Bossy Billionaire: A Steamy Older Man Romance

by Mia Madison

  Bossy Billionaire

  A Steamy Older Man Romance

  by

  Mia Madison

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.

  Copyright © 2017 Mia Madison. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

  Version 2017.2.28

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Bossy Billionaire

  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

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Bossy Billionaire

  Chapter One

  Jolie

  A loud squeal of a car horn half shatters my eardrums.

  “Okay, okay. Calm down. It's just a traffic light.”

  Christ, why are people so manic the second you get into the city? I guess when you drive in from a town called Starry Creek, there's bound to be a noticeable difference in temperament. But still, take a chill pill, people.

  I'm feeling a little tense myself and not only from driving in the city when I only ever take transit. This is my first actual event at my new job and I need to make it good. Great, even. My boss hired two new assistants and has let it be known in not too subtle terms that he doesn’t actually need both of us.

  “You're both so gorgeous, I can't decide between you,” he lined me up shoulder to shoulder with Sierra on our first day, like the final contestants at Miss Universe.

  “All we needed was the sash,” I muttered to her, after he strode away to his office in the back of the gallery. She gave me a haughty stare like we really were about to go ten rounds in the bitchiness stakes, before cracking a huge smile.

  “And from the way he was staring at our boobs, it was like he was trying to read the name of the State we're representing.”

  “To think I spent four years studying art history to be eyefucked every morning.”

  “Could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “Oh, I don't know. At least we have the job we want and aren't flipping burgers.”

  “Euw. I'm a poke kind of girl.”

  “Pokay?”

  “Hmmm. Hawaiian raw fish.”

  “Oh, I thought you meant something else.” I kept my face relaxed with a forced attempt at not screwing up my nose. But I couldn’t help imagining a bowl filled with tiny wriggling fish like the pedicure places I'd passed where the fish were dining on human toes.

  “Come on, you. Let's get these invites sent. Then I've got some rich guy coming in for a bait.”

  I smile, thinking of how Sierra treats every art sale as a personal conquest. A battle of wills to be fought and won with the billionaire clients whose houses we adorn with modern art.

  Out of the corner of my eye, a blue flash as a bus pulls out without the driver bothering to look down on my little car.

  A sharp veer on the steering wheel. Another car to my left. Too close. Way too close. Colors whirl in front of my eyes. A flash of a pile up in my imagination. My foot hits the brake. An instant too late. My chest goes forward as my head flies back. Then forward.

  Ouch.

  The jolt makes me feel like my insides made an attempt to escape my body and landed against a fence in a harsh rebound. Once they've somewhat settled back down into their normal position, aside from my neck which is sore, I survey the damage on the Avenue around me.

  Oh shit.

  The blond model on the back of the bus, is grinning her super white smile from the mouthwash billboard as she disappears in the distance. I missed slamming into the bus but to my left, my fender is entangled with a car that Batman wouldn't kick out of the cave.

  And the driver has emerged from his seat and is walking around toward my side. All I see is a dark suit and a rather flashy designer tie in my rear view mirror.

  Jesus Christ, if he hadn't been so close, my brother's car wouldn't be a heap of crushed metal. Damn idiot. My heart is pounding a military tattoo as I unlatch the door and climb out.

  “What the -?”

  The pounding soars to a crescendo that lands in my throat when I take in the hunk from the car that crashed into me. He looks like he stepped down from Mount Olympus – you know where all the Greek Gods hang out. He must be a model, driving a car like that and with a face that perfectly chiseled he ought to be hanging on the wall at the gallery.

  I reel my eyeballs back in from stretching out on stalks after noticing the flexing tautness beneath the fine white shirt. The guy is ripped and no mistake. The kind of ripped that hangs out in perfume ads shot on Italian beaches. The kind of ripped that has a massive swell in the jocks that I absolutely must not linger on.

  “First day with the new license?” he says, his grin turning up in a delicious crumple of flexible firm lips. No, don't think about his lips.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You were driving like you were coming from your test,” he quips with a look that's pure cocksure arrogance.

  Who does he think he is, just because he's driving something that belong on a race track?

  “I was driving just fine. You clearly believe Fifth Avenue is a Formula 1 circuit though.”

  “Do you like Grand Prix?”

  “What? No. I'm saying you were way too close, driving like an idiot,” I snap.

  The adrenalin is still pulsing too fast through my veins. I'm pissed at the smug rich guy talking down to the young girl. I'm not that young and I definitely didn't just pass my test, even if I have only ever driven my mom's or my older brother's cars around Starry Creek. He doesn't need to know that.

  “I think you'll find it was you slammed into me when you got spooked by the bus.”

  “You were too close. You were almost in my lane.”

  “You can't blame me for wanting to get a better look.”

  “At what? At....What?” I stutter, confounded when I realize he means me.

  He was edging up beside me to get a look at me. And slammed into my brother's car, the asshat. Dan's going to be furious when he sees the damage. At least I can fix it before that but the insurance is going to skyrocket with the repairs on the arrogant scumbag's superhero vehicle. Why is he grinning like a deranged man on crack?

  “You think it's funny to cause accidents just so you can gawp at women?”

  “Babe, it wasn't me that veered away from a public transit vehicle and slammed headlong into a MacLaren.”r />
  “It wasn't - A what?”

  “A Maclaren. It's a concept car, not yet on the market.”

  “Oh, my god,” I groan.

  “Don't worry, you don't have to give me your insurance details.”

  “Really?” I snip.

  I'm about to say I want his. Seeing as he's at fault and someone has to pay for the repairs to my Brother's car. But my mouth drops open at his next statement before I get the chance

  “Just your phone number.”

  “My phone number? Instead of swapping insurance information?”

  “Seems like a good deal,” he says, that smile turning up so wide I want to smack him. He thinks I need to sell myself to him because he's got all the money and power.

  “For you maybe.”

  “Can I buy you a coffee?” he adds, so confident he ought to be leading workshops in self-esteem – for sociopaths.

  “What? No.”

  “You're right, it's happy hour. A drink?”

  “No. I'm on my way to work. And don't think you can buy me.”

  No, not you. Not yet at least. Just the cocktail for now.”

  My mouth works itself open and shut as I struggle to find the words to tell him what a cocky arrogant douche he really is. In the end I settle for a simple one word response.

  “Asshat.”

  “Does that mean yes?” he asks without missing a beat or losing an inch off that smile. “I'll take that as a yes.”

  Chapter TWO

  Brand

  I thought I had to be hallucinating when I saw the sexy angel maneuvering her little car through downtown rush hour traffic. The way she worked her bottom lip as she writhed in and out of shifting vehicles was somehow beguiling. Her sheet of red hair made a blazing curtain of fire in the side window. I had to get a little closer and see more of her. It never occurred to me to run her off the road like she's implying I tried so as to stage a meeting. But if it had done, now that I see her face to face, I wouldn’t have thought twice.

  A flicker of heat stirs my cock in my pants. And then another one deep in my torso. Something I haven't felt for a while, even more powerful than the urge to be buried inside her. More powerful that the desire to see her held tight and shivering at my will.

  It seemed like miraculous intervention when she span the wheel too hard and rammed into the side of me. Like we were meant to meet. And destiny chose well because this girl is stunning beyond belief. When she unfolded herself from the driver's seat and rose up to face me, it was like a mermaid rising from the ocean, a mythical, ethereal creature that took my breath away. Her body a sensual curve from neck to toe and a face I'd be glad to stare at on my pillow any night of the week. If I did pillows that is.

  I was expecting blue or green eyes to go with the hair that hangs like a flame across her shoulder. Instead, they're dark honey and glinting with the fury she's firing out at me.

  The collision wasn’t serious but thank Christ not a single bit of her perfect body is damaged. Because I intend to do some pretty serious things with it myself. As soon as I've convinced her to join me.

  “Are you insane? No, I wont have coffee with you,” she fires out, her cheeks a perfect pink. The same hue her ass will be once I get through with it.

  “Dinner then?”

  “No.”

  “You have no idea how that word gets me fired up,” I advise her. Just so she knows where this is going.

  “Oh, I can imagine. A guy like you wants what he can't have.”

  “Do you know many guys like me?”

  “I know your type,” she lashes right back.

  Fuck, this woman has some feist beneath that luscious skin. I can only imagine how velvety it would feel under my palm as I stroked across every part of her, starting from the ankle, over the swell of her calf, behind her knee, all the way up her inner thighs.

  Right now I'm imagining it and believe me I don’t do that with every woman I bump into. But this girl isn’t only a stunner with a body built to take a man all the way in, she's smart and she clearly likes to stand up for herself. Absolutely intoxicating. I'm in so much trouble but nowhere near as much as she is.

  “Don't worry, I'm not going to charge you for the damage. Or your insurance,” I tell her and that only seems to charge her static more.

  “Oh, but in return I have to go out with you and you'll no doubt inflict harsher penalties on me then.”

  She can't even imagine the punishments I'd love to put her through. She isn't a submissive type. I can sense a woman who wants to feel my domination the instant I set eyes on her but they never hold any interest for me. I like a sweet one with determination at her core.

  “You really do judge me. I'm offering to let you off the hook.”

  “It's you that's on the hook and your insurance that's going to go through the roof.”

  Our eyes swivel in unison to the car she's driving, a little Toyota that I could replace with today's lunch money. I let her have a smirk, just for the hell of it. If she wants to believe I'm a total asshat, who am I to force her to believe any different. That would be trying too hard.

  She's really worked up a tiff now though, pulling her wallet out of her purse. She hands me her license then she cocks one knee on the drivers seat and leans into the car to search in the glove-box for her insurance policy. I'm completely distracted from learning her name on the card in my hand, by the exquisite curve of her ass as she bends over.

  Down you bastard.

  My dick is out of control just imagining those plump soft cheeks bared. I have to see this girl again. Whatever it takes I need to see more of her. All the most delectable parts especially. She pulls back out of the car and catches me giving her the once over. Her beautiful almond eyes slit almost shut as she glares at me with full-on loathing.

  Fuck, this is going to be one hell of an uphill trek. A battle I'm going to relish.

  “Jolie Jamison from Starry Creek?” I read off her license. “Is there really a town called Starry Creek or have you landed out of a fairy tale? Because that would explain the driving.”

  “You could just say I'm the wicked witch of your worst nightmares.”

  “Then I'll be sure to check under my bed to see if you're waiting to eat me up,” I say with a shit-eating grin she doesn't buy.

  She rolls her eyes, determined not to engage in some flirty nonsense that I'm sure is the prelude to something huge. Instead, she snatches the license from my hand to scrawl the numbers from that and the policy across a scrap of paper.

  “Didn't you forget something?” I say, as she slaps it into my hand.

  “What's that?”

  “Your phone number. In case of any urgent queries.”

  “Forget it,” she snarls. “This is going strictly by the book through our insurance companies. You were clearly at fault. I'm sure you have enough coverage for your boy toy over there. Or does Daddy pick up the bill?”

  “I'm flattered that you think me young enough to require my old man's help. But no, I take care of the family's bills.”

  “Good. I trust you to get in touch. I have your license plate memorized just in case you decide to skip out on me.”

  “You can trust me, I'm good for a Toyota or two.”

  She starts the engine and puts the gear in reverse. Before I can stop her, she floors the gas and backs up, tearing the paint job from the MacLaren with an agonizing crunch of metal.

  Damn.

  Oh well, she was a hundred per cent worth it.

  She takes off up the Avenue and I'm left standing in the middle of the street, shaking my head in amazement with traffic veering around me and the MacLaren on both sides.

  “That is one hell of a chica.”

  Chapter THREE

  Jolie

  After circling every block in a ten block radius, I'm late. And still fuming over how outrageously smug that rich dude threw out. There's no choice but to drive inside a lot and pay the jockey the fee that's more than the rent on my studio apartment.


  Forty seven dollars to park until midnight. And not a second after or my lemon turns into a pumpkin and bills me another full twenty four hours. Oh god, I wish I could stop stressing about money. Or lack of it. What was I thinking wanting to work in the art world where the pay is a pittance? Aside from my passion for creative genius, the glamor of openings and exhibitions played a large part.

  I've yet to be in on any glittering events since starting at Bentley Gallery. Cedric Bentley, the owner and my boss, did tell me to join him with Sierra at a party on a yacht but I cried off saying my brother was home on a very short leave and I needed to go up to Starry Creek for a visit.

  “We can allow you a furlough this once, I guess,” Cedric allowed, with a ton of magnanimity oozing from his arrogant pores. “Be sure to thank him for his service.”

  “Thank you I will.”

  What thanks did he get from me? A smashed up fender for lending his kid sister his car so she could make it back into the city when a tree came down on the train tracks and they decided tomorrow would be soon enough to get it moved.

  “It's not like I'm gonna need it,” he said, giving me a big bear hug.

  I held onto him like I'd never let him go. I had to put a positive smile on my face when all I really wanted was to beg him to stay. And if not that, to please be careful, to not do anything heroic and just come back alive.

  “Sorry I'm late, I got into a fender bender with a douchebag.”

  I join Sierra in the servery to supervise the chill of the champagne and the perfection of the amuses bouches, nothing as low class as canapes for Cedric Bentley.

  “How was the party last night?”

  “Fine.” she says with a bored look.

  “Just fine? Like it's every day you get to hang out on a fancy yacht?”

  “Just fine.”

  “Okay, then.”

  I'm getting the distinct vibe that this shouldn't be explored.

  “Is Cedric here yet?”

  “He's in his office but there's some big wig billionaire with him, so don't worry, he didn't notice you were late.”

  “Oh great. I really need this job now. Even more, after dinging my brother's car. I have to make sure it's perfect for him when he gets back.”