The grumpy boss sweet wife

Chapter 5: The Green-Eyed Boss

part A: The Rival Arrives

The morning started like any other day at Blackwell Enterprises. Cold coffee, colder emails, and the coldest boss in the building.

But today was different.

A new client was coming. Mr. Aryan Mehta. 26 years old. CEO of Mehta Holdings. And according to the company group chat, dangerously handsome and single.

I didn't care. I had files to finish. Three reports were pending and Mr. Blackwell had told me yesterday, "If it's late, you're fired."

I was typing fast when a shadow fell over my desk.

"Miss Eliza," his deep voice cut through my thoughts.

I looked up.

He was standing there. Tall. Black suit. Perfect jawline. And a smile that could melt glaciers.

"You must be the one who prepared the entire proposal overnight," he said, eyes scanning me. "Impressive."

"It's my job, sir," I replied, keeping my voice professional. My heart was beating weirdly. Why was he looking at me like that?

"Call me Aryan," he winked. "And I'd love to take you for coffee to discuss the project. After the meeting, of course."

Before I could answer, the temperature in the room dropped by 10 degrees. The air conditioner wasn't even on.

I didn't need to look to know who it was.

"What is going on here?"

That voice. That deadly, possessive voice that gave me nightmares and contract marriage papers.

Mr. Damien Blackwell. My boss. My contract husband. The grumpy devil himself.

He was standing behind Aryan, arms crossed, eyes like ice. His 5000 dollar suit did nothing to hide the anger radiating off him. His jaw was tight.

"Mr. Blackwell," Aryan turned, extending his hand. "A pleasure. I've heard a lot about you."

Damien didn't shake his hand. He looked right past him. At me. Like I was the one who did something wrong.

"My office. Now."

The meeting room was silent. 20 people. 20 pairs of eyes. All on us. The HR lady dropped her pen.

Damien went through the entire presentation without looking at me once. But every time Aryan asked me a question, Damien would answer it for me.

"Miss Eliza is busy," he said coldly. "I'll handle the details."

Aryan laughed. "She seems very capable. I'm sure she can speak for herself."

Damien's jaw ticked. "Can she?"

I wanted to sink into the floor. Why was he doing this? Aryan was just being nice.

The meeting ended. Everyone left quickly, like the room was on fire.

And it was.

Lunch time. I was in the pantry, trying to eat in peace. My sandwich tasted like cardboard.

"Mind if I join you?"

Aryan. With two coffees. One black, one with milk. He remembered.

He sat across from me. "So, Eliza. How long have you been working for the Ice King?"

I almost choked. "He's strict. But fair."

"Fair?" Aryan leaned in. "He looks at you like he owns you. Like you're a secret he's hiding."

My heart stopped. "That's not... we have a professional relationship."

Aryan smiled. "Sure. Professional."

"Miss Eliza."

We both jumped.

Damien was standing at the door. Holding his own coffee. Black. No sugar. Like his mood. His eyes were dark.

"This is company time," he said. "Not a dating app."

Aryan smiled, unbothered. "Just being friendly, Mr. Blackwell. Building client relations."

"Then be friendly with someone else." Damien's eyes locked on me. "My office. 5 minutes."

He left. The door closed hard.

Aryan looked at me sympathetically. "Good luck, Eliza. You might need it."

I didn't need luck. I needed armor. And maybe a resignation letter.

5 minutes later, I was walking to his office. My hands were sweating.

The hallway felt longer than usual.

What was he going to say? Was he going to fire me because of one coffee?

I knocked twice.

"Come in."

His voice was low. Dangerous.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

part B : Green With Jealousy

He didn't look up from his laptop. "Close the door."

Click. The sound echoed.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Blackwell?" I asked, voice steady. Even though my knees were shaking.

Now he looked up. His eyes were dark. Angry. Hurt? I couldn't tell. The grumpy boss never showed what he felt.

"Stay away from him," he said flatly.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Mr. Mehta. Stay. Away."

I crossed my arms. "And why should I? He's a client. And he's nice to me. Unlike some people who shout and give extra work."

Damien stood up. Slowly. He walked around his desk until he was right in front of me. Too close. I could smell his cologne. Cedar and anger and something else. Loneliness?

"Nice?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think he's nice? He's after the contract, Eliza. And if he thinks getting close to you will help, he'll do it. Men like him use women like pawns."

"So what? That's my problem. Not yours."

"No." The word was sharp. Final.

He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "You're under my contract. Under my protection. Which means you're my problem."

My breath caught. "I'm not your property. We signed papers, that's all."

"Aren't you?" His eyes searched mine. "Then why does it bother me so much to see him smile at you? Why does it bother me to see him bring you coffee?"

The room went silent. I could hear the clock ticking.

For the first time, the grumpy boss looked vulnerable. Tired. Human.

I opened my mouth to answer, but his phone rang. Breaking the moment. Breaking everything.

He pulled away instantly, mask back on. "Get out."

I turned to leave, hand on the doorknob. My chest hurt for no reason.

"Eliza."

I stopped. Didn't turn.

"Be careful," he said quietly. "That's all."

I walked out, heart pounding. What did that mean?

That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about his eyes. About the way he said my name.

Because for the first time, I saw it.

Cracks in the armor.

And behind Damien Blackwell's cold eyes was jealousy.

The next morning, Aryan was waiting at my desk again. With coffee.

"Morning, beautiful," he said.

I froze. Because from the corner of my eye, I saw Damien watching us from his glass cabin.

His expression was unreadable. But his fist was clenched on the table.

This was going to be a long week.

To Be Continued.