Brazen Bossman: A Hero Club Novel

by Emma Nichole

  Brazen Bossman

  A Cocky Hero Club Novel

  Emma Nichole

  Copyright © 2020 by Emma Nichole and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, story lines, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental. This book is for your personal enjoyment only. Please respect the author’s work by not contributing to piracy and purchasing a copy for those you wish to share it with.

  Editing and Proofreading: Karen Hrdlicka – Barren Acres Editing

  Formatting: Literary Graphic Designs by Emma Nichole

  Cover Design: Literary Graphic Designs by Emma Nichole

  Cover Photo: Deposit Photos

  Brazen Bossman is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Stuck-Up Suit. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Dear Ida,

  What do you do when your boss is a complete and total asshole, but you want him as much as you hate him? I want to attack him and rip his stupid, beautiful face off, but I also want to climb him like a tree. It’s making work very interesting, not to mention awkward, considering I can’t even look at him without imagining his face between my legs.

  Is it possible to want to sleep with someone you despise, while simultaneously plotting their demise Home Alone style?

  Send help!

  P. – 28 years old, Brooklyn.

  Chapter 1

  Piper

  There’s nothing quite as exhilarating and annoyingly frustrating as being packed into a coffee shop in New York City on a Monday morning, with seventy other people who are equally as frustrated and annoyed.

  At this point, everyone around me is lucky I haven’t punched them out.

  I’m not a morning person.

  I’m sure as hell not a Monday morning person.

  I shift from one foot to the other. My heels are already making my feet ache, and I didn’t bring any walking shoes.

  Rookie mistake.

  I’m nearly contemplating standing barefoot in the middle of a crowded coffee shop, risking the safety of my toes, when a voice shouts my name from the far left of the counter.

  “Piper!”

  I look up to see the smiling face of my favorite barista in the city, Gabe, and he’s waving me over to him.

  I squeeze, shimmy, and slide my way through the crowd and over to my savior in the green apron.

  “I could kiss you. Seriously. Do you want to make out? You deserve it,” I say, placing my hands on the counter.

  “Sorry, beautiful. As tempting as that is, I prefer a bit of beard with my make-out sessions,” he replies. “Your face is a little too smooth for my liking.”

  “The good ones are always gay or taken,” I huff lovingly.

  “Getting the usual today?” He starts pulling a variety of cup sizes down to write on them.

  “Yes, but Asshole decided he wanted oat milk today. God forbid we allow dairy to upset his delicate stomach. Actually, put fucking heavy cream in there. I want to watch him fall apart during a meeting later. It would make my Monday a little brighter.”

  “You’re vicious, but I don’t want you to lose your job. I’ll stick to the requested oat milk.”

  Asshole, as I so lovingly call him, is a nickname for my horrific boss. And by horrific, I mean he’s the actual worst. Not to mention he’s so goddamn beautiful that his personality being so horrible is like a sick, cosmic joke.

  I’ve been an assistant/secretary/errand runner with Lennox Publishing for six years, and for the most part, I’ve loved it. Hell, for the first five years, I completely loved it, and then Carlson Lennox decided to step down unexpectedly last year and let his son take the reins.

  Thus, began the last year of utter annoyance and frustration that has made me contemplate murder.

  “All right, I’ve got you all set to go.” Gabe says, snapping me out of my thought process.

  He places the drink carrier on the counter, and I slide the company credit card through the card reader, shove the receipt in my purse before turning on my aching feet, and heading back out in the bustling Manhattan commute.

  ***

  Lennox Publishing is located on the top floor of a high rise on Madison Avenue. With stunning views of Central Park, it’s one of the few things about working here that keeps me sane.

  The view and my coworker and best friend, Kate.

  “Careful. He’s on the warpath today,” she says when I open the large glass doors that lead into the main reception area. She is seated perfectly behind the desk with her blonde hair twisted into a knot on top of her head. She adjusts her black-rimmed glasses and smiles. “Good luck.”

  “Shit. What happened?” I examine the labels on the coffees before plucking her mocha latte from the carrier and placing it on the desk for her.

  “I’m not sure.” She takes the coffee and sips it slowly. “He was extra rude when he strutted through this morning. He didn’t even acknowledge me. He simply told me to not let anyone bother him today. Honestly, he’s lucky he’s so damn fine. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have a thing going for him.” She takes another sip. “Thank you for the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome.” I shift my bag on my shoulder. She’s right, by the way. He is, without a doubt, one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on in person. The tall, dark, handsome, panties evaporate at the sight of him type of hot. It’s unfortunate he’s a fucking fuckface.

  “I guess I’ll go brave The Asshole. If I die in there, just know you were always my best friend, I love you, and I don’t regret our experimentation phase in college.” I give her a smile.

  She places her hand over her heart. “Swoon. Me neither.” With a shake of the head, she waves me on. “Get out of here.”

  We confirm that we will grab lunch together before I make my way down the hallway toward the main offices in the back. I pass by the small row of cubicles and offices with their doors open, delivering coffees, making small talk and pleasantries. I stop by my desk angled just off to the side at the end
of the hall. I have a little window and a lovely view, and it makes me happy. I strip out of my jacket, adjusting my pencil skirt and white top that is tucked in.

  I still when I hear a deep voice shouting from the other side of the wall that I share with The Asshole. He’s really letting someone have it, which can only mean wonderful things for me. Note the sarcasm.

  Did I mention I’m his secretary? It’s a joy, really. And yes, that was also sarcasm.

  After seriously contemplating spitting in his coffee, I snatch it out of the carrier and stand in front of the frosted glass door with his name—Nathanial Lennox—emblazoned across in a black, strong font. I take a breath and pray to whichever higher being exists that I don’t snap on this fucker today.

  “I need this job. I need this job. I need this job,” I whisper to myself as I knock on his door.

  I hear him slam his phone back onto the receiver. “Come in.”

  I twist the sleek, silver handle and push the door open.

  He’s seated behind his desk, looking exactly like the rich, sexy, powerful asshole he is.

  It pains me every time I see him because he is truly beautiful, with his stunningly dark eyes and broad shoulders. Too bad his personality makes him about as appealing as a slide down a fire ant hill into a pool of rubbing alcohol, all while wearing a skirt and no panties.

  He’s already lost his tie and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. His hair is mussed up like he’s been running his hands through it. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about sliding my hands through it in the throes of ecstasy, but the fantasy quickly changes to me gripping hard on the strands and tossing him into a wall.

  “Drip coffee with oat milk.” I hold up the cup before placing it on his desk.

  “You’re late,” he gruffs before taking a drink of his coffee.

  “I don’t believe I am, actually.” I nod toward the clock on his wall. “That clock has been five minutes fast for years.”

  He checks the watch on his wrist then gives me a nod before his eyes come to rest on my face.

  Then, I swear, his eyes drop down to my body so briefly I think I may have even imagined it.

  Heat spreads over my skin and my cheeks flush red.

  Christ’s sake, Piper. It’s not been that long since you’ve had sex. This is a human response to imagined physical appreciation from a fucking stunning asshole of a man. Get it together.

  “Can I get you anything else before I begin my day?” I ask him with a forced smile.

  “A hot coffee. This one,” he holds up his cup, “is cold.”

  My fingertips tingle with the urge to snatch the coffee away and tell him exactly where he can shove it.

  “Actually,” he continues before I can say anything. “Forget the coffee. I have a meeting across town in fifteen minutes.”

  “Better get moving then.” I clear my throat. “I’ll call the car for you.”

  “And tell them to move quickly and if they can’t, I’ll find someone who can. I don’t feel like waiting around today.”

  “Yes, sir,” I sneer, before turning around and leaving his office, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

  I need this job. I need this job. I need this job.

  ***

  Five o’clock can’t come any faster. I have even taken to clock-watching the last fifteen minutes, because with Sir Asshole in and out of meetings all day, there hasn’t been much for me to do, other than field calls and work on his schedule.

  I am tapping my pen against my desk, to the beat of the ticking clock in my brain, when my name sliding through the air on a voice with a timbre so deep and velvety it sends shivers up my back.

  “Piper.”

  I look up into the stormy eyes of my boss.

  He is standing across from me at my desk and from my position; he’s positively towering over me.

  His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows now, and he still hasn’t put the tie back on. He oozes deliciousness.

  “I don’t pay you to daydream.”

  And there is it. The Asshole.

  “I wasn’t daydreaming. I was counting. I have a lot to do this evening, and the last five minutes seem to be moving at a snail’s pace.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Well, sorry to put a damper on the evening, but I need you to stay a little later tonight.”

  I have to fight the actual urge to chuck a stapler at him.

  “I’m sorry. I have plans this evening and…”

  “It isn’t voluntary, Piper.” He pulls out his cell phone and slides his thumb across the screen. “I need the spreadsheets and handouts for the meeting tomorrow prepped and ready to go. It was moved up to the morning.”

  “Mr. Lennox, I can do those things from my laptop at home or I can be here bright and early tomorrow morning. I am needed elsewhere tonight, but I can assure you that what you need will be in your inbox tomorrow morning before you arrive.” I hold firm.

  “I admire your ability to be openly insubordinate. It’s charming, actually.”

  His face is stoic, not showing an ounce of humor, save for the slight twitch of his lips that I could almost call a slight smirk.

  “One of my many talents, and I wouldn’t call negotiation insubordination, now, if you don’t have any objections, I will make sure everything is ready to go by the morning… regardless of whether I do them from home or early tomorrow.” I sit back in my seat, crossing my legs.

  “Wouldn’t want to keep you from your date,” he hisses, squaring his shoulders.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re so eager, one can only assume it’s because you have a date you need to tend to.”

  Is he serious right now?

  “Well, first of all, if I did… it wouldn’t be any of your business. Second of all, no, I don’t have a date, unless you count helping sling pasta and pies with my brothers as a date, then sure… hot date central right here.”

  He goes to speak, but I interrupt him.

  “And third of all, just because a woman has plans and is in a hurry to get to them does not mean she has a date. Women aren’t defined by dates or lack thereof,” I huff and stand. “I’ll have your spreadsheet to you by morning and the executives will have it as well. I’ll have the handouts ready before it begins.”

  “Sounds like you need to have a date soon. You’re very high-strung.” He smiles when I glare at him. “Have a good evening, Piper. I expect to see that email tomorrow morning before you arrive.”

  The shrill sound of the phone ringing between us on my desk breaks through and I release a breath. He doesn’t move though. He simply stands there with his hands in his pockets.

  “Are you going to get that?” He says.

  “I’m off the clock. You monopolized my last few minutes.” I pull my purse from the bottom drawer.

  “I see.” He bends forward, pulls the phone from the receiver, and places it on my ear, forcing me to answer the call. “You’re salary, not hourly. Say hello.”

  I huff loudly. “I’m sorry, but Lennox Publishing is closed at the moment, and…”

  He pulls the phone away, clearly reading between the lines that I was about to say something wildly unprofessional to whoever was on the other side of the phone.

  “Lennox Publishing, this is Nathanial,” he greets, glaring at me then his posture loosens. “Gabrielle, hello. Yes, actually, I’d rather take this call in private. I’ll transfer you to my line.”

  Gabrielle? She calls here sometimes for him if he doesn’t answer his cell. I’ve never asked who she is. I don’t need to know. I’d rather not know of his bevy of beauties who drop to their knees at his beck and call.

  He presses the transfer button, leaving it blinking before placing the phone back on the receiver.

  “Have a good evening, Piper. Remember… I expect everything to be set before I arrive.”

  I salute, like the brat I am. “Yes, sir.”

  That seems to make a smile curl onto his lips; at least, I think
that’s a smile.

  Huh. Who knew The Asshole had it in him.

  ***

  “Are you hungry? I can have Oliver whip you something up real fast. Anything you want,” my mother says, as she takes a seat across from me at the corner booth.

  I finish counting out the cash from the till and make note of it on my laptop before tucking it into a deposit bag.

  “We have been closed for almost an hour. You think Oliver and Benjamin wouldn’t have a cow if I asked them to dirty up that kitchen?”

  “I’m the boss here, Piper. They do as I say,” she jokes with a grin.

  “Ain’t that the truth?” I pile my hair into a bun on top of my head. “I’m good, Ma. I stole a few squares of lasagna and put it in a to-go box already. I couldn’t resist.”

  Kingston’s Italian Eatery has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Hell, almost every birthday party of my whole life has been held in here.

  My father, a second-generation Italian immigrant, set his sights on opening this place when he was sixteen years old. He worked his ass off, and finally, at the age of twenty-five, he did it.

  I spent every evening and every weekend here growing up. Serving, helping in the kitchen, cleaning, anything that was needed, my mother, and my twin brothers Benjamin and Oliver, and myself were right here in the trenches.

  And we never complained.

  We had the type of family I only saw in sitcoms. None of my other friends at school had parents who were still married, let alone ran a business together.

  I never saw them fight. I never saw an ounce of frustration.

  They were skilled at hiding it… until my father passed away when I was twenty, then the debt, the hard times, the struggles, all of it, came bursting into the limelight.

  For the past eight years, my brothers and I have done everything we can to help our mother keep this place afloat. It’s the last piece of my father any of us have left.

  It’s not like business isn’t great, because it absolutely is. Any other restaurant with the customer base we have and the history we have should be just fine… but the debt my father left behind is crippling.