Page 2 of Coming for Her Grumpy Boss

“Consider it part of our bonus,” she quips.

We make a lap of the room, handing out checks, taking pictures with teams. Everything is fine until Thorne calls out, “One more! Classic mall shot. Elf on Santa’s lap.”

It’s on my tongue to tell him to fuck right off, but then I see the bulk of employees laughing and holding their phones up, ready to take pictures.

Mia glances at me, searching my face. She’s good at reading people. She’d step back if I said no. I could say no. I should say no.

She tips her head, voice soft enough for just us. “We can fake it. Two seconds. Or I can stand beside you and we’ll call it a day.”

Two seconds. I can do anything for two seconds.

Besides, if I veto it now, it’ll embarrass her. That’s unacceptable.

“Okay,” I say, equally soft. “Two seconds. We’re keeping it…architecturally sound.”

She laughs, light and quick. “No structural failures. Got it.”

I sit in the big red throne. She angles sideways, not actually on my lap—more like perched on the armrest, barely brushing my thigh. Still, my entire circulatory system stages a fire drill. All blood flows south for the winter. She smells like peppermint and sugar cookies. They’re sweet scents, but she has me feeling anything but nice.

“Ready?” she murmurs.

“Define ready,” I say.

“Smile like you don’t hate joy,” she whispers, and I almost do. Almost smile properly. Instead, I deploy a restrained, CEO-safe smirk.

Phones flash. Someone shouts, “Whisper secrets!” She leans closer, warm breath at my ear.

“Your beard is crooked,” she says, purely practical. Her hand rises, quick as a hummingbird, straightening the fake fluff against my jaw. Her fingers graze my skin. Every neuron in my body hums.

Two seconds stretch indecently.

I need to move her without making a scene and without, under any circumstances, letting my body betray me.

I hook a gloved hand around the back of her waist—careful, steady, not a possessive thing; a respectful guide—and murmur, low enough to be ours alone, “We should switch to standing before HR faints.”

Her eyes flick to mine, pleased. “Copy that.”

I shift first, giving her space to rise without sliding. She stands, smoothing her skirt like nothing has happened and everything has. I stand with her, angled toward the cameras again. “Happy holidays,” I say in my best Santa baritone, which makes her grin and roll her eyes.

The room cheers. The moment passes. I breathe.

She turns to go manage the cocoa station, and I do the sane, adult thing: adjust the crooked beard again, accept that my pulse is going to live at an illegal speed for the rest of the night, and find Thorne.

He’s smirking, the devil. “Handled with surprising grace,” he says.

He glances toward Mia, who bends to help Suzy’s daughter reach the marshmallows. Those striped tights of hers are like a goddamn airport landing strip, leading me straight to⁠—

“Also, you’re unbelievably obvious,” he says, his voice low.

I heed his warning and turn my body so I can no longer see my naughty little elf.

“I am not obvious about anything,” I say.

“Pretty sure I saw her wiping drool off your chin up there,” Thorne says.

“She was straightening my beard. Crooked beards reflect poorly on leadership,” I say.

He laughs. “Is that what we’re calling it? ”

I don’t answer. Instead, I pull out my phone and type a note to myself: Order peppermint K-cups. Replace breakroom bulbs. Ask facilities about a dimmer in my office. Logistics. Things I can fix without scaring anyone, including myself.

Across the room, Mia glances back like she’s heard me think her name. I don’t look away fast enough. Her mouth does this surprised, pleased curve.

I keep my face neutral. Grumpy, aloof. At least that’s the goal.