The Boss and the Brat: A Billionaire Romance

by Frost, Sosie

“I know exactly the sort of man I want, Daddy,” I said. “And Cameron Mitchell is not it. He’s not right for me and he’s most certainly terrible for the company.”

  And with that, Daddy could only shrug. His tone shifted, ending the discussion.

  “The decision’s been made,” he said. “Cameron will be the new acting CEO, and I want you to work under him. He’s willing to take you on as his assistant.”

  My stomach burned, but it wasn’t the whiskey’s doing.

  “His assistant?” I hissed.

  “What better way to learn how to lead a company? You’ll be at his side every step of the way—every meeting, every phone call, every decision. You will learn by example. This is a tremendous opportunity for you. Listen to him. Help him. Let him teach you.”

  The limo slowly rolled to a halt, pulling up to the curb outside my building. The Ironfield Mystique was one of the most exclusive apartments in the city, and Daddy had pulled a favor with the owner to ensure I had a good three months in one of the elite penthouses.

  At least, until one of the more affordable apartments opened up in the building.

  We’d never be able to afford it without the generously gifted time, but Daddy insisted that my return to Ironfield have some perk I couldn’t find in New York.

  Like coming home to help the company wasn’t enough.

  Daddy squeezed my hand. “This will all work out. You’ll see. We just need to give Cameron a chance.”

  I’d already given him a chance…and I’d learned everything I needed to know. His arrogance was unrivaled, his manners reprehensible, and his charm infuriating.

  My heels clicked against the marble entryway, but the plush red carpet leading through the lobby quickly muffled my steps.

  A relief.

  I wasn’t sure I belonged in the ivory forest of columns and chandeliers, golden banisters and concierges.

  I’d only stayed in the penthouse for a week, but already those behind the polished desk knew my name, my job, where to deliver my dry cleaning, and…

  The exact day my freebie stay at Ironfield Mystique ended.

  I kept my head down and raced toward the private, penthouse gilded elevator in the back of the lobby.

  Another hand reached for the same button.

  We collided.

  Of course it’d be him.

  Cameron Mitchell’s irritated grimace brightened my night.

  Even frustrated, the man radiated pure sexual heat. His dark eyes feasted on me, but his mouth thinned into a line of utter resentment…especially as his saturated shoes still squeaked with every step.

  He’d somehow managed to secure a new suit for the evening—one even more expensive than the last. At least he had to give his speech in the waterlogged shirt and trousers. A fitting punishment—

  But the torture was all mine.

  While I’d hated every word out of his mouth…the spotlight had helped to make his soaked white shirt completely transparent. It didn’t matter what he said—his hard-earned abs and pulsing pecs had captured every woman’s rapt attention.

  It’d been more vulgar than any of the modeled lingerie.

  And I’d practically panted the rest of the night.

  “I was told this was an exclusive building,” Cameron said.

  Oh, it was.

  But he didn’t need to know about the agreement Daddy had made.

  I refused to look at him. “Don’t tell me you’re moving in.”

  “For the foreseeable future.”

  The elevators opened. I stepped inside. If the man had possessed any class, he would’ve waited for the next cabin.

  Instead, he took his place next to me, mere inches from my body. So close the rumble of the elevator knocked our fingers together.

  And the spine-tingling shock tickled me from my unruly curls to my fish-nibbled toes.

  The elevator doors closed. The golden reflection captured both of our expressions.

  Irritated.

  Annoyed.

  …Intrigued.

  But I wasn’t about to break a perfectly refreshing silence.

  Problem was, neither would he.

  He must’ve realized I’d learned the truth about the merger and the details of my assistantship from Daddy.

  Did he expect me to be angry? To insult him?

  Well, unlike some people, I prided myself on my decorum.

  He didn’t deserve a single word from me. Which was a good thing…

  The man was so unbelievably sexy that any words would’ve blown away into dust in my dried mouth. Better to stew in my own anger and keep myself out of arm’s reach.

  A girl didn’t get to where she was in life without recognizing danger when she faced it while traveling in the city’s slowest elevator.

  Cameron Mitchell was just the sort of man who would sweep me off my feet only to toss me away once he’d had his fill. He’d tease me, seduce me, and then shatter my every life plan.

  And I would enjoy it.

  Oh, God, I would love every pulse-pounding, heart-wrenching mistake.

  This wasn’t just a hunch or a curiosity. I had never felt with such certainty that I would give myself to a man.

  One night, and I’d hate myself for all eternity.

  …Even if it’d be an utterly satiated, undeniably delightful eternity of self-loathing.

  I had to prevent it. Work against my own selfish desires and realize the utter foolishness that was the heat in my core and the tremble on my lips.

  If I couldn’t stay away from this man…I would make him do it for me.

  It was easier to be annoying than seductive and frustrating rather than receptive. Maybe it was childish. Maybe even bratty. But, if it irritated him enough to avoid meeting my gaze in the reflection of the elevator, all the better.

  If I couldn’t control myself around Cameron Mitchell…then maybe I could make him hate me.

  And it might’ve worked…if my defiant silence hadn’t so amused him.

  A sexy, twisted smile teased his lips. His dark eyes crackled with electricity, and he entertained himself by memorizing my curves in the reflection of the doors.

  My stomach twisted. My insides superheated. A shiver swept over my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

  I gritted my teeth and denied any and every implication of the warmth which parted my lips and dizzied my head.

  The man deserved nothing but my utter distain.

  And he had it.

  …Along with my desire, my inhibition, and my goddamned virginity if he wanted it.

  The elevator halted at the top floor. The doors opened, and a burst of cool air rushed into the cabin. The gentle chill whisked away the sweat beading on my forehead.

  Cameron stepped out first. A mercy. At least he couldn’t see my wobbly steps as I crashed into reality from a very brief, but devastatingly real, fantasy.

  His hands gripping my hips.

  My back slamming against the elevator doors.

  His lips conquering mine…

  I swallowed and burst into the hallway, unintentionally matching his strides as he reached the once-vacant penthouse directly across from mine.

  Great. He wasn’t just my new boss.

  We were neighbors. Close enough to carpool.

  Cameron’s keys rattled in his hand. He’d managed to unlock his door. But, in his shadow, I’d forgotten how a damned key worked.

  He spoke from his doorway, his voice a smooth punishment.

  “Be a doll, Mackenza…” Cameron practically savored my name. “I want you in my office at seven, sharp. And bring me coffee. Black.”

  The door closed behind him.

  I nearly tore mine off the hinges.

  Hopefully he felt the slam inside his own penthouse.

  Tonight had been our first battle.

  Monday began the war.

  And I was not about to lose to the Panty King.

  4

  Cameron

  The brat didn’t bring me coff
ee.

  Instead, she slammed a thick binder onto my desk, claimed the seat opposite me, and had the audacity to shush me before I said a word.

  I’d expected nothing less on my first day as CEO of Maxwell Intimates.

  Eight o’clock on the dot—and she’d geared for war.

  And here I’d thought working at Maxwell Intimates would be yet another intellectually stifling waste of half a year. But Mackenza Maxwell proved to be rather…entertaining.

  The executive chair’s worn leather creaked as I leaned back. It had been her father’s seat. She’d said nothing, though the chill in her glare would’ve cast goose bumps onto the devil’s ass.

  Almost made it worth starting the day without caffeine.

  Almost.

  When I didn’t reach for the white plastic binder, Mackenza gritted her teeth and flipped open the cover.

  Maxwell Intimates Business Plan 2020-2021

  I hadn’t anticipated crushing this beautiful girl until at least lunchtime. Seemed only courteous after I’d stolen what she believed to be her rightful job. And while I’d expected some resistance to my leadership, Mackenza had redefined petty annoyances.

  In the ten short minutes I’d overseen the company, she’d taken it upon herself to welcome me to my role with a variety of mild inconveniences.

  First, someone had commandeered my parking spot and designated it as a space for Employee of the Month. Fortunately, this earned me quite the fanfare around the water cooler—not a bad consequence for resolving to take my limo and driver to work every morning.

  Then, upon reaching the building, I discovered my nameplate missing, the locks to my office door changed, and a Rent-A-Cop with an itchy finger over his Taser eager to inform the authorities of my trespassing. An apologetic intervention from a quick-thinking receptionist who happened to be carrying a copy of GQ with my picture on the inside alleviated his concerns about a security risk matching my description.

  And finally, worst of all, I endured a morning of Mackenza Maxwell’s mischief without even a sniff of coffee.

  An easy enough mistake to rectify. I wouldn’t bother with her graphs, bullet-point notes, or proposals until she cooperated.

  I folded my hands in my lap. “I gave you one assignment.”

  Which Mackenza had no problem ignoring.

  She smoothed the wrinkles from her black dress—either a modest attempt at professional attire or a formless blanket she’d decided would appear conservative enough for work. It matched her black tights, black shoes, and black headband tucked within her meticulously straightened hair.

  For someone so involved with the fashion industry, the brat kept a limited wardrobe.

  “This…” She tapped the binder. “Is better than coffee.”

  “Nothing is better than coffee.” I paused. “Except sex. Though both are good for keeping a man up all hours of the night.”

  Mackenza offered a sweet smile. “Speaking from experience?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I bet you couldn’t stop thinking about me last night.”

  “Absolutely—and with all the fondness of a man irritated by the splinter digging into the bottom of his foot.” I smirked. “Still, you might’ve warmed the empty side of my bed.”

  Her laugh twinkled like pure charm. “Such a shame to spend an entire night pining after me. What did you do to entertain yourself during those lonely hours?”

  “I took the opportunity to brush up on how to avoid wrongful termination lawsuits.” I arched an eyebrow. “I also made reservations for two at Ma Belle.”

  “You want me to go to dinner with you?”

  “Dinner. Dancing. The theater.” Surely the woman would be intrigued by something other than ruining my morning. “And then afterward, we hit a café so I can finally get my cup of coffee.”

  “You’re reprehensible.”

  “And irresistible.”

  “No one ever told me that the great Cameron Mitchell had such a sense of humor.”

  “You don’t need to feel guilty for wanting me,” I said.

  Mackenza possessed a beautiful pout. Full-lipped, begging for a kiss she’d forever deny.

  She crossed her arms as if it’d make her intimidating. “The only thing I want is you out of that chair.”

  “And into bed.”

  “Is it that inconceivable that a woman wouldn’t want to sleep with you?”

  “It’s not inconceivable.” I reclined in the chair, making myself comfortable. “But I haven’t found one yet.”

  “Maybe I need to introduce myself again?”

  “Why? The last time we met, you fell into my arms.”

  The brat flipped between composed and thermonuclear in a single heartbeat.

  I should’ve ducked and covered. Instead, I painted the bull’s eye right over my crotch.

  “You are a vile man, Cameron Mitchell,” she growled.

  I wouldn’t have become a billionaire before age twenty-eight if I hadn’t been able to recognize a lie when I heard one.

  “I get it,” I said, dismissing her defiance with a casual wave of my hand. “You’re a strong, independent woman who will deny how badly she needs to be tossed into bed and ravaged by a man turned wild beast. But I have the money, the private jets and yachts, and the rugged good looks. You would’ve wanted me before I decided to buy this nearly bankrupt company.” I smirked. “And to think—I traded a night with you for an office the size of a closet in a building with a failing furnace.”

  Mackenza slammed her palms on the desk, nearly clattering my laptop onto the floor.

  “Maxwell Intimates is not about the building,” she hissed. “It’s about what we produce.”

  “Hypothermic workers?”

  “It’s not that cold!”

  Apparently, I could flirt all I wanted, but to denigrate the company her family built?

  That detonated the warhead.

  Good to know.

  “My receptionist is wearing gloves while answering the phone.” I gestured toward her dress. “And you’re wearing leggings instead of showing off those beautiful thighs.”

  “They’re tights.”

  “It’s fucking cold.”

  “Then make a fire and burn some of your damned money to stay warm.” Mackenza stormed toward the thermostat on the wall, fiddled with the controls, then banged the unresponsive box with a frustrated fist. “It’s just an old building. It only needs a little maintenance.”

  The girl had never picked up a wrench in her life, though she might’ve strapped on a pair of coveralls and marched down to the boiler room just to spite me.

  I’d realized Maxwell Intimates was not a lap of luxury long before my attorneys protested the merger. But I longed for a challenge—something difficult, risky, and potentially disastrous. Salvaging good companies riddled by corrupt management had become monotonous. The same discoveries in the audit, the usual skimming and company-bought diamonds delivered to mistresses.

  A man could only fix so much embezzlement and greed before he grew weary of the business world.

  But Maxwell Intimates was different.

  This was a company struggling because of its own heart and soul, not plagued by corporate dishonesty. No greater challenge existed than saving a company hell bent on destroying itself through its own wholesome values.

  Of course, that meant I’d damned myself to a momentary mediocrity. Gone were my cloud-touching offices in Manhattan’s tallest skyscrapers. Maxwell Intimates had been headquartered in the same converted red-brick factory in Ironfield’s shipping district since 1955. And my office’s window offered me a view unchanged since those golden years—a sprawling abandoned steel mill, obscured by time, rust, and pigeon shit. The rusted water tower on the nearby roof provided a detailed diagram of a sexual act which required not only a great deal of confidence but also flexibility. And behind it all, a river filled with mostly silt wound around the city.

  The office was cold. The desk small. The hallways dim
.

  Even the chair had a wayward spring that did it’s best to corkscrew up my ass. No wonder Reginald had never sat in it.

  Despite his reputation for leading by doing—touring factories, traveling to scout the right materials, visiting vendors—he’d failed his company. Reginald had tried to do everything, but, in the end, he’d done just shy of nothing to fix what was wrong.

  Fortunately, I’d come from far worse than cramped quarters and insultingly limited perks. I’d grown up colder, hungrier, and wishing for a decent pair of shoes instead of a warm cup of black coffee. Slumming it didn’t bother me.

  I’d only hoped that my new assistant would be far more agreeable.

  Mackenza’s cherub smile hid a serpent’s fangs.

  She tapped on her binder with an irritated finger—her nails painted a subdued shade of beige. No more striking gold from the party. Apparently, the brat only lived as close to the edge as she could get without tumbling into a pond.

  “This,” she said, “is a proposal for a partnership.”

  Then it belonged in the shredder.

  “There’s your problem.” I closed the binder and pushed it to her side of the desk. “We aren’t partners. You are my assistant. Do you understand what that job entails?”

  “I can only assume it’s a thoroughly degrading waste of my abilities.”

  And that’s what made it so perfect.

  “It means that, first thing every morning, you are to bring me a cup of coffee,” I said.

  To her credit, Mackenza didn’t leap over the desk. At least the woman possessed some self-control.

  Unfortunately, she had yet to learn when I’d ended a conversation.

  She kept her voice cool—as if she had practiced her little speech all night.

  “I’m asking for five minutes of your time,” she said. “I know how to fix this company.”

  “Then you should’ve spoken with your father before he put me in charge.”

  “You’re only in charge because I didn’t have a chance to convince him that I could handle the responsibility.”

  And they said I was arrogant. “You think one conversation would’ve changed your father’s mind?”

  “I can be very persuasive,” she said.

  “No. You can be very persistent.”