Grump Gone Bad

Cassie Mint Grump Gone Bad First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2023 Copyright © 2023 by Cassie Mint All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. First edition ISBN: 978-1-915735-25-6 Cover art by Angela Haddon Book Cover Design This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com Contents 1. Priya 2. Emmett 3. Priya 4. Emmett 5. Priya 6. Emmett 7. Priya 8. Emmett Teaser: Whole Lotta Grump About the Author One Priya Something’s off the second I step into the office. There are well-dressed people all around, chatting and flirting and stressing about deadlines as they march across the lobby. That’s normal enough. The old fashioned cage elevator grinds its way to the top floor with a series of crunches and bangs, and that’s damnably normal too. The Landry & Co offices are sunlit and bustling, with more foliage than a tropical rainforest, and even before 8am the whole building thrums with energy. Normal. All normal. But the back of my neck prickles. Something’s off. Adjusting my grip on a cardboard tray of coffees, I offer the pair of junior architects in the elevator with me a polite smile. They’re both fresh out of college, the man wearing a pinstripe suit and sneakers, the woman in a silk t-shirt and blazer. Cool but professional. I’m outclassed in my faded purple sheath dress. They ignore me, chatting about the big pitch next Friday. Assistants are invisible like that—we only pop into existence when someone needs us. I’ll see these jerks later when they want a peek at the boss’s schedule. Numbers flicker past on the little screen. The elevator cranks to a halt on floor eighteen to let out the rude newbies, then I’m alone, juddering into the heavens. With no one to witness me, I yawn so wide my jaw cracks. My roommate’s cat kept me awake last night crying for his mom. She’s off on some messed up trip with her boss, fake dating for his family and pretending they don’t have real feelings for each other, and I’m left playing cat nanny for the long weekend. I don’t mind really. Rusty’s a cute little fuzzball. But I got no sleep last night, and now a headache curdles behind my right eye. Bang. Crunch. The elevator struggles all the way to the top floor, and I exit on wobbly legs. I’ve told Mr Landry a million times that the elevator is scary and weird, but he insists that it brings a vintage feel to the building. Oh, and it’s perfectly safe. Definitely an afterthought. Architects. Honestly. It’s always quieter on the top floor, all the frenetic energy kept below. I stroll through the hushed corridor, past my own neat desk where it stands guard, all the way into the boss’s office. “Coffee,” I call like every morning. This way I start the day as a savior; a caffeine-bearing angel. It’s worth the two minute detour on my walk here. Mr Landry glances up behind his desk and nods. “Thank you, Priya.” He’s wearing his usual Friday suit—charcoal gray with a sage green shirt—and his dark hair is pushed back from his forehead. All normal. But I slam to a halt, cardboard tray creaking in my grip, my heart suddenly pounding at one hundred miles an hour. Because even though he looks exactly the same, even though he wears the same clothes and knows my name, that man is not my boss. I’d stake my life on it. What the hell is going on? The man behind the desk notices my freak-out. He tilts his head and smiles, slow and devilish. I stumble back a step. * * * “Well, that lasted,” the man makes a show of checking his watch, “less than five seconds. A triumph.” “Wh-who are you?” The coffees wobble in my hand. I should put them down, should spare the real Mr Landry’s priceless rug, but the nearest flat surface is the boss’s desk and you couldn’t pay me to step closer to the strange man. The man who looks like a carbon copy of my boss. Same square jaw, same piercing blue eyes. Did he find a doppelganger somewhere in the city? Or does he have… “A twin,” I mumble, answering my own question. God, I’m slow first thing in the morning. Even though it’s rude, I pluck one of the coffees from the tray and swig from it, scalding my tongue. “Tom never mentioned me?” I shake my head, still guzzling coffee like my life depends on it. It’s hot and sweet and milky, and I need it more than air. The headache flares brighter in my temple. “I’m filling in for a few days. Keeping up appearances.” Who does this? What the hell? What about the huge pitch next week? “He said that you do eighty percent of his work anyway, and the rest he’ll send over email. You should breathe, by the way.” I lower the half-empty coffee cup, wheezing and queasy. I’ve always known my boss can be a flake—god knows I’ve made up plenty of excuses on days when he skips meetings to go kite surfing—but this is a new low. The replacement Mr Landry watches me from behind the desk, pale eyes intense. He’s so still. With floor-to-ceiling plants behind him, he’s like a panther in the foliage. “No one will buy it,” I say, waving a trembling hand at—at him. “It’s so obvious.” Another flickering smile. “Actually, you’re the only