Grumpy Billionaire Bossholes Boxset

1. Declan

1

DECLAN

A n Irishman walks into an airport.

And wishes it was a bar.

Not the best of setups, especially when I was the Irishman, but what can I say? I was overtired, stuck in a hellish airport…and I’d had fucking enough.

I wasn’t usually like this, mind you—I might not be a saint, but I did know how to be a polite enough member of society. Of course, whether the Chicago airport was a part of society or the seventh circle of hell…well, the jury was still out on that one.

First, they’d kept my incoming flight on the tarmac for so long there was a chance I was going to miss my connecting flight. But I’d still thought I had just enough time to grab some damn food from an airport kiosk.

That was when the cashier confiscated my credit card and accused me of identity theft because, and I quote, “You can’t possibly be Declan Byrne. As if he’d ever fly coach.”

Because, obviously, Declan Byrne was so rich he must have wings made of money.

If only.

Now I was hungry and running late. Everywhere I turned, there was some meandering idiot with a suitcase blocking my way, acting like they’d never been in a damn airport before. The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, and all I wanted to do was get on the damn plane that would finally take me to the sister who needed me.

I was panting when I got to the gate and shoved my ticket at the airline staffer.

He squinted when he saw my name. “Ha. Declan Byrne. Just like the Irish guy who invented that pathetic social media platform. Everyone acts like Snug is so great, but in my opinion it’s just for losers who hate humor. Did you know my account got flagged just for making a few harmless jokes about that bitch who won the Nobel Prize?”

I gritted my teeth.

For a split second, I considered buying the stupid airline and getting his contract flagged, same as his “harmless” comments had been. Lucky for him, I had bigger fish to fry.

He smiled conspiratorially. “Wonder what old Declan’s doing these days, eh?”

Seriously?

“I’ll tell you what he’s doing,” I replied. “He’s waiting for you to scan his fucking ticket.”

That did it.

His eyes widened, and he scanned the ticket so fast you could’ve mistaken him for a member of a Formula 1 pit crew. I ignored his mumbled apologies, rushed down the ramp, and onto the plane. I hadn’t flown economy in years, but this had been the fastest way to get to Faribault-Northfield, Minnesota. My business partner was already using our company’s private plane, and there had been some kind of paperwork hang up when I tried to charter a private one.

Contrary to popular belief, a gigantic pile of money isn’t the same as having a genie in a bottle. Then again, I think even a genie would have trouble finding Faribault-Northfield on a map. My sister wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted peace and quiet in the US.

If only she had found it.

When I got into my seat—if you could even call the scuffed-up chair a seat—I collapsed in relief.

“Passengers, please take your seats,” a flight attendant said. “We’ll be closing the cabin door soon to prepare for takeoff.”

At least there was no one sitting next to me. Maybe I could finally relax enough to get some damn sleep. With some luck, by the time I opened my eyes again, I’d already be at?—

"Sorry, sorry! I got here as fast as I—oh, sorry!”

I heard a commotion up toward the front of the plane, and then a pretty redhead appeared, apologizing profusely as she hauled an over-packed duffel bag up the aisle. “I’m so sorry! Ooops, didn’t mean to… Shoot, was that your head, sir?”

I massaged my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. I just wanted to get to my sister Sinead and her daughter Catie. But no, I was on a damn plane, waiting for Miss Over-Packed Duffel Bag to find the right angle to squeeze her bulging bag in the overhead compartment across the aisle from me.

“It’s fine,” she said valiantly, smiling at no one in particular. “I’ve almost got it.”

She hopped in place, trying to shove her bag into the compartment with her shoulder. It was useless. If this was a cage match, that bag of hers would’ve been the clear favorite.

“Jesus,” I swore under my breath. I stood up, trying to grab the bag from her hands. “I’ve got it.”

Apparently, I’d picked the one woman who was allergic to accepting help.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” she said, her voice coming from somewhere on the other side of the giant duffel bag. All I could see were her fingers, buried so deep in the canvas you’d think she was hauling a concrete slab.

“Clearly you don’t,” I grunted. “And you’re holding up the rest of the plane.” I wrested the duffel from her—and the concrete slab she’d hidden inside it—and shoved it into the overhead compartment.

“I said I was fine.” She looked up at me, disheveled locks of fiery red hair falling across her face. “I get that you’re trying to be helpful, and flying is probably stressful for you. But?—”

I slammed the overhead compartment closed and sat back down in my row.

“Seriously?” she continued. “I appreciate the help, but?—”

“You’re welcome,” I cut her short, praying to God this put an end to whatever conversation this woman wanted to have. Unless she was carrying a dead body inside that duffel bag—you never know with people—there was nothing more interesting right now than falling asleep.

“If everyone could please take their seat,” the flight attendant said again, sounding a little desperate.

But the woman didn’t move along and take her seat. Instead, she started fishing for something in her purse. Her wide hazel eyes took up her whole face, which was delicate and sprinkled with freckles. Her bright red hair spiraled in messy curls around her flushed cheeks.

If I wasn’t in such a rush, and she wasn’t such a walking disaster…

No. She wasn’t my type. Too clumsy, too talkative, too… much .

She fished her phone out of her purse and frowned at the screen. Then she looked up at me with narrow eyes.

“What?” I demanded.

If she recognized me and decided now was the time to lodge a customer complaint…

Instead, she held up her phone, showing her ticket info. “I think you might be in my seat.”

Fuck me , I thought, as I reluctantly surrendered the aisle seat.

Of course I had a seatmate…and of course it’d be this woman.

I grunted and moved over to the window seat, which had significantly less leg room. With my knees pressed tight against the front seat, I felt like a coiled spring someone had tried to squeeze into a sardine can. Just what I needed.

Her shoulder bumped mine as she took her place. She smelled like lavender.

“Wow. Good thing I’m short.” She looked at me, her right eyebrow lifting into an arch. A thin, amused smile dawned on her lips. “These seats must be really uncomfortable for tall people like you.”

I didn’t say anything. Please God, let her not be one of those women who says every single thought that comes into her mind.

“Not that I’m short-short. Actually, I’m average. The average American woman got shorter this year.”

Apparently, God didn’t like me very much.

She took a deep breath. With a quick gesture, she finger-combed her disheveled hair. “Look, if we’re stuck together, we might as well get along. Let’s start over. I’m Olivia.” She held out her hand to me and smiled, rueful.

As if I’d ever need to know this woman’s name.

I didn’t say anything, but my glower must have been eloquent, because her wide, genuine smile faltered a bit. Just enough to make me feel like an arse. Reluctantly, I took her hand. “Declan.”

“Declan. Lovely name. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Declan.” Her smile returned to full bloom. “Don’t you think traveling’s better when you get to know the people around you?”

I snorted. I needed to make a new friend on this trip like I needed a hole in the head.

“No,” I said shortly, and took my hand back.

This was going to be a long flight.

A half hour later she was still talking. I couldn’t tell if it was her personality, or her own perky way of punishing me for my earlier rudeness.

Maybe both.

Her voice had a soft, pleasant warmth to it, but dear God, did there have to be so much of it? So far she’d opined on which airlines had the best miles plans, the institutional discrimination against left-handed people, why outside concerts were more fun, the relative shortage of pop songs about women named Olivia, and the year her favorite shade of purple was invented.

“Oh, excuse me, can I have a glass of white wine?” Olivia asked the passing flight attendant. “It’s been a rough day.”

“We’re not doing full beverage service on this flight,” the flight attendant said. “It’s only an hour and forty minutes. Also, it’s eleven in the morning.” There was more than a hint of judgment in the flight attendant’s voice.

“Oh.” Olivia deflated. “Sure. That makes sense.”

The flight attendant walked away. Olivia stayed silent.

“Finally,” I muttered, slouching deeper into my seat.

“Oh, now he talks,” Olivia huffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“Nothing. None of my business.” She mimed zipping her lips.

Right.

I waited, counting in my head. 1, 2, 3, 4…

“It’s just that I’ve met your type before,” Olivia burst out. “You’re the type of guy who’s only interested in talking if you get to judge and mock people. Because God forbid you get over yourself and just be friendly .”

“I am friendly.”

If this sounds like I was caving, that’s because I was. Then and there, I would’ve confessed to murder if that made her shut up for more than five consecutive minutes.

“You’ve barely said a word to me,” she retorted. “And you only answer in grunts. That’s not what I’d call friendly.”

“I—”

“Am I annoying you? Because if I am, I won’t say a word more.” God himself was laughing. “I just thought this flight would go by faster with some conversation, that’s all. Besides, and I’m not proud to admit it, I’m a nervous flyer. Being God knows how many miles up in the air, it makes me nervous. And after the day I just had…I needed the distraction. But, fine, message received. Loud and clear. I won’t say a word more.”

I held my breath.

“Not even if you ask me to,” she continued. “Okay, maybe if you ask me nicely. But otherwise?—”

“Seriously?” I looked up at the ceiling and rolled my eyes. “I get the nervous flyer thing, but you really need to take a deep breath here. I mean…bloody hell.”

“That was uncalled for.” She sounded genuinely hurt. Then her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know who you are but?—”

“I’m just a guy with a growing headache,” I volleyed back, my annoyance getting the best of me. “And your endless talking isn’t helping matters.”

“You know what… No, no, I’m not sinking to your level.” She crossed her arms and looked away from me. She was probably going for calm superiority, but she just looked annoyed.

Since sleep clearly wasn’t happening on this flight, I checked my phone. Luckily, the plane had Wi-Fi.

But I found myself at a loss of whom to message. I didn’t particularly want to reach out to any of my real friends. What would I even say? Funny story. My sister just told me she’s an alcoholic and asked me to look after her kid while she’s in rehab.

I wasn’t ready for that.

Instead, I logged onto Snug, the social media app my friend Anil and I had launched five years ago, and pulled up my chat with @1000words. She ran a popular blog on Snug reviewing children’s picture books. Everything she’d recommended, my niece Catie had loved. One of my replies on a review had triggered a conversation and then, eventually, a friendship. I had no idea who @1000words was in real life, and she definitely didn’t know who I was. Unlike most of the other billionaires I knew, I hadn’t been born with money. My anonymous Snug account was one of the few places where I got to let my guard down and be that regular guy again for a few minutes.

Maybe that’s what made @1000words easier to talk to right now.

Any new picture book recommendations? I’m about to spend sixteen hours traveling with an easily bored six-year-old, and I’m not above bribery.

She didn’t respond.

Of course she didn’t.

The way my luck was going, she’d probably decide to go on a digital cleanse or something else equally idiotic.

“I don’t normally drink in the morning,” Olivia said defensively to me.

Did she seriously think that I was still thinking about her? Like I had nothing better to do than ponder the drinking habits of the most annoying seatmate in the world?

I could use a drink , I thought, then remembered Sinead and winced.

“If you must know?—”

“Please don’t,” I muttered.

“I was fired today,” Olivia said. “Again.”

“ How ?” I asked, incredulous. “It’s not even noon and you’ve been on a plane for most of the morning.”

Even she couldn’t be that incompetent.

“Oh, don’t be a pedantic jerk about it. Technically, I was fired yesterday,” Olivia admitted. “But I haven’t been to bed yet. When a family fires you, it’s best to leave as soon as possible.”

“A whole family fired you?” I asked, confused. I had a vision of some beleaguered office manager calling his mom for support just so he could get a word in edgewise as he tried to shove Olivia out the door.

“Just the parents. I’m a live-in nanny,” she explained, which I guessed made sense. When she wasn’t snapping at me, she had an open, pretty, approachable air that reminded me of my favorite first class teacher. Except no one would have dreamed of firing Mrs. Malone.

Damn. I should probably hire a nanny for Catie , I thought. I’d be working, and since it was summer, it wasn’t as if I could send her off to school. I’d rushed to the States so fast I hadn’t considered what lay beyond the immediate future.

“They kept asking me to do things that were bad for their kid,” Olivia said, true anger leaking into her voice for the first time since she’d stepped on the plane. She clearly didn’t like me. But whatever these parents had done had obviously made her absolutely furious. “They signed Wyatt up for so many activities he developed an ulcer from stress. I didn’t even know an eleven-year-old could get an ulcer. But somehow, I’m the bad guy for refusing to take a crying kid to a violin teacher who yells at him.”

When she was angry on behalf of a child, she didn’t look annoying. She looked fierce.

It suited her.

“How does one hire a nanny?” I asked, figuring I might as well get something useful out of the conversation.

“You lie and say you’ll respect the nanny’s childcare expertise.” Olivia’s sarcasm would have been more biting if she wasn’t struggling not to yawn.

Clearly, she wasn’t as used to sleepless nights as I was.

“Did you respond to an ad online, or did they reach out to you?” I prompted. “I know someone who might need a nanny.” If I told her it was me, she might try to turn the rest of this flight into a job interview. And while she clearly cared about children, I was looking for someone less…her.

Olivia bent down to root around in her purse. Her shirt road up in the back, showing a swathe of smooth, fair skin. She straightened and handed me a business card. “Here. I’m a vetted nanny with Sunny Days Childcare. Your friend can go online and fill out a form saying what they’re looking for. They’ll send your friend a selection of potential nannies. If your friend’s Irish too, he or she will want to check the box requesting someone who’s willing to travel internationally.”

“Grand.” I accepted the card and put it in my wallet. Since she’d helped me, and I’d grudgingly given up hope of anything resembling peace and quiet, I figured I could return the favor. Even if she was the worst seatmate in the history of the world. “You know, losing a job can be an opportunity to re-direct your career. Look for ways to improve yourself so it doesn’t happen again.”

Olivia tilted her head, jaw tense. “Improve myself? Are you saying it’s okay for parents to give their children stress ulcers?”

I massaged the bridge of my nose, wishing I hadn’t said anything.

“Or the time before that when?—”

“Wait, how many times have you been fired?” It couldn’t have been more than three, right? No one could possibly get fired that many times without learning their lesson.

Olivia crossed her arms, mutinous. “None of your business.”

Fuck. It was more than three. If she wasn’t so annoying, it would have been almost impressive. The eighth wonder of the professional world—the un-hirable woman.

“At this point, I’d be looking for the common denominator, sweetheart,” I said.

“How dare you,” she said.

I hit the call button to summon the flight attendant and reached for my wallet.

“Yes?” the flight attendant asked when she reached me.

I handed her a €100 bill. “Please get this woman her damn white wine.” If she’d been up all night, then I was pretty sure that one drink would be enough to make her fall asleep. Maybe then I’d finally have some silence. Already this flight felt longer than the one from Dublin to New York.

The stewardess took the bill discreetly, then returned with a plastic cup full to the brim of white wine. After some hesitation, Olivia accepted it. Hopefully, that would steady her nerves and, as a bonus, earn me a few minutes of silence.

“I still think you’re a condescending ass,” she told me. “I’m just drinking it because it would be a waste not to.”

“Oh my God. Drink the wine, don’t drink the wine… I couldn’t care any less. I get it, you don’t like flying, you’re having a rough day, and you clearly need to vent. It’s just…” I raked a hand over my face. “I really don’t need to hear every bloody thought that runs through your head. Believe it or not, I have a lot on my plate right now, and you’re making it impossible to think straight.”

Olivia gaped at me, stunned.

For a moment I wondered if I’d gone too far.

Then she faced forward, studiously ignoring me and blessedly, silently drank her wine.

Sometimes going too far is the only thing that gets the job done.

After about twenty minutes, I glanced over and realized Olivia had fallen asleep. I rescued the half-empty cup from her hands since it was tipping in the general direction of my lap. Next to me, Olivia released a delicate little snore.

Christ, she can’t even sleep quietly , I thought.

I nudged her shoulder gently, hoping to jostle her into a position that would result in less snoring.

It worked. She frowned in her sleep, readjusting her position. I felt a surge of victory, until she shifted and dropped her head down to my shoulder.

I froze. Her wild, curly hair felt soft against my jaw. I ran through various options for getting her off me, but discarded them all since they came with the risk she’d wake up and start talking again.

She sighed in her sleep and nestled closer to me.

Something in my gut liked that. Not that I’d ever admit it.

I didn’t move for the remainder of the flight. When we landed a half hour later, I rolled my shoulder.

“Wake up, a chara ,” I said gruffly. The term meant friend, unless you were annoyed, in which case…well, it still meant friend, but with a more sarcastic edge. “We’ve landed.”

Olivia jolted upright. She blinked, taking in the people around us unbuckling and queuing to get off the plane. Her hair was mussed on one side from where she’d fallen asleep on me, and I could see faint lines on her cheek from the texture of my sweater.

She looked soft like that. Sure, she was chaos incarnate and annoyingly talkative. But there was a sweetness to her when she let her guard down. Someone should protect that.

Not me, obviously. But someone.

“Oh my God,” Olivia said. “I’m so sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, handing her back her half-drunk plastic cup of wine.

“I mean, you don’t even like me,” she said. “Either that or you just hate people. And then I went ahead and…” She gestured helplessly to my shoulder, indicating where she’d fallen asleep. Unfortunately, she was holding the wine with the hand she was empathetically gesturing with.

It sloshed out of the cup and drenched my face.

This. Fucking. Woman.

Any sympathy I’d felt for her vanished. In fact, it more than vanished. It curled up in a deep dark hole where no one would ever find it and died a really quick death.

I wiped the wine off of my face. She stood frozen, blocking the aisle—and my exit.

“Move.” I took a deep breath. “Out.” Another. “Of. My. Way.”

“I’m so sorry?—”

No, no more of this.

“Just move.”

She flinched and stepped out of the way.

I shoved past her and sped up the aisle. The only bright side in this whole goddamn day was that I was never going to see Olivia ever again.