.
“It looks like you’re trying to steal my cab,” I retorted, fuming. “I was here first.”
He finally let go of the handle and turned around so we could have a proper face-off. I got my first good look at him, and I had to ignore every impulse to gasp in shock.
Because the man was fucking gorgeous.
I’d initially thought, as I stared angry daggers at his back, that maybe all he had going for him was his height, but now I could see how wrong I was. He was handsome in that haughty “don’t you know who I am” kind of way, like he was so good looking that getting what he wanted was a way of life. Dark brown hair that managed to be styled but not fussy, a strong nose that was probably part of his generational wealth, passed down from father to son for ages, and a jawline any male model would kill for. The suit was charcoal wool, and even though I wasn’t a fashion girlie like Nina, I could tell by the way it fit him that it was made to order. He might have looked like he belonged on a movie poster if it weren’t fo
“If you were here first,” he said in a tight voice, “then why are you still half a sidewalk away from the cab?”
“You…but I was…” I gestured around me, getting angrier by the second. “I know you heard me yell to the driver!” I shot back, loudly enough that a few passers-by turned to gawk at me. “Stop pretending you didn’t.”
“I don’t pretend,” he replied in a flat voice, face like he’d bitten down on a lemon.
Obviously. I couldn’t imagine him doing anything remotely creative or fun. The guy looked miserable, and I had to wonder if it was his everyday expression, or if something terrible had just happened to him, like his latest supermodel canceling their date last minute. Or his gigantic stock portfolio dipping one sixteenth of a percent.
“Doesn’t matter,” I slashed my hand through the air. “This is my taxi.”
We were now facing each other by the cab. He was back to gripping the handle, but I positioned myself so he couldn’t open the door without it crashing into me. Given the way he was glaring at me, I wouldn’t put it past him. I straightened my posture and glared back at him. Bring it, asshole.
Neither one of us said a word as we stared each other down. The hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle, and I had to force myself not to lick my lips as his eyes bored into me. Hazel eyes, I noted. Not green, not brown, but somewhere in between. Like the algae that clung to the bottom of boats. Or an oil slick in a puddle. He was clean-shaven, without even a hint of stubble, and I hated to admit that the man had gorgeous skin. Probably got facials every week, I snorted to myself. He was so handsome he almost didn’t look real.
Which made hating him even easier.
“I have somewhere to be.” He sounded exasperated, and as he let his eyes travel up my body, I could tell that he was silently judging me. “Somewhere important.”
As opposed to my minor, unimportant task of going on an interview for my dream job?
I narrowed my eyes. “Where do you have to be that’s important enough to make you act like a complete asshole?”
His head jerked back in shock. Clearly, no one ever dared to talk to him like that.
“And why would I tell you that? Based on the way you’re spiraling about a cab I’m guessing you’ve got your own issues to worry about. There’s no need to concern yourself with mine.”
My blood went from a simmer to a full-tilt boil at his tone. The condescension! I was so furious I couldn’t even find words to express it. He took my silence as an opportunity to keep needling me.
“Since you seem to be in such a hurry, why don’t you tell me where you’re going?” he asked.
“A job interview,” I spat out, confident that it beat whatever dumb errand he was running.
He wrinkled up his nose as if he smelled hot garbage. Clearly, someone like him, in his perfectly tailored suit and spit-shined shoes, wasn’t familiar with the concept of interviewing for a job. I could see his daddy’s buddy from the country club hooking him up with a corner office gig right out of college. Or maybe he was a trust-fund baby looking to invest his inherited billions in some ridiculous start-up app that pointed out where the naughty, sexy MILFs were in your neighborhood.
“A job interview.” I repeated. “That’s what people do when they’re hoping to actually earn a job,” I said slowly, overenunciating like I was talking to someone who didn’t speak the language. “You know, instead of getting whatever title you want handed to you on a silver platter.”
His expression darkened. “Oh trust me, you have no idea what real work looks like. But I hope whatever…retail establishment,” he wrinkled his nose as he said the words, “you’re applying to thinks twice about hiring you. You’re rude as hell.”
“I’m rude?” I shrieked so loudly that it echoed around us. “You practically trampled me to get to this cab. Ever heard of chivalry?”
“It’s easier to be chivalrous when the person on the receiving end isn’t throwing elbows like a linebacker.” He ran his hand down his blazer, adopting an injured expression. “I think you bruised a rib trying to keep me from the cab.”
“Ha!” I jabbed my finger at him, victorious. “So you did know I wanted the cab! That confirms it, you’re a certified jackass!”
He leaned closer to me, smiling in a way that wasn’t at all kind. “I never said I didn’t know it—I just didn’t think you deserved it.”
I made an outraged noise that was a mix between a shout and a growl, breathing like I’d just run a sprint.
“You might want to close that pretty mouth of yours.” He pointed to the bags piled up on the sidewalk by the corner for garbage collection day. “The flies are brutal already.”
If I didn’t think he’d have me carted off to jail, I would’ve connected my curled fist against his perfect jaw. I wasn’t violent by nature, but I also stood up for myself when I had to.
“Okay, that’s it! Get out of my way!” I shouted as I stepped closer to him.
“Hold on,” he said, throwing his arm out in front of me but not actually touching me. “Let the driver decide.”
The guy bent over to rap on the window. “Sir?”
The driver rolled it down with a world-weary look. He seemed right on the verge of giving up on both of us and heading over to Central Park to find a nice, unargumentative tourist to drive around. “Yeah?”
“This woman,” he said it as if he wanted to call me something else, “and I are having a dispute about who gets the cab.” He pointed at me, and I wanted to bite off the tip of his finger for getting too close. “So which of us do you want as your fare? And before you decide, let me just say that I can pay triple your regular rate, in cash.”
The driver slid his eyes to me. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re cute, but this guy wins. Just lemme see the money first.”
When the asshole grinned at me in triumph, his entire expression transformed. Gone was the judgey furrow, replaced by…well, by the most incredible face I’d ever seen. I was about to stagger from the shock of being caught in his high-beam smile and crinkled-up hazel eyes.
Even if it was because he was gloating.
But then, the smile faded as he slapped his chest, then his ass, searching for his wallet.
“Uh…” he said, repeating the slaps and pulling open his blazer and staring into it as if staring hard enough would suddenly make what he was looking for appear.
“What’s wrong?” I asked sweetly, smiling up at him. “Wallet missing?”
“Hold on, did you—”
“Oh my god, are you accusing me of stealing your wallet?” I asked, incredulous. “Are you actually calling me a thief now?”
The asshole went silent, and I could see him retracing his steps in his head as he stared off beyond me. “Fuck. I left it behind. Okay, you win this one, Fagin. The precious cab is yours.”
I froze when the unexpected name came out of his mouth. The leader of the pickpockets in Oliver Twist? Did the man read Dickens? Because he looked like Maxim Magazine was more his speed.
“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” I said, but he’d already buried his nose in his phone as he walked away. “It was mine all along, and you know it,” I shouted after him.
He turned on his heel to face me, struggling to find the right insult to hurl back at me.
“Hey, you might want to close that pretty mouth of yours,” I smiled at him as I got into the cab, taking my time and drawing my legs in slowly, then posing like a pin-up. “Remember, flies are attracted to garbage.”
I slammed the door and leaned back in the seat, choosing to focus on this tiny victory instead of the fact that I was now running even later for my interview.
I gave the address of the Veritique headquarters to the driver, and as he pulled away from the curb, I finally felt like my luck was turning around.
2
CAMERON
Icouldn’t quite gather my thoughts after the run-in with the gorgeous taxi thief. She was obnoxious, yes, and loud, and demanding, but there was no ignoring the way she’d looked. Dark blonde hair pulled up in a messy chignon, a tight blouse and ass-hugging skirt that made her look like she was cosplaying a naughty secretary, and brown eyes so dark her pupils disappeared. The woman was hell in heels, and she kept invading my thoughts, despite how much planning and rearranging I now needed to do for the busy day ahead.
