Lucky Prince_A Fake Fiance, Real Royal Wedding Romance

by Eva Luxe

  “Okay, now we can make out!” She reached for me.

  “No, wait…” I pulled out my phone and started pushing buttons.

  “What are you doing?”

  I grinned at her. “Texting Jack, of course!”

  Thank you reading!

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  Yes, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance

  Copyright © 2017 Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Sizzling Hot Reads.

  Chapter 1 – Madilyn

  A shiver runs through me as I step out of the elevator and into the open foyer of the Law Firm of Marks, Sanchez & Reed. It’s not just because the air conditioning is on full blast to combat the dry August heat and overcompensate to the point where the air inside feels chilly. It’s also due to a mixture of excitement and fear that is coursing through my veins.

  And horniness. There’s definitely a little horniness mixed in there and coursing its way through other parts of me as well.

  “Welcome, Ms. St. Clair,” the receptionist says, standing up and coming over to greet me.

  He’s every bit of a proverbial tall, dark and handsome hotty but his perfect hair and impeccable fashion taste— he’s wearing a bespoke suit and tie that puts my carefully chosen skirt suit to shame— signal that he’s gay, damn it.

  “I’m Claude,” he says, with what I swear is a slight French accent, “and I’ll show you to your temporary office.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I shake his hand and begin to follow him. As we pass the receptionist desk I note a framed picture of another man kissing Claude on the cheek. I’m happy for him but sad for me that my suspicions are confirmed.

  It’s not like you could sleep with the receptionist at your brand new job, I think, chiding myself.

  I’m on a mission. I need to have sex.

  But not with anyone at work. I’m not that stupid.

  “Did you say temporary office?” I ask Claude, willing myself back to reality.

  “Yes,” he says, leading me down the spiral staircase. “It’s right this way.”

  “What happened to…”

  I trail off momentarily. I had wanted to say “my office,” but that sounds presumptuous.

  “…the permanent office?” I finish.

  When I’d interviewed here, one of the firm’s named partners, Cameron Sanchez, had showed me an office he said would be mine if I ended up getting the job. It was a large office with an impressive view of the Sandia Mountains and I’d been eagerly awaiting the chance to decorate it and make it my own.

  “You do have an office but that wing is in the process of expansion,” Claude says.

  “Expansion?”

  Am I getting an even bigger office?

  “Under construction,” he says, with an awkward shrug.

  It’s obvious that Claude is just as confused as I am. The poor guy was only assigned to give me the bad news and show me to my “temporary office” and here I am badgering him with questions.

  As we head down to the next floor it also becomes obvious that I’ve been temporarily housed with the paralegals in a cubicle area of a large shared space in the middle of the floor.

  “Here’s your temporary office,” Claude says, and hightails it back upstairs. “Sandy will help you get set up.”

  I wish I could call out after him that it’s not nice to pretend a cubicle is an office and then run away once the truth comes out. But he is so damn cute that I’ll let that one slide.

  A tall blonde woman with frizzy hair says, “Hi, I’m Sandy. Paralegal extraordinaire. Welcome to ‘Cubicle Hell,’ as it’s known around here.”

  “Ha.”

  I half-smile at her, not sure what to say to that that would sound appreciative of her humor yet not sound insulting to the firm. I finally remember to introduce myself.

  “Madilyn St. Clair,” I tell her, shaking her hand warmly, although she doesn’t return my effort very enthusiastically.

  “You’ll just work here until your wing is ready,” she says.

  “And how long will that be?” I ask her.

  She shrugs.

  “No tellin’.”

  We’re in the middle of an area bordering what looks to be a somewhat busy intersection for firm traffic. People pass us by and look at me with curiosity.

  One of the passersby is an overweight guy in a dumpy looking suit who sneers at me and says, “Good luck moving in before Christmas. And welcome to Marks, Sanchez & Reed, where the newest associates are obviously the least priority.”

  “Don’t pay Steven any mind,” Sandy says, rolling her eyes. “He’s a senior associate who’s not going to make partner. He’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

  She walks away without saying goodbye or telling me what I’m supposed to do now. I sit down on the pathetic excuse of a computer chair and try not to look as dejected as I feel.

  Today is supposed to be my fresh start. My bright new beginning.

  I’ve dumped the ex, started a new job and vowed to live a more fulfilling and exciting life. Which includes having sex for the first time ever.

  I try to turn on the computer but it won’t start up no matter how many times I make the attempt. Out of embarrassment, I was trying to ignore the bustling people walking past me but now I realize that no one else even seems to know or care that I exist.

  The first day of my new job is supposed to be the scary and exciting part but as I sit and stare at the obviously defunct computer, it dawns on me that I had no reason to shiver when I first got here. Nothing noteworthy is happening today.

  I can’t believe that just a few minutes ago I arrived for my first day as an associate lawyer, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, ready to learn and eager to please, only to find out that there’s no room for me.

  Sure, I’ve heard rumors about associate life. Every law student does. When you’re a clerk, still in law school but working for the firm over the summer, the partners wine and dine you, anxious for your commitment to work for them if you’re lucky enough to get a permanent offer.

  I’d spent my summer clerkship at a different firm— almost, but not quite as, reputable as Marks. The first law firm had made me an offer to be a permanent associate after graduation, but I worked my ass off during my third year of law school and I’d gotten my GPA up to Marks caliber.

  Even though I’d achieved my goal of getting an associate offer at the best firm in Albuquerque, now I’m wondering if I’d only won some kind of booby prize. The lack of respect sure seems to take a nose dive for those moving from the summer clerk level to the new associate level.

  Someone walks by and dumps a bunch of files on my desk and then says, “Oh, you’re not the new assistant?”

  I look up to see an older woman in horn-rimmed glasses with her hair pulled up into a bun. I blink and realize I recognize her from my interview. It’s Gloria O’Malley, one of the equity partners.

  I stand up, flattered that she’s talking to me.

  “Ms. O’Malley, I’m the new associate lawyer—“

  “Oh, I was looking for the new assistant,” she says, barely looking down her nose at me. “I think her name is Melinda, which caused some confusion. When she gets here, ask her to start sorting these files alphabetically, will you?”

  She walks off in the same direction that Sandy had, leaving me to stare in disbelief at the mountain of files discarded on my desk.

  Wow.

  So this is how it works now.

  I guess this is my introduction to life as a law firm associate. And apparently I have a lot to learn— even if it’s how to be ignored and do nothing all morning.

  Chapter 2 – Madilyn

  For t
he past hour I’ve been in my new cubicle, trying to learn about the law firm’s client file server and “brief bank.”

  Mike, the IT guy, had set me up with a new computer after I’d discovered the one I had been given didn’t work. Then he showed me the brief bank file and told me it’s a repository for templates other partners and associates had worked on, and that I’m expected to use it to write motions and other pleadings. I was happy to learn something of value.

  Then Mike ran off to solve the latest technological crisis that a much more experienced partner was undergoing. There’s definitely a pecking order around here.

  Suddenly, my cell phone rings.

  Damn you, Jimmy.

  My very recent ex-boyfriend knows better than to call me on my first day of work. And my desire to avoid relationship drama was the main reason I’d broken up with him before the start of my new job.

  I’m reminded again that nothing is going right today. But then again, I wonder, what else should I expect?

  It’s only my first day on the job, or I could say it’s only my first day at my new career. Or if I really want to rub it in, I could say it’s only the first day of the rest of my life for which I’d been carefully planning since I was about twelve years old.

  I rush to hit “ignore” on my phone, but not before someone walks by and says “Ahem.”

  I look up to see the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on frowning down at me. He has sandy brown hair that hangs over his ears. Hazel eyes that are still sexy even though they are shooting me a very disapproving look. And tall, broad shoulders and a matching chest that make me want to lay my head down on it and ask him to make this crazy day stop.

  He’s quite a bit older than my normal tastes would gravitate towards— he looks old enough to be my father. But that, like everything else about him, suddenly seems surprisingly sexy.

  I remind myself that I’ve thrown my old tastes out the window. My old tastes landed me wasted years stuck in Inertia Hell with Jimmy (which is even worse than being in Cubicle Hell by myself). My new tastes land me in Fantasy Heaven with this Mystery Man, whoever he is.

  “I’m sorry,” I quickly tell him.

  “Cell phones are not allowed in this area,” he says, with a stern voice that makes me immediately want to say yes sir.

  So I do.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I have no idea why I say it other than as a natural reaction to his authoritative tone, because from the looks of things I don’t even think he’s a lawyer. He’s wearing khakis and an Oxford button-down shirt but it’s slightly open and I wish I could unbutton the rest of it.

  He looks both rugged and serene, like he just got done going for an easy jog around the block or perhaps flying a kite on a faraway beach. He looks out of place, yet confident in looking out of place. And he makes me want to be in that same place with him.

  “No need to be sorry, just don’t let it happen again,” he says. “You are free to step out to make calls at your leisure but this area is not for chit chatting on cell phones.”

  “Yes Sir,” I say again.

  He raises his eyebrows at me, as if pleased to hear my answer.

  “Sir, I’m—” I start to stand up and introduce myself properly, but just like everyone else who has been in here today, he is already walking away.

  Except he didn’t even tell me his name.

  I know that my two goals of having sex for the first time and doing well at my new career mean that I can’t sleep with anyone from work. Like everyone else in the world, I must maintain a professional boundary that forbids me from jumping into bed with co-workers. But as I stare at Mystery Man’s well-toned ass as he walks away from me, I can’t help wishing I could find some loophole to that universal rule.

  Chapter 3 – Madilyn

  Just as soon as the handsome, mysterious, authoritative stranger walks away, my phone starts ringing again.

  Shit.

  I can’t believe this is happening, right after Mystery Man had just told me that no personal calls are allowed here in Cubicle Hell. Luckily, I had managed to switch my phone’s volume setting to vibrate but it still sounds very loud.

  I quickly hit “ignore” again, hoping to see if Mystery Man has come back— even if it’s just to look disappointed in me again— but I see that he hasn’t. I don’t know whether to be sad about that or happy that he left so quickly that he couldn’t find out I’m already getting another call so soon after he reprimanded me.

  Mostly, I’m relieved he’s gone before the relationship drama I thought I had dealt with at home followed me to work. I had made it my goal to break up with Jimmy before I started working here and I’d done my best to accomplish that goal.

  I’d tried to break things to him nicely.

  Yesterday I’d told him, “Look, it’s just not working.”

  It was an understatement, to say the least. Some of my friends have wondered out loud how I made it to the age of twenty-three as a virgin while dating someone in an on again, off again relationship for three years. To make the situation even crazier, Jimmy and I had even started living together without sleeping together. And of course everyone always wants to know how we pulled that one off.

  I always tell them that it just didn’t feel right to me, implying that the timing was off or that we were waiting for marriage. But that’s because the real reason is so much more embarrassing: Jimmy just never seemed that into the idea of having sex with me. We would fool around and I would push for more or suggest it and he would say he had a headache or was stressed from his job as associate store manager. Meanwhile I was working my ass off in law school and as a law clerk and I began to crave sexual release that he never seemed to want to give me.

  I thought that if I invited him to live with me in the townhouse I was renting that the proximity of being near each other and the seriousness of the relationship would make it more natural for us to start having sex. But instead the opposite happened: I think I made him feel claustrophobic, as if I was putting too much pressure on him.

  I began to feel stupid practically begging him to have sex with me when he always resisted my advances. I wondered if he was gay or asexual but he watched porn featuring women and straight couples. So I began to feel that the problem was that he just wasn’t that into me or for some reason he lacked the ability to have sexual intimacy with a real life partner.

  We had even gone to couples’ counseling. Who does that when they’re not married, engaged, or even having sex? Mary, our round faced, curly haired counselor who reminded me of a Cabbage Patch Doll had told us we were living more like brother and sister than like a couple and she urged us to consider progressing into a “satisfying sexual relationship.”

  She assigned us homework from a book called Hot Monogamy for Dummies that instructed us to write out our perfect sexual fantasy with our partner.

  I’d spent over an hour describing mine. The essence of it was this:

  I’ll come home from work and he’ll rip off my clothes and fuck me hard and fast on top of the kitchen table, as if he can’t even stand to waste another minute without being inside me.

  I’ll say, “Don’t be so rough,” and then I’ll say, “Just kidding, keep being as rough as you want.”

  He’ll turn me over and tie my hands to the kitchen chair so he can spread my legs, grab my ass, and fuck me from behind.

  We’ll come together, his warm, juicy liquid filling me up and dripping out of my wet pussy onto the table after he takes his cock out of me…

  Imagine my surprise when we arrived at our next session and I saw Jimmy’s description of his perfect sexual fantasy with me:

  It’s late and we get into bed to cuddle. The lights are off and there’s slow music playing. I kiss her and then insert a finger into her and then we have sex. Then we fall asleep.

  That was it. That was the entirety of the best vision of our sex life that Jimmy could dream up and write down.

  And that’s when it dawned on me that t
hings were never going to change. We’ve been together off and on for three years but we’d never even had sex, and our fantasies of sex we wanted to have with each other hadn’t even matched up.

  I had told my sister about couples’ counseling and about how shocked Jimmy had looked about my sexual fantasy.

  “At first we both wanted to save ourselves for marriage but now it’s like, how can I marry someone when I don’t even know if the sex will be any good?”

  “I think he has some weird sort of virgin/ whore mentality going on,” my sister had replied, diagnosing not only Jimmy but also the state of our relationship more honestly and accurately one minute after hearing about that session than Mary had been able to do after months of couples’ counseling. “I just think he isn’t able to see you as anything other than his white dress-wearing future bride.”

  “He’s never going to be able to defile me the way that I’ve come to realize I need to be defiled,” I’d admitted to her.

  “You should just jump his bones,” she’d said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t protest.”

  “He might,” I’d told her. “Just like the look on his face showed me he was protesting against my perfect sex fantasy.”

  To be honest, I didn’t even want to have sex with him anymore. That’s when I’d decided to break up with him for good and lose my virginity to someone else. Someone whose fantasies and real-life tastes might be more in tune with my own.

  And that’s when I’d gone on this mission to lose my virginity to the right person. Or at least a person who will know how to take it from me the right way.

  I have a feeling that Mystery Man could be that person. Except that we shouldn’t—we can’t— because we work together. Damn it. Just my bad luck.

  Chapter 4 – Madilyn

  All this time spent living in an unsatisfactory sexual relationship has taken its toll. I’ve wanted to call it off for a long time, and last night was my chance. It was yet another sexless, boring day, when Jimmy had told me after dinner that he was going to “hit the sack” early. (That was his phrase— not mine. Sometimes he talks like an old man. And he even insisted on sleeping in the guest bedroom because he didn’t want to “soil” our future marriage bed.)