Bad Boss: A Steamy Romantic Comedy

by Liv Lane

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blank Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

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  BAD BOSS

  Liv Lane

  Copyright © 2020 Liv Lane

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-6485333-8-2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  RAIN POUNDS AGAINST the busy sidewalk as I weave between commuters, dodging rogue umbrellas, and trying to stay dry. Today is the first day of my first real job, and I left home early, determined to get there in plenty of time.

  Today I will meet the man responsible for making my dreams come true. Okay, if I’m honest, I expect I’ll be lucky to catch a glimpse of him. He will probably be busy.

  Matthew Dexton, the owner and CEO of Dexton Corporation, sponsored my college education—and my shiny new job offer. Matthew changed my life.

  Maybe not Matthew specifically since it’s his company that offers the scholarship program…and the job offer, but they’re virtually the same thing.

  I looked him up on the internet when I learned my grades were good enough, and the scholarship was approved. That was five years ago, and I’ve learned a lot about him since. I almost feel like I know him. The business side of him, which is well documented—he even has his own wiki page.

  Also, his social life because the media loves a wealthy playboy! He’s acquired quite a few disgruntled exes, who like to bemoan how he left them devastated. He doesn’t do exes anymore, not in the last couple of years from what I’ve read—I’m pretty sure those bitter few have ruined it for the rest of us hopefuls.

  Yes, I’m one of those hopefuls, a realistic kind of hopeful. Actually, I’m not hopeful at all, but a girl can dream. Which I do, often, and in detail.

  Explicit detail.

  Some of the dreams would not make the PG rating—or any rating now that I stop to think about it.

  More like a triple-X rating.

  Is there such a rating?

  No, I think I made that up.

  That was all before I thought I would meet him, and when he was a mysterious benefactor who helped a fortunate few individuals, like me, escape the bottom of the pond. I’ve stopped the inappropriate daydreaming ever since I got the job offer. Mostly.

  It’s harmless, and I’m sure I’m not the only woman indulging in fantasies where Matthew Dexton is concerned.

  Pausing, I check my watch. It’s a five-minute walk from here, and I’m still too early. There is an etiquette to arriving on the first day, or so I read on the internet. Be early, but not too early.

  I’m contemplating finding somewhere to shelter because my shoes are starting to squelch, when luckily the rain slows to a misty drizzle and stops.

  As I shake out my umbrella and snap it shut, I notice the gleaming art-deco building that will soon be my place of work. I’m closer than I thought. I check the time—still too early.

  Spotting a coffee booth, I make my way over. Perfect!

  I skipped my morning fix in the excitement of starting my first job, and the prestige of bagging such a good one, had made for a restless night. I’m confident adrenaline will carry me through, but a caffeine boost won’t hurt.

  Two people wait in the queue, and I take my place behind them, taking pleasure in joining the throngs of workers. Soon, this will become ordinary, but today it’s new. I’m new. The experience is new. And so too, having an anticipated income which will allow me to purchase something as frivolous as a barista-made coffee. Usually, my coffee is made at home from whatever brand is on discount, and there have been days when that was a luxury.

  I’m lucky, I know this. I have a college education, extended by an extra year to gain my MBA. Those glowing results took hard work, damned hard work as my former roommate Betty will attest. My life has no backup plan, there is no one to help if I fail. If I want out of my tiny apartment and cheap neighborhood, I have to take this opportunity and make it happen for myself.

  I will not screw this up, and I will enjoy every stage, including the simple pleasure of buying a barista coffee.

  The customer in front moves aside. I place an order for a black coffee, pay, and tuck my purse back in my bag.

  I took time with my appearance this morning. Last week, I used a little of my meager savings to buy some reasonable quality suits and blouses. My shoes are business smart with a heel; I’m petite and attached to those extra few inches. My blonde hair is neatly styled into a ponytail and my makeup light. The only concession is a dash of my favorite cherry lipstick.

  Shuffling to the side, I wait for my coffee. The people around me use the time to thumb through their phones. The heady stage of a data plan is not yet upon me, but perhaps after a few paychecks, I will be comfortable to move onto more than functional.

  I shoot a quick text to Betty, telling her I’ve gotten to the office early, and I’m grabbing a quick coffee before heading in.

  I’ve barely hit send when it rings—silently because I never have the volume up, which frustrates Betty to no end when she’s trying to contact me.

  “You answered!” She sounds surprised, which isn’t very shocking since I’m notorious for ignoring it even when I notice it.

  “I’m early, so I’m grabbing a coffee before I go in.” I realize I’m restating what I’ve already said in the text and whispering. Why am I whispering? She asked me to text her after I settled in to let her know what it’s like. But it’s my first day, and I’m nervous about using my cellphone for personal reasons inside the office.

  “Chicken.” I can hear the laughter in her voice. “No one’s going to fire you because you send a twenty-second text. Go to the bathroom and do it if you’re that worried.”

  I grin. “Okay. Maybe.” She always sees right through me. Betty is an extreme extrovert who, despite my reluctance, has made it her personal mission to drag me out of my shell. I like my shell; it’s warm and cozy in there. My comfort zone is more of a cubical. I don’t like leaving it, but when I do, it’s usually Betty’s fault. And I usually enjoy it—after, when I’ve had time to calm down and reflect.

  “You better. Break a leg…or whatever you businesswoman do.”

  I laugh at her showbiz reference. She’s got a job in the west-end, a fantastic job choreographing for a theater company, and since she didn’t take the extra year like me, she’s into her flow. Seeing her is not easy with the hour
s she works, but the bond we made in college is for life, and I speak to her most days.

  The barista calls my order.

  “My coffee is ready, gotta go.”

  “Okay, spill a coffee for me,” she quips.

  She hangs up while I’m still laughing, and I hurry over to collect my order. The takeaway cup is unexpectedly hot, and I juggle it between my hands. My umbrella is getting in the way as I sneak a peek at my watch—five minutes—my timing will be perfect.

  I slam into a hard chest, and the lid explodes off my coffee.

  “Fuck!” The masculine voice is sharp and angry.

  His suit looks expensive, and his shirt that had once been crisp and white, now both the suit and shirt are liberally doused in steaming coffee.

  I look up, a long way up despite my three-inch heels, and then everything shuts down. There is something very cliché about throwing your drink over a god in human flesh. The throwing part is where the cliché ends for me.

  He doesn’t appear endeared by the incident, nor amused. He looks mad as freaking hell.

  My brain freezes and all mental capability flees. I dip my head to escape his penetrating gaze, but that brings my focus back to his chest, where coffee drips down onto his doubtless expensive shoes.

  I want to die. I’ve never wanted to die before, even during those dark days of my mother’s less than ideal life choices, but if a magic wish were granted me now, I would happily cease to exist.

  I’ve just thrown a full and very hot cup of coffee over my very hot boss.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FUCK ME! THE coffee is scalding hot! What the hell has the barista done to it? Nuked it? I feel layers of skin shrink in protest, but that’s the least of my concerns since I have a board meeting in forty-five minutes.

  There are clean shirts in the office, but I don’t have a spare suit since I sent them off for dry cleaning last week.

  The woman who threw the coffee over me looks like she’s going into shock. Her mouth opens and closes again, but nothing comes out in between. Her face turns from pallid white to brilliant red. I should probably cut her some slack, it is her first day of work, after all.

  I’ve been looking forward to her arrival, although I wasn’t expecting our first meeting to go quite like this. Her lips are a cherry red, rich, glossy, and plump. Her face is flawless, and her blue eyes shining with fear and unshed tears. She is much prettier in person, which is impressive, given how stunning the pictures of her are.

  “Emma.” Hearing her name on my lips, her head snaps up, and this time a single tear escapes that she quickly wipes away.

  Gorgeous.

  I want a lot more tears; hot, desperate, needy tears while I spank retribution out of her ass until it is as red and fiery as the skin on my chest.

  “Mr. Dexton?”

  She doesn’t question how I know her, and I don’t question how she knows me.

  That makes me want to smile, and it takes a concerted effort to shut down my wayward spanking thoughts since I really do have a meeting to attend. I pull out my phone and hit the button to put a call through to my assistant. “Susan, I need a replacement suit before my board meeting.”

  Susan grumbles something uncomplimentary about me calling her out of hours, and that does make me smile. She has a key to my apartment, and it’s a small detour for her to make.

  Emma fidgets beside me, clearly unsure whether she has been dismissed. On the phone, Susan continues her monolog. Confirming she has ‘accepted the mission’ and further expresses how much she appreciates the opportunity to ‘move mountains’ and ‘make shit happen despite the odds’.

  I close the call, feeling better about the suit, and better about the whole morning, actually.

  “That was my assistant, Susan. I suggest you acquaint yourself with the German bakery on fifth. She’s partial to their pastries.”

  Emma nods, her expression grave. “I was early.”

  Her voice sounds small, and a better man might soothe her obvious angst. I inspect my watch. “Not anymore.”

  “Oh god!” Her eyes grow round, and her breathy exclamation conjures up some delightful images.

  “I’ll explain—how I waylaid you.” I’m not a complete asshole—I indicate the way ahead.

  She chews on her lower lip as she starts walking. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” My tone is clipped, but given I feel like I’ve just received third-degree burns, my charitable side is coming up short.

  “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. Out of my salary.” Her voice stammers with the last few words, and I think she might be close to tears again. I own a detailed dossier on Emma, and I know the precise nature of her financial situation. The scholarship, while generous, did not allow for more than the basics.

  The suit and shirt are likely ruined, and she definitely doesn’t have the necessary funds. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.” Yes, seriously depraved thinking supports the words coming out of my mouth.

  As we reach the entrance to Dexton Corporation, the wide glass doors part to allow us entry.

  “I thought you would have someone get coffee for you.”

  She’s wearing a perplexed expression. “I enjoy the walk,” I say, although enjoy does not accurately sum up today…more unique. “And asking Susan to fetch me a coffee is—old school.” I feel bad enough asking her to collect a suit, and I wouldn’t have done so unless it was an emergency.

  Our lovely receptionist’s horrified expression is priceless as I approach with a nervous Emma in tow. “Mr. Dexton, you’ve had an accident!”

  “I bumped into Andrew’s new hire.” I mentally wince at my choice of words. “Please give him my apologies for her late arrival.”

  “Of course, Mr. Dexton.” The receptionist beams at me before turning her welcoming smile Emma’s way.

  Leaving Emma with the receptionist, I make my way to the elevator. Pulling my phone out, I find a message from Susan informing me she has ‘once more saved the day’ and is ‘worthy of a bonus’. I tuck it back into my pocket as the elevator doors open for my floor. Tugging my tie loose, I enter my office and shut the door. Shrugging out of my suit jacket, I peel off the stained shirt as I continue through to my private bathroom. The lights illuminate the bright red blotch that covers a good portion of my chest as I inspect it in the mirror.

  It throbs like a son of a bitch.

  “Here I am! Savior of the day!” Susan bustles in carrying a swathe of dry cleaning bags, oblivious or uncaring to my state of semi-dress. Susan is beautiful, intelligent, and a highly competent assistant. She is also madly in love with her husband and doesn’t give me more than her professional interest.

  It makes a refreshing change and avoids complications.

  And her husband happens to be my baby brother. He’s threatened to bust my balls if I so much as look her way.

  I prefer my balls attached.

  “Oh my god!” She gasps dramatically as she notices my chest.

  “That’s what they all say.” I wink. “Wait, I still have my pants on.”

  She hooks the suit bag on the door. “Asshole,” she mutters and turns toward the wall. “Where is it?”

  Without any warning—and really, this requires a warning—she kneels down in front of me and begins rummaging in the vanity cupboard.

  “I need to have words with your husband.” This is not appropriate for an assistant, and worse given she’s my sister-in-law.

  Now, if it were Emma on her knees, this would be a whole lot more interesting…

  Still muttering, she continues to search, her head in the cupboard and her ass sticking out.

  “I can look myself,” I say feeling exasperated. Susan is the least self-aware person I’ve ever met. I’ve lost track of the number of occasions I’ve had to avert my eyes. “Susan, this is one of those situations we talked about.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m nearly done.” She makes a shooing motion. “Sit on the toilet or something.”
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  I do as I’m instructed, checking my watch. I’ve got time for a quick shower, stale coffee is not the most attractive smell.

  Susan backs out, pulling a medicine cabinet with her. “Why is this not on the wall?”

  It had once been correctly housed inside the door but came loose while I was pounding the paralegal against the wall last year.

  Susan flips the medicine box open and inspects the contents before selecting a tube. She squints at the tiny writing. “This should do!” She makes like she’s going to put some on.

  “Thanks.” Standing, I extract the white tube from her hands and indicate the door.

  “I’ll take it from here.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I WANT TO die. Like, really, really want to die. My life is over.

  Heat engulfs my face and neck, and earlier, I’d nearly blubbered like a baby. How can I recover from this?

  He is going to fire me. Or tell my manager to fire me and make sure I never work again.

  The receptionist is so kind, but I’m a hot mess, and I don’t even have spilled coffee to blame. Somehow, and against all probability, there is not a drop on me!

  Andrew arrives to greet me. I’ve met him twice before during the formal interviews. He’s maybe a couple of years older than Matthew with a studious demeanor, and I knew the moment I met him that I would enjoy working with him. He’s also hot, in a dark-rimmed glasses nerdy kind of way. I try not to notice because he’s my boss, but he also fills out his suit. If I wasn’t so hung up on the company CEO, I might have been more nervous about working with him.

  But I’m so frantic over the coffee fiasco that I can barely focus on what he’s saying. He shakes my hand, and if he notices anything is wrong, he doesn’t mention it. “Come on, let me introduce you to the team. We’re kicking off a new venture today, and there’s research required that’s perfect for your skill set.”

  I nod, mute still. Perhaps Matthew hasn’t had time to update Andrew on my imminent dismissal. It took reception a while to complete my records and provide me with a pass, but still, it wasn’t that long. Matthew did mention having a meeting with the board. I expect he was too busy.