One Bossy Proposal: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 5

  My eyes unintentionally fall on Satan. He’s fit for the fallen angel part today with that navy-blue suit stretched over his mile-wide shoulders, a brown tie tucked neatly into his suit that’s barely a shade off from his dark, piercing eyes.

  What emotional connection does Lucifer have to his cinnamon rolls? I wonder.

  I remember how he just offered me one for the ego stroke.

  Does he get off on power play involving pastries? Is this how he buys loyalties and seals business deals?

  I almost laugh at the absurdity, but it would make a twisted kind of sense.

  Careful. You have one chance to pull this out. Act normal, a voice whispers in the back of my head.

  “What made you go into copywriting?” Anna asks.

  “Copywriting—well, actually writing in general—has been my jam since I was eight years old.” I smile. “I started a lemonade stand in my front yard. My first banner was pretty boring and it said something like Lemonade fifty cents. The first two hours, people kept walking past. When I went inside for lunch, I made a new banner. Beat the heat with ice cold lemonade!!! I remember using three exclamations at the end. I made ten dollars and we ran out of lemonade before sunset. That’s when I realized that the words you use matter. Sometimes a whole lot.”

  “Smart thinking, especially for a kid. What’s your biggest achievement?” Lucy asks.

  “When I was in high school, I won the Young National Poet’s award—”

  Lucifer snorts. So loudly I stop mid-sentence, my eyes whipping to him.

  “With a name like Poe, it must be in your blood,” he growls.

  Very funny, prick. You’re such a funny man you’ve made the whole room quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

  “You’re not a copywriter, are you?” I glare back at him, hoping if I act fearless long enough, then maybe I’ll actually feel brave sooner or later.

  He glares at me. “I’m the CEO.”

  Holy yikes.

  I almost choke. This maniac runs the entire company?

  I had him pegged as some high-level project manager, a midwit with a God complex inflated to Jupiter.

  But it looks like he owns his own corporate kingdom to help justify the mania.

  Just peachy.

  Somehow, this keeps getting better.

  “Well, marketing copy has to be original—you can’t just swipe it from somebody else,” I explain.

  Anna snickers.

  “Yeah?” Lucifer asks. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Miss Poe.”

  “Oh, nothing. Just that I’m confident you’re better with big decisions than with words. We hope, anyway, am I right?” I shrug, winking at the other women in the room. “You’re a little late with the Poe jokes, by the way. The guy who came in second place in that poetry contest swore that it was rigged for me because I’m very, very distantly related to the Poe. Nah, dude, sorry. He just lost. I told him to his face to get over it and he didn’t like that. Some boys are just sore losers when they don’t get their way and never take the hint.”

  Burns’ eyes become brush fires.

  Ida notices his death stare and looks back at him, until he notices her and straightens up, leaning back in his seat with a shoulder roll and flex of his arms.

  God. It’s almost obscene how he moves.

  I hate that he’s chiseled—one more ridiculous thing that makes him a perfect fit for the royal title I kindly bestowed on him—and he probably uses his good looks to push people around.

  “Well, congratulations. That’s a real accomplishment for someone so young,” Ida says.

  I nod. “Thanks. It came with a scholarship in the arts at a public university of my choice. All of my professors agreed I could sling words well enough, and since I started with a lemonade stand, copywriting just made sense.”

  “You can write copy anywhere,” Burns grumbles. “Why here? Why Haughty But Nice out of dozens of other companies in this city that would be thrilled to have you?”

  Ugh.

  Now that I know he runs the place, I’m not sure I want to work here. But I do like holding my own in this interview.

  Just suffer through the next hour. Get out of here. Let the chips fall where they may.

  “Well, Haughty But Nice sells an upscale product without being over the top. It’s the kind of style I appreciate,” I say. “I also love that it was started by a busy mom, and the marketing you’ve been putting out lately has been pretty eye-catching. You produce innovative copy. I’m a creative at heart more than anything else. I’ll be an asset here, but I’ll learn a lot along the way, I’m sure. A challenge keeps things interesting.”

  The women smile, impressed with my generous, easygoing answer.

  Ogreman frowns, of course.

  Obviously because he knows I nailed it.

  Nothing I said was kissing up or untrue. It was all genuine—at least, it was when I first walked in here with answers to questions like that drafted in my mind.

  “We asked about the florist project because it’s the closest to what you’ll be doing here,” he says coldly. “We’re preparing a major launch for a brand-new line of luxury wedding attire, and our current copywriters already have dedicated projects. We need fresh blood. Think you can handle that?”

  Weddings?

  My whole body stiffens.

  I detest them.

  They’re sentimental fluff designed to keep a sixty-billion-dollar sham industry alive. Plus, there’s always a risk your personal investment becomes a catastrophic loss when the groom runs off with his secretary—or you know, a bandmate—leaving you with nothing but your tears.

  My face must give me away.

  “Miss Poe? Is wedding content going to be a problem?” he asks, snapping his fingers to draw me out of my trance. “Surely, being a Poe doesn’t mean you’re stuck writing about dreary dungeons and atrocious maniacs, right?”

  I keep my face stern and meet his eyes.

  “I like writing about the beating hearts of the men I bury under my floorboards only occasionally.” I cock my head while the women around us snicker. “It’s no problem at all. I can write about anything as the depth of my portfolio shows.”

  “Very original, Poe,” he throws back.

  “Not even close. I’ve been collecting bad Poe jokes for twenty-four years. Unless you’ve been writing them that long, you don’t have one I haven’t heard.”

  “Sorry, but I have to ask... Do you guys know each other?” Anna looks at me.

  Oh, crap. Did I come on too strong?

  I stop and stare like I’m caught in the headlights.

  “We’ve met,” the suit answers for me. “It’s becoming a regular occurrence in the morning coffee line. If I’d known it was her, I could have saved us a lot of trouble,” he adds under his breath.

  “Trouble?” Ida asks.

  I smile at her even though I’m breaking inside.

  If this is how it’s going down, I’d might as well get the last word in.

  “He means that this whole interview is just a formality, right? He’s already made up his mind,” I venture.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t mean that at all. Do you, Mr. Burns?” Ida asks. When he doesn’t answer for a few seconds, she looks at him and bites her lip. “Off-record reminder, it would be highly improper for a publicly traded company to make hiring decisions outside of the structured interview process.”

  Hot Shrek shakes his head and looks over my resumé.

  “No decisions made and no objections lodged. Not yet. I’m still eager to find out what Miss Poe can do for us and why she’s the best person for this job. Since the next questions are softballs, I won’t risk any personal bias clouding the hiring. I’ll step out and leave you fine ladies to the assessing,” he says, sliding out of his seat.

  Without a single look back, he’s out the door, moving his hands to his throat like he’s adjusting his tie—or making a cross like he’s warding off a vampire.

  Jesus. What was that?

  Lucy rolls her eyes, slurping her coffee. “Nice save, bossman. Now, Miss Poe, can you tell us what you think your greatest strength is?”

  I spend the next half hour fielding their questions, talking about my experience, thinking more and more about my potential boss and his rancid attitude. His absence almost makes it worse. I’d rather dance with rabid wolves.

  But I survive the final battery of questions, and I’d like to think I impressed them. At the end, they fall silent.

  I guess it’s over. Time to go home.

  As I’m dreaming of tasting the freedom that’s outside the door and wondering if any new jobs have been posted online today, a male voice growls over my shoulder.

  “The new wedding line is crucial. You’ll be reporting directly to me even while you’re technically working under Miss Patel. A little spine goes a long way, and yours is made of diamond. Don’t make me regret this.”

  Regret it? Regret what? Did I get the job?

  What the actual hell?

  The idea of working for this guy feels terrifying.

  I’m too stunned to even muster a thanks.

  But he stares at me, expectant. Like I’m supposed to fall down and hug his leg. Genuflect. Kiss his ring. Kiss his—whatever.

  “I’m hired then?” I ask softly. I need to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

  Those bottomless honey-brown eyes drop from my face to my lips.

  Just like the day he tried to bribe my cinnamon roll away. And just like that first ugly morning, that gaze on my lips makes me tingle.

  No, no, no, and no.

  He’s a professional ass in a tie and apparently my new boss.

  He shrugs. “No point in wasting more time pretending it’s not a done deal. Are there any last-minute objections?”

  He waits while heads shake around the room. I’m glued to my seat in awe at how utterly ballsy and open he is.

  “Good. We’ll have your background check by the end of the day. Barring any surprises, you can start ASAP. Always remember you can leave just as easily as you came, so don’t get cocky,” he says.

  “Well, okay. We just need to hammer out the details,” Ida says.

  “Why don’t you get the paperwork? We can take care of it right now,” Burns tells her.

  “Stop by when you’re done and I’ll introduce you to the team,” Anna says cheerfully.

  “That’s great. Thank you,” I say numbly, my mind whirling with a tornado of thoughts.

  Do I really want this? Can I afford to be picky? I know it pays well and the benefits are bomb. Can I afford to flip him off and leave?

  The women are nice. Maybe I can just deal.

  The ladies leave the conference room one by one, filing out and leaving me alone with Prince Douchenozzle.

  “Congratulations,” he grinds out reluctantly.

  “Thanks...I think?”

  The glare he levels could vaporize me several times over.

  Yeah. If I want this position, I’m definitely going to have my work cut out for me, and it’s got nothing to do with the actual work.

  Ida comes strolling back in with her laptop a minute later. “We still call it paperwork, but it’s mostly digital.”

  “What do you make at your current job?” she asks.

  “Thirty-five thousand a year.”

  “Wait.” Burns throws up a hand, making an exasperated sound. “You make thirty-five thousand dollars a year and you turned down five hundred dollars for a damn roll? And you called me insane?”

  Ignore him.

  Easier said than done.

  Ida scowls at him over her laptop.

  “Start her at ninety even with immediate performance incentives, plus the full match in her 401k,” he says.

  Ninety thousand and then some?

  To write?

  Is this seriously happening?

  “Oh-kay.” Ida draws the word out so much it’s almost two. “When can you start, Dakota?”

  “Soon. I need to give two weeks’ notice and tie up any loose ends before I—”

  “She’ll start Monday,” Burns tells her point-blank.

  My toes curl up in my shoes.

  “But I...I need to give two weeks’ notice.”

  “Why’s that, Miss Poe? It’s not like they’re paying you,” he snaps.

  Woof. He’s so rude.

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” I say with a sniff.

  He waves his hand dismissively.

  “So is paying your employees. Your choice, I suppose. You can start Monday with a job that pays more than double your current salary, or you can hang out at your discount agency and keep nibbling at crumbs. I need someone ready to dive in now.”

  Well, thanks, Mr. Hardass.

  He says it in a way that tells me he’s not used to having people argue back, much less delay his beck and call.

  “Fine. Can I get the offer in writing?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  He nods, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Have her sign off on it and send it over for my signature.” He turns and starts moving across the room, but stops with a hard glance over his shoulder. “Free tip: the next time you’re in a job negotiation, don’t tell anyone your current salary. It’s none of their business. They’ll pay what you’re worth and nothing else.”

  Amazing. I never knew it was possible to hate a total stranger this much.

  He strides out of the room with the air of a mafia don who’s just given his new capo one chance not to wind up dismembered in a dog’s dinner bowl.

  Ida blinks and laughs awkwardly. “You certainly bring out quite the reaction in our fearless leader.”

  “So, he’s not always like that?”

  She twists her lips. “He’s a hard worker and doesn’t tolerate much foolery, but he’s not usually such a jacka—bad guy, I mean. Not usually.”

  Awesome.

  So I get to be the magnet for his lightning storm of assholery.

  Why? All because I got to the freaking coffee shop before him and swiped the last cinnamon roll?

  What a psycho.

  A psycho who’s willing to pay me almost six figures to work for him, but still...

  Just what will this job cost me if Lincoln Burns stays obsessed with making my life suck?

  * * *

  “Good Lord, I think I’m high on the fumes alone,” I say, pushing into Eliza’s apartment.

  Her laughter echoes off the low ceiling. “Do you want coffee?”

  “Do you have more of that sexy vanilla?”

  She shakes her head. “I brewed up a hazelnut cinnamon blend, a coconut, and chocolate pecan today. What’s your poison?”

  “Chocolate pecan.”

  “Good choice. There’s a vanilla scone with your name on it, though.”

  “When are you opening a cafe?” I demand, giving her a mock-stern look with my hands propped on my hips.

  “As soon as I have the money sometime this century. Commercial rent in this city ain’t getting any cheaper.” Eliza heads for her kitchen coffee lab to start prepping “the caffeinated flight” as she calls it.

  She’s basically my dealer at this point, besides being my bestie and neighbor.

  I take a stool in front of the kitchen bar, basking in the heavenly smell of her place.

  She returns a minute later with two steaming mugs and scones piled high on a plate.

  “How was the big interview?” she asks. “Tell me we have something to celebrate.”

  “Bonkers, honestly, but—” Big pause. “I got the job.”

  “Yes!” She puts her mug down to throw both fists in the air and then hugs me. “I knew you’d pull it off. When you said bonkers, you must mean the awesome kind.”

  “Well...” I clear my throat and take a comically long sip of coffee.

  “Uh-oh. Don’t tell me it’s a traveling job or something. Dakota, if you’re leaving me, I’ll lose it.”

  “No, nothing like that,” I say with a sigh. I wish it was that simple because at least it’d be a relatable, human problem. Not whatever this thing is with a charging bull who buys cinnamon rolls by the bucketful. “Okay, so you remember the crazy who tried to buy my Regis roll for five hundred smackeroos a few days ago?”

  “Yeah?” She blinks at me.

  “I saw him at the coffee shop again this morning, and he remembered me. He decided to be an even bigger swinging dick. Before I could even flip him off, he stepped up and bought four dozen Regis rolls to make sure I didn’t get a single one.”

  She stares at me in disbelief.

  “Talk about issues! But that means the cray cray happened before the interview then. That’s good news, I bet?”

  “Um...” I hesitate. “That wasn’t the biggest drama.”

  “Dakota,” she presses, setting her cup down and rubbing her weary eyes. “Look at me. I spend at least twelve hours a day every day smelling like a human coffee bean and baking my butt off. My knees haven’t taken me on a walk farther than a block for a week. When you have drama and you hold back—no. Girl, you dish it right now.”

  I’m laughing and sympathetic as she takes an annoyed slurp of coffee.

  “Fine. He’s the frigging CEO, and he was on the interview panel.”

  I’m hit by a sudden warm mist on my arm. Courtesy of Eliza, laughing so hard she spews coffee everywhere.

  “Get out! Sorry.” She looks down, grabs a rag, and starts wiping up her mess while she says, “So how did that go?”

  “About like you’d expect. He kept making unfunny dad jokes about my last name and my interest in joining his lowly copywriter team. He even mocked my poetry scholarship. Sorry, but not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths. Some of us had to work.”

  “This weirdo owns Haughty But Nice? The whole shebang?” Eliza asks.

  I nod.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “They own a lot of lines. Do you know what you’ll be writing for?”

  I don’t want to say it, much less do it. But I kinda have to, so I should just make my peace with it and move on.

  “Dakota, hey...you look like you’re sucking on a lemon and I know it’s not my food. My stuff never sucks.” She laughs.

  “They want me on their new luxury line. A wedding campaign. Lucky me.”