Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Perfect Grump - Bad Chicago Bosses |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Nicole Snow |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow returns with a laugh-out-loud wild office romance where two total opposites fight to deny their perfect chemistry. I've caught a raging case of bosshole. Signing on as a company driver for Brandt Ideas felt like a dream. Big-girl salary. Stellar benefits. Glorious people—minus one. Nicholas Brandt was put on Earth to drive me insane. Of course, he's my bossman. He spent the first month mistaking me for a dude. Then he “apologized” with the grace of a drunken moose. A perfect grump with a brutal reputation. A heart-thief sculpted like a fallen angel. A master at making me question all of my life decisions. Why is it always the terrible ones who make a girl tingle? The longer I'm stuck with Satan in endless Chicago traffic, the faster he wears me down. When he needs a “date” at this rich-people charity dance, I crack. I say yes. I kiss my incurable, broken, off-limits boss—and God help me, I like it. I invite disasters fated to rip my heart out. And just when Nick Brandt can't cut my life into tinier confetti, the unthinkable does. Guess who wants to save me. Now guess how much barbed wire I've got to keep Mr. Anti-Perfect in exile... ****Full-length enemies-to-lovers romance overflowing with hilarious quips, teary-eyed twists, and slow-burn steam that sizzles off the pages. A magnificently bad-tempered boss pursues his spitfire driver in a knock down, claiming, need-you-to-live whirlwind to the Happily Ever After. | |
| Books by Author: | Nicole Snow |
1
Losing Sleep (Reese)
“Reese, you can’t keep blowing money on Millie like this,” Abby tells me over the phone as I’m weaving through busy Chicago traffic at rush hour.
“Why not?” I whine back. “It’s my money and my niece.”
“Um, that last doll you bought her came with a convertible and her own high-end makeup kit. Like, better than we can afford in our non-plastic lives. You need your money. Besides, she’s getting spoiled.”
I toss my head back and laugh.
Maybe she has a point, but I wonder...why complain now?
I’ve been buying my adorable bumblebee stuff for years, and my sister never minded. Why does she suddenly care? It’s not a contest. Everybody wins when you’re lavishing a smiley little girl with gifts.
For once, it doesn’t strain my purse, either.
But I guess that’s what older sister single moms do.
They worry.
“Don’t worry, sis. I told you; I got a new job that pays. It’s not like the other places stiffing drivers left and right. I’m making ninety-freaking-thousand per year plus benefits. Big girl Chicago money.”
“Congratu-freaking-lations, Miss Big Shot.” Abby laughs. “I mean it. Your last gig barely covered rent. I’m happy for you.”
“I think it’s going to be good. I mean, nothing’s ever perfect, but—”
“But? You’re already finding flaws in a job that pays that much?” Abby laughs again.
“Well...so you remember that architect lady I picked up a few weeks ago? The older one who designed that insanely cool cabin-like building on the lake? She basically insisted I come in for an interview to drive for her permanently. I wasn’t expecting much, especially when I found out she’s kind of a big deal...I definitely didn’t expect a job offer. But I got it, and yeah. A woman could get used to not being poor.”
“That’s awesome! But driving downtown Chicago in rush hour?” I swear I can hear my sister physically wince over the line. “Yuck. They’d need to add another zero to that salary if it were me.”
“Oh, Abby, it’s nothing new to me.” It’s my turn to laugh. “I love driving for her. Beatrice Brandt’s an angel with badass wings. Sweet, whip-smart, and classy. Surprisingly down-to-earth for a billionaire artist. She’s kinda like the grandma we never had.”
After a brief silence, Abby says, “Yeah. I guess that’s nice. So all you do is drive her around all day in hell-traffic?”
“Almost.” I swallow at the image trying to invade my mind. A maddening image of a very annoying man who’s built, tall, sexy as sin, and—no. I will not let it in. Not. Today. Satan. “Look, if she was the only person I had to chauffeur around, this job would be paradise—”
“Oh. But it’s never that easy, is it?” Abby asks.
“I chauffeur her two grandsons around, too,” I say with a sigh. “One of them is ice-cold, growly, and has an entire tree stuck up his ass. Everybody calls him the Warden—”
Abby giggles. “What? Why?”
“Oh, his name’s Ward. But he’s not so bad if you stay on his good side, which isn’t that good...”
“You mean, the other guy’s worse? How?”
“The other guy, he’s...” Even though I’m in a locked town car with the windows up, I look around to make sure no one’s in earshot.
Where do I even start with describing the enigma that is Nicholas Brandt?
How do I explain what happens when ice-cold arctic air impacts a tropical front, and the storm settles into an emerald-eyed beast-man chiseled from pure stone?
“He’s hot, for one,” I venture. “Abby, I mean, really, really hot. Think GQ model meets Instagram fitness freak with lasers for eyes.”
“And that’s a problem?” she asks.
“Looks, no. He’s just weird. Hot and cold with everybody he works with, kinda reckless, unpredictable, armed with terrible jokes and brutal pickup lines. With me, he’s also almost too friendly.” I shudder.
“What, he’s trying to coax you into bed so you lose your job? Holy shit, tell me where he lives right now and I’ll show him reckless.” Abby’s tone goes stern.
I giggle. “No, no, not like that. He’s not coming on to me or being gross. You don’t have to worry. The guy’s just...well, oblivious. I think I’ve chewed bubblegum that’s more perceptive than this dude.”
“What does that mean?”
“He won’t leave the privacy screen up whenever he’s in the car. I feel like he’s lonely because he keeps talking my ear off.”
“Okay. So? Last I checked, lonely rich guys weren’t invented yesterday.”
“You don’t get it, Abby. He’s treating me like his confidant because he...he kinda thinks I’m a guy.”
That’s not quite accurate, but it’s close enough.
Technically, I think confidants carry on actual conversations.
Definitely not the kind of hilariously one-sided ego monologues I’ve heard since the day my boss slid into the back seat.
“Wait. What?” Abby pauses. “No way. There’s nothing manly about you. Is he blind? Deaf? Both?”
My stomach tightens.
I can’t decide whether I want to laugh or cry at how incredibly stupid this is.