Seducing Mr. Grumpy

14. Not knowing when to stop. [Part 1]

Summer Cooper’s message vault to Dominic Pauls:

Congratulations, you're the new CEO of the family company! I'm so proud of you that I can hardly contain the feeling in my chest. You’re the smartest, most determined and persistent man I’ve ever met. Even as a kid, you knew what you wanted, you worked for it, and you made it happen. You’re admirable, Dominic Pauls. You’re someone to look up to.

Proud of the man you’ve become,

Summer

---

14. Not knowing when to stop.

Dominic.

I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes fixed on Summer’s uneasy movements.

"Are you okay?" I ask, setting the cup aside and looking at her seriously.

"Huh?" She shifts uncomfortably again, deepening my frown. "Yeah, perfect… what’s for breakfast?"

I narrow my eyes, partly annoyed that she’s lying, but also irritated because I think I know what’s really going on.

"Take it off."

"What?" she asks, biting into a piece of toast as she takes a seat in front of me.

"The clothes. Take them off."

Her eyes widen like saucers.

"Jesus, Nic, at least take me out to dinner first."

I don’t laugh at her attempt at humor.

"If you’re uncomfortable in those clothes, then don’t wear them."

"Sure," she says, going back to her toast like I’m joking.

I’m not.

"Take it off."

"No," she shakes her head. "We’re going to a business meeting. I can’t show up in cargo pants and sneakers, I’d ruin the deal for you."

"Wear whatever the hell you want. I’m not taking you like that when you look like you want to peel your skin off."

It’s obvious she doesn’t feel comfortable in that pencil skirt and silk blouse. And let’s not even talk about the heels. Sure, she manages fine in them, but it’s plain as day she doesn’t want to wear them. And I get it—she’s spent the last five years living differently. Summer has never been one for appearances, and although I’ve never seen one of her videos, I’m sure she dressed more casually for filming than she is now. I just can’t picture her traveling the world in elegant clothes and heels. That’s not her.

"Go change."

"Dominic…"

It pisses me off to see her uncomfortable, so if we head out like this, I’ll be the one ruining the deal—with my scowl.

"Summer, change or we’re not going anywhere." Then I stand up and head to my room to finish organizing the documents.

I make a video call with Laney to go over a few things. She sends me some missing documents and reminds me of things I often forget—like smiling, making conversation, and not acting superior. I almost roll my eyes, but this is the first meeting I’ll have without her, and usually, Laney is my human side when it comes to business. More than my assistant, she handles any type of connection with our partners or investors. I don’t have the touch for that kind of crap.

Once everything’s ready, I step out and find Summer on the couch. She’s distracted, watching videos on her phone, and she’s changed clothes. The cargo pants and white top suit her better. She no longer looks like she wants to crawl out of her skin, but she does seem nervous.

"Let’s go," I say.

She startles at the sound of my voice but quickly pulls herself together and reaches for an elegant cardigan I hadn’t noticed until now.

I take a breath, bracing for patience.

I close the distance between us in a few quick steps and take her cardigan, then toss it far from her reach.

"What are you doing?" she frowns at me.

"It’s over thirty-five degrees Celsius outside, it’s an oven, you’re not putting that crap on."

"Holy hell, Nic, are you extra grumpy today or is it just my imagination?"

I didn’t sleep last night. Too many things racing through my head to get any rest—but I don’t tell her that. I just ignore the question and head for the door, trusting she’ll follow.

"Honestly," she starts as we get in the elevator, "I don’t get why I have to come. I’m just going to take notes you’d remember better than me."

"I need you to ground me if I’m being too…," I search for the right word.

"An asshole?"

I grunt in agreement.

"But I’ve seen you on calls and video meetings—you’re actually quite polite, Nic."

"It’s easy to fake it when they’re not looking at me in person."

She laughs, and I glance at her.

"What?" I ask.

"You really are a grumpy old man."

I don’t respond and instead step aside to let her out once we reach the ground floor. A hired driver is waiting to take us to the meeting point. It’s a restaurant where we’ll only have a light bite. Basically, I’ll get a few minutes to present my proposal, and then everything will be in their hands.

I sigh, annoyed at having to fit into someone else’s schedule. It’s not something I’m used to, but the Morón family has the money that will help me expand even more in Asia.

"Oh, I love this place," Summer presses her face to the window, her eyes lighting up as we pass by a bar.

"What’s so special about it?"

"They serve the most refreshing Arak cocktail. Have you tried it?"

Arak? That’s alcoholic. She can’t be serious.

"Wait," I look at her sharply, "you came to Dubai on your own and got drunk on Arak?"

"Why do you twist everything I say? When did I say I got drunk?"

"You said you had an Arak cocktail. With your size and weight, one is enough to get you drunk."

"You’re wrong," she shakes her index finger in front of me—and I get a sudden urge to bite it. "I can handle my alcohol pretty well. I only get drunk when I’m with friends or my boyfriend."

"Ex."

"What?"

"Ex-boyfriend."

"Right, that," she nods absentmindedly. "Have you ever gotten drunk?"

Of course—when I was a teenager who didn’t know how to control emotions or impulses. Fortunately, I burned through that phase.

"I’m more responsible than that."

Her musical laughter echoes in the car. Even the driver smiles—I can see it in the rearview mirror.

I frown deeper.

"Don’t be a grandpa, Nic. I can get drunk with friends and that doesn’t make me irresponsible, it just makes me human."

"What friends?"

"Hmm?" She presses her face to the glass again as we pass the Burj Khalifa. It might not be the tallest building in the world, but it’s the biggest. "What were you saying? Oh, yeah, my friends. We met at a Coachella concert—it’s Elma, Nela, Pablo, and me. They’re amazing, I love them. Every now and then we plan trips together. I have tons of videos with them—we’re all influencers. You know Elma, she’s the girl who helped you with the jeans."

Yeah. And even though I didn’t quite express it in words, that was a huge move on Summer’s part—one that made me feel humbled and grateful.

"Coachella?" I ask, curious.

[1/2]