MR. GRUMPY [THAT COLD-HEARTED CEO]

READ AT YOUR OWN RISKS. THIS CONTENT CONTAINS EXPLICIT AND VULGAR WORDS THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE TO MINORS. 🔞 Maybe I was just unlucky in life. First, I was born poor. Second, I had a boss who was basically a robot—no emotions, no conscience, and no care in the world even if I got wrinkles from the stress of working for him. But hey, I always told myself—better broke than looking broke. At least I was always fresh and smelled good. "Ms. Miranda, inside. Now." Mr. Grumpy’s—whoops, I mean, Mr. Fabian Isidore’s—cold voice came through the intercom. I rolled my eyes. What was it this time? Was he so stressed about his rich-people problems that he needed me as his emotional punching bag? Fine. Let’s play, boss. I strutted into his office, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The room was ridiculously grand—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek black furniture, and a massive desk that probably cost more than my entire life savings. And there he was, standing by the window like some god surveying his kingdom. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his strong forearms, his tie was loosened, and two buttons of his crisp dress shirt were undone. Damn. Nope. Not today. I was not going to be affected. I refused to give him that satisfaction. "You called, Sir?" I made sure to emphasize the last word with as much attitude as possible. Slowly, he turned to face me, his icy blue eyes locking onto mine. "You were late this morning." I scoffed. "Three minutes, Mr. Isidore. Are you tracking seconds now?" "Three minutes is still late." He started walking toward me, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. "And I don’t tolerate tardiness, Ms. Miranda." I crossed my arms. "Oh, really? But if Sir Leland is late, that’s fine?" His jaw tightened. Go you. He hated it when I brought up Sir Leland Phineas, his assistant CEO. "Don’t test me, Maurice," he warned. "Oh, I’m not testing you, Sir." I flashed my sweetest, most annoying smile. "I’m just stating facts." But before I could fully enjoy getting under his skin, he stepped closer. Closer than I expected. I swallowed. I could smell his cologne—dark, musky, and entirely too intoxicating. "You’re being reckless again," he murmured, voice low and dangerous. I arched a brow. "And you’re being uptight again." And then, just like that, his hand shot out, gripping my waist and pulling me flush against his body. I gasped. "Fabian—" "You think you can tease me, Maurice?" His breath was warm against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. "You think I don’t notice the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?" My face heated. Damn it. "You’re delusional—" But before I could finish, his lips crashed against mine. Hot. Demanding. Dominant. My hands flew to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, I found myself gripping his shirt. What the hell is happening?! He tasted like expensive whiskey and controlled things I hated but suddenly craved. I gasped when he bit my lower lip, using that moment to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid against mine, coaxing, claiming. My knees nearly gave out, but his arms held me up, firm and possessive. "Still think I’m delusional?" he murmured against my lips. Damn it, Fabian. "Hell yes," I panted, but my fingers were already tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more. His hands roamed my back, firm and teasing, while his lips left a burning trail down my jaw. My breath hitched when he found that sensitive spot on my neck, making my fingers dig into his shoulders. "Fabian…" I moaned softly, barely recognizing my own voice. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice thick with desire. I bit my lip, my body betraying me as I pressed even closer to him. His heat, his scent—everything about him was overwhelming. Maurice, get a grip! But how could I, when his hands were tracing slow, torturous circles on my hips, his fingers pressing just enough to make me shiver? "I don’t know if I want to punch you or…" I swallowed hard. He chuckled darkly. "You can do both, princesa." Then, suddenly, he lifted me onto his desk, sending papers flying as if none of it mattered. His mouth found mine again, hotter, deeper, hungrier. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him in. His hands slid up my thighs, caressing, teasing, making it impossible to think straight. "You’re playing a dangerous game," I whispered against his lips. He smirked, his fingers curling around the hem of my blouse. "And you’re the only one I want to play with." I gasped as his hands slipped beneath my shirt, his touch setting my skin on fire. My brain screamed at me to stop. He was my boss. My enemy. But at that moment, all I could think about was how good it felt to be wanted by him. His lips left mine, trailing lower, tasting, claiming. His hands were everywhere, exploring, worshipping. My body arched into his touch, craving more, despite every logical part of me screaming that this was a terrible idea. "Maurice," he groaned against my skin, his voice raw, filled with something I couldn’t quite place. I pulled him back up, crashing my lips against his—desperate, reckless. Screw logic. Screw consequences. For once, I just wanted to feel. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, earning a deep groan from his throat. His mouth was hot against mine, urgent and consuming. The way his hands traced over my body, firm yet teasing, sent fire through my veins. But just as his lips moved down to my neck— BAM! The door swung open. "Fabian—!" We froze. Sir Leland Phineas stood at the entrance, his tall frame stiff, his brown eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. His usual composed demeanor shattered in an instant. A thick silence hung in the air. My breath hitched, and I felt my face burn as I realized exactly what this looked like—because it was exactly what it looked like. I was still sitting on Fabian’s desk, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping my thighs. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened. My blouse was slightly wrinkled from his touch. Oh, hell. Sir Leland’s gaze flickered between us, his expression unreadable. But something dark flashed in his eyes—something that made my stomach twist. Fabian was the first to move. Slowly, as if nothing had happened, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back, but his arm remained possessively around my waist. His face, just moments ago filled with raw intensity, was now cold, controlled. "Leland," he said evenly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "You need something?" I wanted to disappear. Right there. Just vanish into thin air. But instead, I stayed frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. Leland’s jaw clenched. "I—" He exhaled sharply, looking away for a brief second before schooling his features into something neutral. "I came to discuss the upcoming board meeting." Fabian nodded as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "We’ll discuss it later." Leland’s eyes flickered to me once more, and there it was again—that unreadable expression. "Hmmm," he scoffed under his breath before turning on his heel and walking out, shutting the door a little too forcefully behind him. The moment he was gone, I finally let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. "Oh my God," I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "That was so—" "Unexpected," Fabian finished, his voice smooth. I peeked through my fingers to glare at him. "Unexpected?! You call that unexpected?!" One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Yes." I groaned again, hopping off his desk. "I need to go. I need—air. Space. A time machine. Jesus." Fabian simply watched me, amusement flickering in his eyes.