by Lindsey Hart
Mr. Hired Boss
Alphalicious Billionaires Boss
Lindsey Hart
CONTENTS
CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
BOOK DESCRIPTION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
EPILOGUE
ALPHALICIOUS BILLIONAIRES BOX SET 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR’S NOTE
COPYRIGHT
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email without permission in writing from the publisher. While all attempts and efforts have been made to verify the information held within this publication, neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for errors, omissions, or opposing interpretations of the content herein. The book is for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed are those of the author alone and should not be taken as expert instruction or commands.
Copyright © Passion House Publishing Ltd 2021
All rights reserved.
Edits by Charmaine Tan. Cover by Cosmic Letterz.
You can contact the author, Lindsey Hart at:
[email protected]
BOOK DESCRIPTION
When I end up bringing the wrong guy home to mummy and daddy...
#FML
I met him right when I swore men off forever.
And proposed to him right there and then.
Pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend.
And walk away with a bundle of cash.
It was the perfect plan with the perfect man.
He was Greek God Level Gorgeous and absolutely charming.
Plus what made him the one... he was gay.
That would equal zero drama,
And zero worries about sharing my bed with a stranger.
See what I mean by all-round perfect.
The absolute perfect guy to bring home to my parents for my sister’s wedding,
And thwart their crazy plans of getting me hooked up with someone else.
Except... my fake boyfriend does not feel so fake anymore.
His hot gazes are weak-knees triggers.
His every touch is total dynamite.
And his kisses... they are explosive.
It's not supposed to go like that.
This is most definitely not what I hired him to do!
CHAPTER 1
Pearl
“This is wrong. Wrong in just about every single way that wrong could be defined or spelled.”
“I didn’t know wrong could be spelled any other way, so technically it’s just wrong in one way.”
“Yeah. The only way that counts,” I huff as I sink a little lower in the passenger seat.
Currently, I’m seriously effed. It’s a freaking effing eff I got my own self into.
“It was my idea, but you were all for it.” Dean flashes me his best and most convincing you’re-not-as-screwed-as-you-think-you-are grin. And it looks pretty good on Dean.
I relax just half a degree, but it doesn’t stop me from slithering down a few more inches on my leather seat. I’m wearing a pretty short dress, I’m sweating because Dean hates AC, and I’m seriously nervous. Like seriously. And my ass is also kind of sticking to the seat.
Yes, I’ve let Dean talk me into some pretty stupid shit over the years. We’ve been best friends since we were in diapers. Technically, I guess since birth, but I can’t remember that far back. Our parents were friends long before that, so I guess it was fate. Or destiny. As a little girl, I thought I’d marry Dean one day. My childish hopes and dreams were shattered when I was fourteen, and Dean came out to his parents. He actually told me first. It broke my heart a little because Dean is seriously amazing. He’s probably the best person I know. It drives me crazy that he’s been so unlucky in love. He’s had his heart broken a million times, and as someone who once had a crush on him, is his best friend, and also like a sister to him, it breaks my heart every single time.
I keep telling him that he should just fly solo for a while. Get his bearings. Do the things he wants to do. AKA, just like me. He keeps telling me that going without sex for two years isn’t exactly appealing, and he doesn’t do casual. Not that I do casual. I don’t. I’ve just been burned one too many times, and after the last time when I caught my ex banging not one but two girls in my own freaking bed, that was that. I swore off men indefinitely.
Which has turned into two years, one month, and twenty-two days. Yes, I still remember exactly what day I caught Billy having a ménage a trois in my bed. I should have burned those sheets. Throwing them out just wasn’t good enough, but I did give the mattress away for free the next day. Even though I gave a prior warning about the bad voodoo that was sure to accompany it, someone still came and picked it up. I hope they had better luck with it than I did.
“Hey. Come on. We talked about this. We’re almost there. Please tell me you’re not going to bail on me before we even take a look around and talk to a few people.”
I can tell Dean is worried, but even with his brow scrunched up and lips pulled tight, he’s gorgeous. He’s a seriously attractive guy. Jacked. Athletic. Muscly. But in a streamlined kind of way. He also has dark hair, dark eyes, and a lethal smile. Not only that, but he’s six feet something, always well dressed, and has looks that could slay just about anyone.
And they do. I’ve watched it happen. Somehow, no matter how many times things don’t work out for Dean, he doesn’t get discouraged. I have to give him props for not getting bitter about love.
“I just wish you had a friend who would agree to do this,” I groan.
“Wouldn’t work. Your parents and my parents know all of my friends. My parents are going to the wedding. They’d spill for sure. You have to find someone who has no ties to either of us.” He gives me a sympathetic look. “Just hang in there. You’re good. You’ve got this. We’ve got this.”
This being the plan that I’m coming to regret more and more.
My twenty-six-year-old sister, Susan, who is two years younger than me, is getting married in a week. And I happen to be her maid of honor. I’m happy for her. Really. She’s marrying a great guy, and they’re going to have a good life and make beautiful babies and everything. The only thing is, I have to go back home to Sisston, which is a small town two hours from Seattle. It’s where we all grew up—me, Dean, and Susan.
She’s getting married in our parent’s backyard because she’s sappy and traditional like that, which I think is actually super sweet. We have parents who are still so in love—thirty years after they got married—it’s sickening. Parents who worry about me constantly. Parents who don’t think flying solo and being an independent woman is the way one should live one’s life.
Ever since the Billy thing, they’ve been pestering me about finding someone and settling down. It’s constant. Every single time she calls, Mom asks me if I’ve met a nice young man yet. She calls me every other day, at least. Sometimes she texts just to “check-in” and asks me if I’ve gone on any dates since she last asked the day before. Like it happens by magic. Even Dad gets in on it once in a while. He supports Mom in her worrying, at the very least. I don’t know if they’re worried I’m going to implode if I hit thirty and am still single, or if they’re not so sure about my ovaries (they haven’t made it a secret that they’re desperate for some grandkids to love on), or something.
But it’s bad. It’s really, really bad.
Susan’s wedding has only made things worse. Nothing like a wedding to cause a person to think about their own romantic story. Or dwell on how their said daughter is still currently devoid of one.
I know when I go back home in a couple of days, it’s going to be endless hounding, and I just can’t take it. Dean, who knows my parents well and me even better, politely suggested that I’d save myself a ton of trouble if I just paid someone to pretend to date me for the few days I’m there for the wedding, to give my parents some hope. Once they saw I was good, they could move on to thinking about the wedding. It would be a hassle-free four days, and my sister wouldn’t be pissed at me for stealing some of her limelight by making my parents worry about my singlehood. Everything would be great.
Dean pulls up in a huge parking lot behind an even bigger brick building. The thing sprawls out on a corner lot and goes up a few stories. I’ve been here a few times as Dean’s sort of wingman. This bar is one of the most popular in Seattle. The fact that it’s a gay bar doesn’t deter me at all from having a good time. It’s actually way more fun, being single and straight, to go to a gay bar instead of hitting a regular club. As soon as I say I’m actually not gay or that I’m happy single, I get left alone.
And there aren’t any guys coming up and smacking my ass or grabbing other inappropriate parts of me. It’s really, really nice. The place is nice too. It’s all brick on the outside and ancient-looking since I think it was an old factory at one time, but the inside is super modern, super clean, and features two floors. One is more mellow, for people who just want to hang out and have more of a lounge-type feel, while the lower part has the typical dance floor, multiple bars, and booths on one end type of deal.
“We’re here,” Dean states the obvious as he parks his car. “Get your game face on. We are going to rock this.”
“You have to do most of the work.” My voice comes out wobbly and barely more than a frightened whisper. “I mean, talk to people. You’re not shy like me, and this is a hundred times worse.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you out. Don’t I always help you out?”
“I’m not so sure, given that this was your idea, and now I’m having some serious regrets.”
“Hey.” Dean places a comforting hand on my shoulder. Somehow, he’s not even the least bit clammy, even though I feel drenched in sweat. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. I always have your back.”
“I know.” I do know. I don’t doubt Dean’s love and care for me. I never had a brother, but Dean goes above and beyond that. He might have got me into some seriously dumb shit in the past, but he’s also bailed me out more times than I can count.
“This isn’t any different. And what guy wouldn’t want two thousand dollars for like four days of doing nothing?”
“Uh, plenty. It’s not a whole lot of money.” Even though it was all that I could spare at the moment.
“I’ll pitch in some if I have to,” Dean assures me.
I sigh so hard that my lungs nearly give way. “I don’t want you to have to do that. This is my problem, not yours.”
“Your problems are always my problems. I love you; you know that. I want you to be happy. I know your parents are hard on you, and I know you’re tired of it. I know you just want to be left alone, but you can’t actually force them to leave you alone because you love them too much, and you’re too sweet to tell them to stop badgering you about getting laid, married, and popping out kids left and right.”
“Thanks.” The dry tone in my voice rivals dry ice. Or gin. Overcooked meat, maybe? Something dry, at any rate.
“Well, that’s how it goes, but anyway, don’t worry. We’ll find someone. You’ll go to your sister’s wedding. I’ll go to your sister’s wedding. Everyone will go. You’ll rock it, and I’ll have your back at the wedding. But for now, we’ll find a nice guy who wants to make two grand doing nothing, and your parents will stop hassling you for at least a few months since you won’t have to put in an appearance until then, and when it happens, you can say you broke up. It buys you a good chunk of time.”
“Yes, but I have to lie to everyone. I’m not a good liar.”
“You’re a great liar. You’re an interior designer. You lie all the time.”
“Sugarcoating the truth for people about the current state of their houses isn’t a lie. It’s a way to actually help them bring things up to par.”
“Same difference.”
I roll my eyes. Despite everything, I do feel slightly better. The very least that could happen is this plan backfires, we don’t find someone, and I go home and put up with an insane amount of worry, questions, and nagging from my parents. Oh, and my sister being mildly annoyed at me for stealing her spotlight on the parents' front. I really, really don’t want to do that to Susan. She already holds it against me that I got to be named after our favorite grandma while she had to be named after the great aunt she ended up detesting because the great aunt was mean and hated everyone under the age of eighty.
My dad’s mom is named Brunhilda, and he said that no matter how much he loves his mom, he wasn’t giving any of his daughters her name. Even his mom hates her name. But Grandma Bruny is a great lady, and I would have gladly taken her name if given a choice. She’s funny, and she pokes fun at herself all the time, at least where her name is concerned. She still jokes about all the funny nicknames people gave her over the years, even though some of them were downright mean.
“So? You ready to do this?” Dean, being Dean, hurtles out of the car before I can respond. He’s not going to give me a chance to say I’m not. Or back out.
In a week, my sister might be saying for better or for worse, but tonight, I feel like it’s my motto. Except this plan is probably for worse or for worse.
I take a deep breath, open my door, and peel my sassy ass off the slightly slick leather. I guess if this counts as ready, I’m all in.
CHAPTER 2
Gabriel
This isn’t my scene. And no, not because I’m not gay. I’m here because my brother dragged me out. He says I don’t have any fun, and he’s right. At least when it comes to nightlife and dating and whatnot. I’ve never liked clubs or bars. As for dating, when I have a few billion dollars tied up in companies, stocks, shares, investments, and such, I have to be careful. Not that many people know who I actually am. I’ll much rather stay under the radar than show off my wealth. And to most people, I just look like the typical nine-to-five, corporate, suit-wearing guy.
However, get close to someone, and they start to figure things out. It’s happened once. I paid, literally, for that mistake. Since then, I’ve kept things low key. I’m single and happy not to mingle. Have fun? I can have fun. It’s called math. Math is fun. Math can be tons of fun. Coding. Software. It’s how I have my fun. It might also be how I made a freak ton of money a couple of years ago, selling programs to a few big names out there, but same difference, right?
You know how it goes. If it makes you happy, you should go for it.
What does not make me happy is pretending I’m having a good time. Sebastien knows me better than I know myself, so he can tell I’m edgy. That I’ve been edgy since he told me he was dragging me out of my house because I’m alone too much, and it’s not healthy. He wants me to meet someone, have
some fun. Just for the night. He says there are lots of single women who aren’t gay who do still go to gay bars.
He probably just wanted a DD since I hate having more than a casual beer here and there. I never did like the taste. Might have something to do with the fact that our father was a raging alcoholic who liked to beat the shit out of my mom before he did us all a favor and left for good when I was four. Still, those four years imprinted themselves on me in a big way. Thank god Sebastien wasn’t born then. After my real dad left, my mom worked hard to provide for us. She ended up working at a diner as a waitress, and she met the cook there. Ted is a good guy. He didn’t just fall in love with my mom. He fell in love with me too. He might officially be my stepdad on the books, but I don’t think of him that way. To me, he’s just dad, and as for Sebastien, we’re close-knit brothers even if we don’t share the same father.
“Hey, I know you think I just want you to drive my drunk ass home, but that’s not why I dragged you out. Seriously. You have no fun, and your eyes are going to pop out of your head if you keep staring at computers all day. You’re thirty-two. It’s time you do some actual living. Have fun just for a night.”
“And make sure you get home safe and sound and don’t take anyone inappropriate back?”
“Define inappropriate.”
I roll my eyes. Sebastien is six years younger than me, and he’s far from ready to settle down. He goes out fairly regularly, and he has dated, or I guess I should say, had a few one-night stands where the guys were questionable at best. He’s actually had shit stolen from his house. One time, it was just the cash out of his wallet. The other time, it was his whole wallet. And a few times, it was random shit like DVDs or a fucking game console. Who steals a game console? There was one guy who refused to leave after Sebastien sobered up and decided he wasn’t in the mood, and he had to lock himself in the bathroom and call the cops when the guy got violent about it. My brother is an adult, certainly, but I do feel, as the older brother, that I should protect him. When I hear those stories, it makes me furious. Furious that people used my brother. Stole from him. Threatened to hurt him. Seriously. Who the fuck does that?
