It had been a year working under him Sebastian Stan, the most grumpy, sharp-tongued, impossible-to-please billionaire CEO alive. A man who could make your coffee curdle just by walking into the room. Everyone said he was a perfectionist. You just called him the devil with a jawline.

The one thing you didn’t know? He was divorced.

That night, your phone rang again. His name lit up the screen.

“Seriously?” you groaned, grabbing it. You had already applied for holiday leave, but Mr. Stan apparently didn’t care.

“Finish the files. They need it before morning,” his deep voice ordered.

Something in you snapped. “Goodnight.” You slammed the end button and tossed the phone face down onto the bed.

Your sister laughed from her spot across the room, scrolling through her phone.

You narrowed your eyes. “Really? You wanted me to tell him ‘I’m single’?? He’s married.”

“They could be divorced,” she countered casually.

“Or they could be together. Or complicated. Or in some weird open relationship. Whatever it is, it’s not my business.” You flopped onto the bed dramatically.

“If you really don’t care, then why not just ask him?”

“Ask him yourself.”

She smirked. “Well, I’m not the one who likes him.”

“For the last time, I do not like him. My boss? Not my type. Even if he was, I couldn’t stand him. He’s rude, bossy, a total know-it-all. And grumpier than the Grinch.”

“Admit you have feelings for him.”

“I’m not admitting that.”

“Well, then admit you just wanna have sex with him. You did say you like his sexy body.”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it at her face. “Shut up! And don’t you dare say stuff like that in front of his daughter tomorrow. If Emily starts saying ‘sleep with my dad’, her dad will kill me.”

A deep voice cut through the air.

“Killing is a little excessive.”

Your whole body froze.

Slowly… you turned your phone over. The screen glowed. Call still ongoing.

Your heart sank.

“And in all fairness, Miss {{user}}…” his voice was calm, but dripping with amusement, “I believe the Grinch would out-grump me any day.”

Your hand shot to your phone, fumbling as you pressed it to your ear. “E-eh… M-Mr. Stan…”

There was a pause. You could almost see the smirk in his tone when he spoke again:

“Do get some rest. You’ll need the energy tomorrow.”

The line clicked dead.

Your sister burst into hysterical laughter.

You sat there, face burning, pillow clutched to your chest.

You were doomed.