Summer Worthington doesn't hate her corporate job, per se. It's her god-awful boss, Mr. Griffin - or, as her roommates like to call him, Mr. Grouchy - who's the problem. He's cruel, cold-hearted, and the most attractive man she's ever seen.
As his p...
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MY DISBELIEF IS REPLACED BY immeasurable, incomprehensible gratitude.
Because Max Griffin is here.
In the doorway.
Like a real-life romance hero.
Something in me threatens to crack open and liquefy, but I manage to get a handle on the outflow of emotion.
My breathing shallows as I register the scowl on his face, the bitter anger that permeates his tone.
Max isn't looking at me. No. He's too busy pinning his attention on the red-haired girl sitting across from me.
He knows.
There's really no other explanation for the way he's acting right now—the outright hostility, the deep frown that mars his beautiful face. Not that I'm complaining.
When Margo promptly shakes her head, stuttering something about him "not interrupting anything," Max's expression smooths over into that familiar mask. He might be wearing faded jeans and my favourite cashmere sweater—his signature suit nowhere to be seen—but God, he looks indestructible. Downright dangerous. "Good. Because this conversation's over," he bites out. He cuts a sideways glance at me, harsh features softening ever so slightly. "Miss Worthington, you're free to leave."
Disappointment chisels away at me.
"If it's okay with you, Mr. Griffin, I'd rather stay," I blurt out, unable to help myself. Maybe sticking around to see how this plays out is a little selfish and unnecessary, but this is my office, and I think, after everything Margo put me through today, I deserve a little closure.
Besides, I'd like Max to explain some things to me, too. Like why he's only rocking up to work now.
"Fair enough," he grunts reluctantly.
Then he goes quiet. He doesn't move. Scarcely even breathes. For the longest time, Max says nothing, and I shift nervously in my ergonomic chair. I'm not sure if this is some new intimidation tactic, or if he's just genuinely deep in thought, unsure how to proceed.
Either way, tension crawls into my cramped office, nestling uncomfortably in the space between us.
I peek over at Margo, wondering if she's game enough to continue terrorising me in front of Max, only to discover that her tanned complexion has become a shade or two paler. It's unspeakably satisfying to watch her smug smile crumble, to get wiped clean off her pretty face, and technically, Max hasn't even opened his mouth yet.
The power he wields around here is both impressive and kind of scary.
"M-Mr. Griffin." She scrambles to fill the silence. His behaviour clearly unnerves her—has the desired effect. I have to remind myself that she doesn't know the man I do. Most people only see the cold, hard exterior. Most people run in the opposite direction. Don't dare try to look closer, to discover what he's really like underneath. She must be fucking terrified right now. Ten months ago, I would've been. "I was told you weren't coming in today."
