Page 9 of The Grump I Got Stuck With

“Okay, I get that maybe he genuinely thought you were trying to break in at first. But it must have become very obvious very quickly that you needed help. Why on earth would he be so pissed?”

“From what he said, I guess he thought I was a journalist or something.”

Emily barked a laugh. “Why would a journalist be crawling through his doggy door on Christmas Eve?”

“Exactly! Thank you. If I’m squeezing my ass through a doggy door, the situation is clearly dire.”

Emily started laughing more.

“It’s not funny.”

“Sorry, I’m actually just imagining it for the first time.” She snorted. “The way you were probably wriggling.”

A smile tugged at my lips, but I tried to bite it back. “I’ve really been traumatized here,” I reminded her.

“Princess is probably traumatized,” Emily said. “She’s the real victim in all of this.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the little furball pawing at the covers until her puffy, tartan nest was just right. “She’s having the time of her life.” I pursed my lips. “But the journalist thing is weird, right? Like, why is the guy so hung up on the media?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said. “You think he’s famous?”

I snorted. “No one I recognize. Plus, don’t all the famous people around here live in London?”

“Maybe it’s his country house, and he’s only there for the holidays.”

I bit my lip, considering it. “Well, he does have very Harry Styles hair. So maybe.”

“That’s hot,” Emily said.

I groaned. “That’s my biggest issue. He’s simultaneously the grumpiest and the hottest man I’ve ever met in my life.”

Emily made a hum of appreciation. “How hot are we talking?”

“Like, unreasonably attractive. Sculpted jaw. That perfect five-o’clock shadow. Chin dimple.”

“Are you sure he’s not Henry Cavill?”

I huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure.”

“Stop. I’m so jealous right now,” Emily said. “You know I have a thing for him.”

“You have a thing for blue eyes and brown hair. That’s a lot of the population.”

“Is it my fault I have a type?”

“It’s your fault I’m probably going to be having heated dreams about my assholey but very attractive host.”

“How is that my fault?”

“Because you keep reminding me how hot he is.”

“There are worse problems to have.”

“Name one,” I said. Emily’s answer was lost to me as I glanced over to what should be a closed door. There, in the hallway, stood Alistair, looking right at me. First, I was shocked. Then, embarrassed—just how much of that had he heard? But it wasn’t long before I was irate. I stalked toward him and wrenched the door open further. “What the hell are you doing just standing there?”

One dark eyebrow slowly inched up his forehead. “I think you forget it’s my house, and I can stand wherever I please.”

“Okay,” I snapped. “That’s a weird way of saying you were eavesdropping.” If I’d known he was out there, I definitely would not have been talking about his damn chin dimple. Gah! This was worse than having him watch me writhe around on his kitchen floor.