Bossy Grump Read Online Nicole Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Funny, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
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Damn you, Ward.

I know what it looks like on paper.

Perfection.

In reality, he’s still my grump of a boss who I wasn’t good enough for until I happened to be at the right place at the right time to save Beatrice.

I’m not about to agree, so instead I say, “I’m sure you’d make sense with a lot of women in this city. I’m hardly the only chick who’s capable, educated, and into gorgeous architecture. A thousand girls would bend to fit whatever mold you want, no questions asked. You don’t want my smart mouth or my baggage.”

“That’s the problem, Paige. I fucking do,” he rumbles, something like a tiger’s low purr in his gruff tone. “Intelligent women in a city this size aren’t a rare commodity. Smart women with your brains, your looks, and your lady-stones to stand up to me...that’s another matter. I’ve been in this business for a long time. Everyone has a price. Name yours.”

Oh my God.

I feel like I can’t keep my feet on the ground.

Not with this crazy, sexy, downright desperate bull of a man determined to drag me away, whether I like it or not.

“Name it,” he demands again.

“W-what?”

“What do you want, Paige? Like really truly want? It’s yours. Tell me and I’ll write it into the contract.”

I try not to ask myself that, but he’s posed the question so perfectly I can’t avoid it. I sigh.

“What my friends have,” I whisper.

“Care to elaborate?”

“A business they love, an adoring husband, a family.” All wishes this genie in a tie can’t grant. “Just happiness at winning life, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can deliver all that. Not legally, anyway. But I can help with one of those. What kind of business would you want?”

Is this really happening?

I wouldn’t even know where to begin with a business, a life rich in art, and a family. I look at Sabrina and my cousin, Liv, like they won the lotto. Brina got herself a billionaire, while Liv hits the charts all the time with her books and wound up hitched to a fire single dad, Riker Woods, who’s constantly playing superhero at Enguard, a world-class security firm.

I’ve never really thought about making a serious grab for my dreams. Not after Austin.

The row of handcrafted miniatures on the faux mantle above the television catch my attention, all pet projects I sculpted by hand. The tongue-in-cheek anthropomorphic cat I made last year in the pose of The Thinker really hits home.

I know what I want to do. What I love. What I need.

“You really want to know? I’d like an art studio, but I’m not sure that’s a viable business,” I say, crossing my fingers.

“What kind of art?” he asks.

“I sculpt. Mostly a lot of figurines and busts because I’m limited to what I can do at the kitchen table. But back in college, I crafted a life-sized statue and it sold for a pretty penny at a gallery. With a studio and the right equipment, I could make bigger projects rather than just conforming to what’s available. But I wouldn’t know the first thing about turning an art studio profitable.”

“That’s the trouble with art schools,” Ward grumbles. “Tuition should pay for a course in how to make a living with an art degree.”

I laugh, harder than I should, considering the gravity. “I think that was included in the whole ‘most artists need a day job’ lecture that never happened.”

“Most people who want a day job don’t pay a hundred thousand dollars for a degree.”

“True, but it was a fun four years.”

“A hundred grand worth of fun?”

I laugh harder. “This is where I sound like a spoiled brat, like you and your brother—”

“So I’m a brat now?” he challenges.

“Come on, Ward. There has to be a reason I won’t fake date you for six hundred k.”

He laughs. “How are you a brat?”

“My parents paid my tuition, so I didn’t really think about the cost. I spent whole days cooped up in the studio working on my projects. Brina had to remind me to come back to our dorm and eat. I was the only person in my class to sell something for more than ten bucks before graduation. I thought I had it made. I was going to be the one art major out of ten thousand who actually finds fame and fortune. Maybe not Beatrice Brandt success, but at least I’d make a name for myself and scrape by doing what I love.”

He falls silent as I blush.

I’m rambling. Why would he even care?

But then his question comes like a shot.

“How have I worked with you all this time and not known that?”

I don’t know if he wants the truth, but he’s about to get it. “I think you decided who I was, and this doesn’t fit your narrative.”


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