Mr. Emotionally Unstable by Alina Jacobs

I follow their horrified gaze. “Creampuff,” I say, voice low, jaw locked so tight it might crack, “you sicced your granny on me? And here I thought you liked me.”

I’m not flirting.

I’m furious.

Because my lobby—my tower—is full of topless senior citizens with knitting needles, terrifying half my hotel clients. I take pride in my hotels. French antiques sourced myself, bespoke carpeting, and my hand-selected marble foyer backdrop a dozen bare breasts swaying like revolutionary flags.

“I’ve cast three hundred stitches of rage!” her grandmother roars, holding up a half-finished scarf like a battle banner.

“Get rid of them,” I snarl at her.

Winnie takes a nervous step back, eyes wide.

Good—she should be nervous.

“You stole my café,” she fires at me.

“And you threw coffee on me.” My voice is cold. Sharp. “Get these women out of my tower. Now.”

She hesitates. Like she’s considering taking their side.

Of course she is.

“Maybe they have a point,” she mutters.

I stare at her.

“Are you going to whip your shirt off and join them?” I snap.

Her face goes strawberry-jam red as my eyes drag—slowly—from her chest back to her mouth.

Her breath catches.

I feel it.

I ignore it.

“I wouldn’t. This is—we’re in public.”

I give her a sharp smile. “Do that,” I offer, “and I might let the protest continue.”

She swallows hard.

I step up to her, crowding her with my height. Sure, flirting’s fun, but this is business.

Her eyelashes flutter.

“And here I thought,” I say, “I was one of your biggest clients.”

Her face blanches. Sure, the fresh-pastry budget is an insignificant line item to me, but to her small business? It’s a lifeline.

She looks like she wants to die.

Good. Let her feel the pressure. She’s not the only one who can be cornered. If she loses this hospitality contract, she’s finished. We both know it.

But only I know that I won’t rip up the contract.

Set her free?

Never. She belongs to me. Wholly.

She just doesn’t realize it yet.

I follow her as she rushes toward her grandmother, my hands jammed in my pockets, in full control as I slowly trail her.

Over by the fireplace, two elderly women string up a knitted banner.

KNOTS NOT HOTELS!

“You need to grow a pair,” her granny is shouting at her. “You can’t let a man treat you like shit and still expect to hit that.”

My eyebrow lifts.

Winnie glances back at me. “He’s not hitting anything.”

“If you don’t get these half-naked elderly women out of my tower, I might.”

“Gran…” Winnie begs.

Her granny steps into my space, hands up for a fistfight.

“You’re a bully.”

“Booo!”

“Bread, not beds!”

“Crochet, don’t pay!”

The topless women encircle us.

I squeeze my eyes shut. If they’re not Winnie’s, I don’t want to see them.

“He acts like he’s never seen tits before,” Granny Frances huffs. “Maybe you should fuck the neighbor’s son, Winn.”

My eyes snap open. Straight to Winnie.

Heat. Anger. Something darker. “Is that why you refused to go on a date with me, Creampuff?”

Her chin lifts. “No. I refused because I hate you.”

I exhale, steady, even. Then I reach up and undo my tie. Watch her eyes bug out as she realizes what I’m doing.

“NO CROISSANTS, NO PEACE!”

I twist off my dress shirt. It’s not lost on me that her gaze slides down my face to my collarbone, down my chest, down…

The chanting starts to trail off.

“Are we sure he needs to be protested?”

Author Bio:

I write the kind of books I love—romantic comedies featuring snarly guys with hearts of gold, kick-ass heroines, and a swoon-worthy happily ever after! Also wine. And cupcakes.

When I’m not writing I can be found drinking tea, surrounded by my massive to-be-read pile! So many books…

You can connect with me on social media or find information on my books at my website.

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