The Boss and the Brat: A Billionaire Romance

by Frost, Sosie

  While the fashion industry was as pretentious as it was irritatingly conceited, at least it attracted beautiful, feisty, and utterly infuriating women into its ranks.

  Certainly better than any prospects I’d met while investing in programming and software development.

  It wasn’t often a woman rejected me—and usually it came with a half-hearted sigh and a gesture toward the gold band on her ring finger. But this was the first time I’d propositioned a woman only to land face-first in a Koi pond while surrounded by the elite of this chosen career field.

  And then she’d laughed.

  The brat was vexing. An absolute waste of my interest, time, and charm.

  She also enthralled me unlike any other woman I’d ever encountered.

  Her little black dress had caressed her dark, silken skin and teased me with the promise of her curves. Sensual and soft—qualities I was certain a woman like her despised in herself. It was why she’d attempted a harsher haircut. Short, straight, and perfectly framing the quiet angle of her cheekbones. But, instead of creating a determined look brimming with authority, the hair had gentled her features and widened her eyes.

  The woman was more princess than professional.

  And she was just as spoiled as any royal I’d ever met.

  I gritted my teeth to silence a profanity as the brat approached only to rip the towel from my grasp and steal it for herself.

  “You again?” Even when she attempted to sneer, her lips naturally tugged upwards into an innocent smile. “After that childish display, you should’ve skulked away into whatever sludge you oozed out of.”

  Not for any lack of trying, but I had important people to meet, photos to take, and companies to save. I’d managed to avoid a very public enema delivered by one of the pond’s cat-tails, but the rest of my to-do list had been delayed while I waited for the delivery of a replacement shirt and jacket.

  “And here I thought you’d be grateful that I helped you out of the pond,” I said.

  “You dunked me into the water!”

  “I’ve learned one lesson in business…” I winked. “Fair is fair.”

  “I hope your revenge was worth it. Everyone is staring at us.”

  She might’ve been a frustrating waste of my energy, but who could blame the crowds for staring at her? The brat had eyes the color of gingerbread. Perpetually big, as if she were constantly surprised. It suited her, especially with her fine eyebrows and ballerina cheeks.

  Only this girl could look utterly graceful with a lily pad clinging to her back and the sucker marks from hungry koi chasing up her leg.

  I gestured over the encroaching crowd. “Maybe they stare because they know who I am.”

  She huffed. “Some egotistical prick with more money than manners?”

  “I’ve been called worse.” And yet I loved hearing the words from her. “But they’ve always returned to grovel for my forgiveness.”

  “And let me guess—you forgive them?”

  “You’d be surprised how benevolent I am when people are on their knees.”

  “I’d be more surprised if any woman of sound mind actually accommodated you.”

  “You’re right…” I grinned. “They’re much more comfortable on their backs.”

  “Bored?” She had a sharp wit that would get her pricked sooner or later. “Counting the seconds until you’re done?”

  I chuckled, removing my waterlogged tie and jacket. “You curious?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Pity. I thought you might be good for something.”

  “Oh, I’d be the best you’ve ever had, moneybags.” The brat arched an eyebrow. “The real pity is that a jerk like you will never know.”

  She tossed the towel at my chest and attempted to storm away. Unfortunately, the crowd pressed in tight as Reginald Maxwell maneuvered towards a LED-bordered pagoda and seized a microphone to tremendous applause. He raised his hands for quiet.

  “I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” Reginald said. “Just as I want to thank you all for these past forty years of unconditional support, endless enthusiasm, and unquestioning sacrifice here at Maxwell Intimates.”

  Such a shame he’d presented a genuinely decent retirement speech to the usual Maxwell Intimates’ crowd—geriatric, unimpressed patrons who thought his clothing line was simply a necessity, not a lavish fashion statement worthy of their admiration or, most importantly, their money.

  I’d realized the problem with Maxwell Intimates the instant I’d pulled the file on the company and took one look at their inventory.

  The brand was boring, and the clothing even more so. For the last forty years, Reginald had operated on a shoe-string budget relying on customer loyalty which waned thin as their elderly base passed on. Maxwell Intimates hadn’t innovated. They hadn’t expanded. Hell, they hadn’t reached out to any customers on the north end of their retirement.

  Women the brat’s age wanted excitement, luxury, and the chance to be naughty. But the company’s “traditional” undergarments no longer excited them…or their men.

  “I’m so happy that I’ve been able to share these last forty years with you all,” Reginald said. For a man of his age, he hid the years well. Days at the gym, early to bed at night, and a secret bottle of hair dye under the bathroom sink that retained his natural youthfulness. “But the past is the past. And I want tonight to focus on what’s most important to Maxwell Intimates—our very bright and prosperous future.”

  The girl leaned close as the crowd clapped. “And think how wonderful that future will be when I get rid of you.”

  I wrung the water from my suit jacket over her shoes. “I’m afraid that will be my pleasure.”

  To her credit, she had more pride than to pout as she tapped her toes in a puddle of pond water.

  “You have no idea who you’re talking to, do you?” she asked.

  I could guess. “A loudmouthed, precocious brat on the verge of learning a very important lesson about how to properly address very important men?”

  “If you find one, let me know.”

  I clenched my jaw. Christ, what fantasy-turned-nightmare had spawned this hellcat?

  And why the hell had she returned to irritate me?

  Then again, her wet dress had entertained me just as much as the models in lingerie. Her gown clung to her body, dripping with water. The material molded to her dancer’s legs and even improved her chest, previously hidden behind a ghastly conservative neckline.

  The woman was beautiful. Her lips pouted instead of puffed, and her wide, Christmas-morning eyes sizzled with indignation. I even admired her delicate nose—straight but perpetually bent out of shape.

  She was pint-sized trouble that packed a wallop.

  And I’d already learned my lesson.

  Other men might’ve lined up for her to kick them in the balls, but I respected myself too much to slum with a brat who dared to shush me at my own damned party.

  She focused solely on Reginald, eagerly listening to his words.

  “You know…” she said. “I am glad I found you again. Think of how exciting it will be when you’re fired in front of everyone.”

  “Ask me my name—then see if you feel differently.”

  She would not, and she delighted in her ignorance.

  “No need,” she said. “I already know that you’re a man who has made a monumental mistake.”

  “Very intimidating. I’m not sure if I should give you a pink slip or a key to my penthouse.”

  “I have a nice apartment, thank you.” She smirked. “And I’m sure it’s better than yours.”

  My bank account begged to differ. “Care to find out? Tonight, my place. Tomorrow, yours.”

  “Sorry. I’ve already made plans.”

  “Ruining a second party for another unsuspecting man?”

  She kicked off her ruined heels and held them by the dripping straps. “Celebrating your impending resignation.”

  Her smug arroganc
e grated on my only nerve not waterlogged with pond scum. And she knew it. With a satisfied sigh, she dismissed me and focused on the speech.

  But then I saw it.

  Same dark skin.

  Same bright smile.

  Same unyielding denial about the future of Maxwell Intimates.

  The realization was worth the cost of admission to the party—buying out Maxwell Intimates for a monumental corporate merger.

  “You must be Mackenza Maxwell,” I said. “Reginald’s daughter.”

  Like the brat needed any more reason to be intolerably proud.

  Mackenza winked at me. “Do you regret pulling me into the pond?”

  I rarely lied when it wouldn’t return a profit.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “I thought so.”

  “Had I known it was you, I never would’ve done it.”

  “You call that an apology?”

  She’d lowered her voice, unwilling to distract the party from her father’s speech. Gave me a reason to edge closer.

  “More like…a wasted opportunity.” I nodded toward the crowd. “Instead of taking lingerie, everyone is gossiping about Reginald Maxwell’s clumsy daughter tumbling into a damned fish pond.”

  “I’ll gladly take that sacrifice.”

  Of course she would.

  A waiter circled the audience, offering champagne for a toast. I would’ve preferred another warm towel or a shower, but I could buy myself all the relaxation I needed once I squashed the brat.

  Mackenza took a flute from the waiter, but I seized it from her hands. No sense giving the girl any more ammunition.

  I murmured into my drink. “Strange. You’re worrying about a new product line instead of the unconscionable debt racked up by this dying company.”

  She stiffened but took the bait. Even on her tip-toes, she had to look up to meet my gaze.

  “Like you understand anything about this company.”

  What was there to understand? “Your company sells girdles, and your clientele is aging out of that bracket. Maxwell Intimates is a dying brand. Adding lingerie might be the only way to save what little stock remains.”

  “We are not dying.”

  As delusional as she was pretty.

  She’d make a future husband miserable one day.

  Reginald addressed his speech to the members of the board who had remained at his side for the last forty years…and forty years before that. Two of the men slumped over their walkers—hopefully sleeping. Another had lost his hearing ten years ago but remained at his position through an elaborate system of nodding, grunting, and harrumphing. The others chose to ignore their seniority by marrying women their granddaughters’ age.

  They were the ones most keen on introducing lingerie into the brand.

  Mackenza clapped with the rest of the crowd, but her gaze sliced daggers through my skin.

  “My father did not work his entire life so that on the day of his retirement he’d be upstaged by that scrap of handkerchief you call lingerie,” she said.

  “He agreed to the design.” I reserved a smile for myself. “Not like he had the money to decline the offer.”

  It insulted her.

  Good.

  At least that meant Mackenza wasn’t like the other mindless, spoiled women twirling around the party—the ones carrying purses that cost more than cars and wearing jewelry worth more than the houses where I’d grown up.

  Then again, it wasn’t as if the Maxwells had ever reaped the benefits of their company. What had been a profitable opportunity during the early years when Reginald’s father started the brand had waned in both interest and revenue.

  Mackenza wasn’t a trust fund baby, sipping cocktails in Malibu and showing off her ass implants on Instagram. She’d been working for the company, earning her place. And, had I not stood in front of the party with my pants at my ankles, removing a flopping goldfish from my boxers, I might’ve begrudgingly granted the brat a little respect.

  The swell of the crowd pushed her closer to me, but she greeted those she recognized with sweet words and a bashful kick of her toe against the polished stones of the garden path. A perfect little princess ready to stab me in the back once the crowd lost interest.

  “I can’t believe my father would employ anyone like you…” She insulted me with gentle words to disguise her annoyance from the guests. “He must not know you well.”

  I lived to prove people wrong. “He trusts me.”

  “Doubtful.” She stared only ahead as her father continued his speech. “But it won’t matter. After tonight, you’re going to get booted so far out of the fashion industry you’ll be picking Uggs out of your butt through next season.”

  The little kitten couldn’t even insult a man properly.

  But it made her all that more entertaining.

  “And, after tonight, I’ll accept your apology,” I said.

  Mackenza plucked a piece of water lettuce out of her hair. “I’d rather take another dip with the goldfish.”

  And I would’ve loved to watch her cannonball into the pond. “That’s no way to conduct business.”

  “I have no business with you.”

  Wouldn’t she be surprised?

  “We should probably discuss our terms somewhere in private,” I said.

  She tore her eyes from her father only to glare at me. “Are you seriously asking me out?”

  “Has it been that long since you’ve been on a date that you can’t tell business from pleasure?”

  “I doubt any woman has ever found pleasure with you.”

  I could prove how wrong she was, but my patience for the brat had reached its end.

  “Consider this a professional courtesy,” I said. “We have quite a bit to discuss.”

  Especially as it now appeared Reginald Maxwell—father of the year—had not informed Mackenza of the latest office gossip.

  A droplet of water teased from her hair over her cheek. She wiped it away with a grimace. “Thanks, but no thanks. I already know entirely too much about you.”

  Oh, but it would be an absolute riot for me once she learned the truth.

  “Let’s just say…I think you’re the sort of girl who would rather make a terrible second impression without duckweed in her hair.”

  “You don’t know a thing about me,” she said.

  I knew enough. “Uptight. Regimented. Workaholic. You probably have your name printed on your underwear…or is it the day of the week?”

  “Should’ve asked me on Thong Thursday. Now you’ll have to keep wondering.”

  “Or maybe you can tell me over dinner.”

  Her laugh earned a quick shush from what appeared to be a mass of four lavender and purple hats which had clustered together to develop sentience.

  “Oh, now you want dinner?” she asked.

  “Sure. I’ll write it off as a business expense.”

  Mackenza rolled her eyes. “Just what every girl wants to hear—she’s as pretty as a deduction and as charming as an expense report. Face it, playboy. You can’t buy me off with a little wine and French food.”

  “I was thinking Thai.”

  “I’m going to personally oversee your firing.”

  She was cute.

  Frustrating, but cute.

  What an asset for the company.

  Seemed only fair that I’d offer her as much an interview as I’d give any other person who threatened my vision for the future.

  “Just trying to see where you’re going to fit in with the new direction of Maxwell Intimates,” I said.

  She snorted. “That’s easy. Imagine me at the top.”

  “You really think you’re leadership material?”

  “You can follow or you can kneel. Your choice.”

  I smirked. “Then I suppose it’s silly for me to ask where you see yourself in five years?”

  “Reliving this exact conversation while I sit at the CEO’s desk.”

  “Sure you’re not under it?”
<
br />   Her sharp intake of air was as much a tantrum as she could display at her Daddy’s party.

  “Is it too much to hope that a man acts professionally on the night of his impending unemployment?” she asked.

  “Far be it from me to inquire about the skills you can bring to this company…and the benefits.”

  “I can do a hell of a lot better for the business with the reins in my hand than holding some prick’s prick.”

  Another shush from the cluster of hats. It sufficiently shamed Mackenza, but my bank account was large enough that society’s rules became a mere formality.

  I didn’t need to listen to Reginald’s speech to understand the future of Maxwell Intimates.

  But Mackenza…

  She interested me.

  And that was a quality I couldn’t buy even with all my billions.

  Mackenza gestured over the party—the hundred or so people gathered to pay tribute to her father…and to witness what was sure to be the fashion statement of the season, if not the year.

  “I grew up in this company,” she said. “My grandfather founded it. My father led it. And the future is mine.”

  And none of that meant she’d ever secure even a dime in credit once the banks requested the records and saw the truth of her family’s leadership.

  “Think you could be in charge?” I asked. “You don’t seem to be the assertive type.”

  “Should I wear some lingerie and crack a whip?”

  “Couldn’t hurt…” I shrugged. “You did come so highly recommended. I’d like to see why.”

  She seethed, her voice lowering to a growl. “I can’t wait to be rid of you.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  She ripped the champagne from my hands and glowered, speaking a little too loudly and drawing undue attention which was sure to humiliate her.

  “Then we’ll have our own toast—to never seeing each other again,” she said.

  “If only the fates were that kind.”

  Reginald had gotten lost somewhere in his speech, reminiscing about his boyhood days learning the business from his father. I admired the man, but I’d long resolved never to adopt his style. Kindheartedness won friends—but it bankrupted families. On the night of his resignation, he spoke to a party brimming with well-wishers and respected associates, but he left the company with nothing in the general fund and even less in his personal account.