4. My Grumpy Boss

Elena’s POV

“Good morning, Bella.”

My eyes flew open at the voice. 

No. No. No.

The voice should not be calling me at—

I blinked at the screen. 9:03 AM

Come on. Play along with him, Elena.

“Good morning, Boss.”

The word boss tasted bitter on my tongue. There was a long, satisfied pause on the other end—too satisfied.

“Sleeping in, are we?” he said mockingly.

I groaned silently. He knew exactly what he was doing. I wasn’t late. In fact, if I skipped breakfast, brushed my teeth while bathing, tied my hair while dressing, and left the house in twenty minutes flat, I’d still be ten minutes early—just like Rule 2 said.

“Not at all,” I said sweetly, already sliding out of bed and grabbing the first pair of pants I could find. “I was just… meditating.”

“Is that what you call drooling into your pillow?” he asked, clearly amused.

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a headache. “Was there something you needed this morning, Mr. Blackwood?”

“Me? Never,” he said, fake innocence dripping through the phone. “I just wanted to remind you of Rule 2. You remember that one, don’t you?”

God, he was unbearable.

I grabbed my toothbrush and pressed the speaker button, forcing the sweetest tone I could muster. “Be at the office ten minutes before you. Of course. I memorized it like scripture.”

“Tattooed it yet?” he asked, far too entertained.

I clenched my jaw but smiled through gritted teeth. “Mentally, yes. Very committed to… punctuality.”

“Good girl, and don’t forget to call me Boss. I like the way it sounds coming from you.”

My eye twitched.

Fucker.

“Okay, Boss. I’ll see you soon, Boss,” I said with forced politeness, while brushing with the aggression of someone trying to file her teeth down.

“Looking forward to it, Bella.”

He hung up, and I nearly threw my phone into the sink.

Deep breath. I am calm. I am composed. I am not going to strangle my new boss with his own Montblanc pen.

The cream-colored dress hugged my body like it was tailored just for me—smooth, sleek, and unapologetically feminine. It cinched perfectly at the waist with a bold black belt, highlighting every curve.

The V-neck was tasteful, the sleeves hit just below the elbow, and the hem kissed my knees, striking that delicate balance between professional and powerful. Paired with nude heels and dark nude lipstick, I looked polished and composed.

******************************************************

“Why are you late? Mr. Blackwood is already in his office,” Greta asked when I stepped into the hallway. She was assigned to assist me for the week and help me settle into the role. She looked like a kind lady—calm, composed, and reassuring in a way that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t drown in this job.

“But his usual schedule is 10 a.m. It’s—” I glanced at my watch. “9:45. I’m actually fifteen minutes early.”

“He’s early today, and he’s been asking for you. And you’re late on your very first day.”

“It’s not my fau—” before I could finish, she interrupted sharply, “Don’t argue with me. Go bring him his coffee.”

I huffed and went inside the office kitchen. 

And it’s not my fault that he’s early. He should have told me when he called me this morn— wait. He’s doing this all on purpose just to annoy me. 

It’s okay. I can handle him. You can handle him, Elena.

After the coffee was ready, I made my way to his office and knocked lightly on the door.

“Come in,” his voice called out.

The moment I stepped inside, he didn’t miss a beat.

“Wow, Miss Hart, you’re so early on your first day,” he said sarcastically with a slow, mocking smile.

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to react. Instead, I walked over to his desk and set the coffee down gently.

“Actually, I didn’t know you’d be coming in early today,” I replied evenly.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp. “If you want to work with me, punctuality isn’t optional. It’s non-negotiable. Be early. Always.”

I nodded, keeping my tone calm and composed, even though my jaw was tight. “Understood, Boss. It won’t happen again.”

I turned to leave, already counting down the seconds until I could be out of his office, but his voice stopped me cold.

“And Miss Hart,” he added smoothly, “for future reference—I don’t drink whatever that is.”

I slowly turned back around. He hadn’t even touched the coffee.

“I take a double espresso. No sugar. No milk. Simple.” He gave me a pointed look. 

Just as I stepped out of his office, I didn’t even get the chance to exhale before Greta caught up to me.

“Wait—Mr. Blackwood said you need to compile and summarize the Peterson files.”

“Okay,” I said, frowning. “Where are they?”

Greta gave me a sympathetic look. “He said they’re in the archive room… somewhere. They haven’t been touched in three years.”

Three years?

By the time I found the archive room—more like a glorified storage closet—I was already regretting every career choice I’d ever made. Boxes stacked to the ceiling, none labeled, all coated in a fine layer of dust that clearly hadn’t seen a cleaning crew since the dinosaurs.

Just as I was eyeing a suspiciously unstable stack of boxes, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Natalie.

I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder, grabbing the nearest stool to start my search through the archives while I answered the call.

“Tell me you’re calling to rescue me,” I grumbled, dragging the stool across the dusty floor and climbing on top of it to reach the higher shelves.

“That bad already? It’s been, what, two hours?” Natalie asked, laughter already in her voice.

“Two hours with Rowan Blackwood is like two years in purgatory,” I said, stretching to tug down a half-collapsing box. “The man is a brat in a designer suit. Arrogant, smug, and a total bastard.”

“Oof. Full titles today, huh? What did His Highness do?”

“He gave me coffee orders like I’m his personal barista, insulted my effort, then handed me this glorified treasure hunt in the archives.” I blew a strand of hair out of my face and yanked another dusty file out. “These files haven’t been touched since the Roman Empire.”

I wobbled slightly on the stool and clutched the shelf for balance.

“You sound like you’re one email away from murder.”

“One? I’m half a paper cut away,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Why are men like this?”

“Because the universe is testing your patience, and you’re too pretty to be unemployed.”

I sighed. “If I survive this week, drinks are on you.”

“Deal. But only if you don’t strangle Mr. Blackwood with his tie before then.”

“No promises,” I said, smirking as I carefully reached for another file on the top shelf.

Throat clear. A familiar, maddening sound.

“Are you done, Bella?” came Rowan’s voice, smooth and sharp as ever.

I twisted slightly to glance over my shoulder, and in doing so, my heel slipped off the edge of the stool.

The box teetered in my hands. My balance tipped with it.

“Oh, fuck—”

I lost my balance.