Boss Hottie

by Hart, Alexa

  Boss Hottie

  Alexa Hart

  Copyright © 2019 Alexa Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other

  electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical

  reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, foreign and subsidiary rights, contact the author or her representative

  via alexa@alexahartbooks.com

  Passion Pique Publishing

  United States

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are

  sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or

  locales are completely coincidental.

  Digital Edition

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  Contents

  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 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  Also by Alexa Hart

  This book is dedicated to all the hopeless romantics. To the beautiful lovers out there who just want love, plain and simple. Love… wrapped in a delicious, hard as nails, muscle-clad package that will make you forget your own name… plain and simple.

  - ALEXA HART

  Chapter 1

  Sophia

  Here’s the thing law school doesn’t teach you about being a female lawyer: the majority of the time, your superiors want one of two things – to steal your ideas, or to look down your top while you’re giving them the ideas they will later steal. At Carter and Jackson LLC, things are no different; I graduated top of my class at Columbia Law, and still, here I stand in the brightly lit associate lounge making coffee for a nondescript and unenthusiastic senior partner.

  “Hey Soph, afternoon blues?” The sweet voice of my favorite colleague, Maya, pulls my attention from the too-many options on the office Keurig. She is gesturing to my mug.

  “It’s for Aaron,” I sigh, stirring in cream until the liquid turns a perfect almond-brown. Maya nods knowingly, both of us sure we’ve never seen a male associate asked to get coffee for a partner. After finishing my own cup, I step aside for Maya to tinker with the machine, sipping the hot liquid for a moment of reprieve before returning to Aaron’s steady and probing supervision, which is not always focused on my work.

  “Are you ready for the meeting?” I ask her, both trying to make conversation, and trying to steady my own nerves. The terrified look in her eyes as she glances up at me answers my question.

  As lawyers, we tend not to scare easy; this is new territory for the both of us. We are two of the five associates who have performed well enough in our class to earn a seat observing the senior meeting. Once a month the company’s namesake, Michael Carter, sits down with the senior partners to discuss the upcoming high-profile cases, and assign them. Mr. Carter was one of two name partners, until he bought out his counterpart a few years ago. Not only does he own the controlling share of the company, but he is, in his own right, filthy rich. A combination of a good pedigree, and a lack of interest in almost anything but working. Though I’ve never had a conversation with the man, his reputation proceeds him for being both abhorrent, and drop dead gorgeous.

  I nod at Maya’s silent answer, resigning myself to a morning of nervous preparation, and make my way towards Aaron’s office to drop of the coffee.

  “Thanks darling,” Aaron smirks at me as I hand him the now lukewarm drink. I flash him a warm smile, and a nod.

  “Do you need anything else? I was going to go prepare for the meeting.” I keep my voice even and firm as I speak the words I know he finds incredulous. Dropping his ballpoint pen to the desk, the mid-forties man sits back in his chair to look me up and down; slowly, and deliberately. My fingers gently scramble at the edge of my black pencil skirt, and it is all that I can do not to run from his violating gaze. Pursing his lips, the senior partner finally speaks.

  “Prepare what?” I swallow the bile in my throat, using the condescending question as a chance to remind him why I got this job in the first place.

  “I’ve memorized all of the upcoming cases in question, but I’d like to brush up on some of the relevant case-law.”

  “You’ve memorized them? All of them?” Aaron raises a graying brow at me, and I nod firmly.

  “Bleaker v. The State of New York.”

  “Fifth Amendment Just-Compensation Clause. Bleaker is looking to purchase a piece of land to demolish the housing there and subsequently develop it into a mall. The residents wouldn’t vacate, so he petitioned the state to invoke their right to evict them with compensation. The state refused, and now Bleaker is fighting on appeal.”

  I can’t help but smirk a bit at the shocked look on Aaron’s face. I’ve never worked on the Bleaker case, but I like to stay well informed on every case every senior partner is working on, just in case.

  “Ok,” he resigns, almost with an air of approval in his husky voice. “Go, prepare.”

  I thank him sincerely, and rush off to the firm library to do just that. By the time 3 o’clock rolls around, I am an expert on every case. I glance at my rose-gold watch. 3:04. The meeting begins promptly at 3:15, so I have a few minutes to primp. Gathering my papers, I stop in the women’s restroom on the way.

  I try not to wear too-much makeup at work. Usually I’m so tired at the end of the day that I resent having to scrub it off. Today is different; I woke up bright and early to sip my coffee while painting my face, just slightly, to give the illusion that I’m not a sleep deprived workaholic. A touch of black mascara surrounding my almond shaped coffee-brown eyes, a bit of blush and bronzer to frame my already-prominent cheekbones, and a dab of lipstick. The rosebud color does a lot for me, I’ll admit. I don’t often to refer to myself as pretty, or beautiful in any sense, because I’d like to think that my looks aren’t my greatest asset. Although Aaron’s ever-present stare disagrees. Splashing a bit of water onto my long fingers, I smooth down the stray bits of my straight hair. It’s light coffee color matching perfectly with my eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, I step out of the women’s-restroom-haven, and make my way towards the conference room.

  A few people are already present when I arrive, but Mr. Carter is nowhere in sight. I take a seat at the far end of the room, against the wall next to Maya. Our conference room, like most other rooms in the building, holds a glass wall on one side, and a floor-to-ceiling window on the other, granting us a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline. The floors are soft corporate style carpeting, which dulls the sound of my stilettos, but lends a small degree of hominess to the room. I have just taken out my notebook when the room goes silent around me. Glancing up, I see why.

  His reputation is right, Mr. Carter is more
than just good looking, he’s beautiful. There is a dusting of black shadow along his sculpted jaw and his matching black hair is swept up from his forehead, not high enough to be a frat boy, but not low enough to be going to supercuts. A couple tantalizing strands hang loose from the style, brushing across his skin. That’s not what makes my breathing hitch, though, because a few inches beneath the perfectly sculpted hair, is the bluest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. They survey the room, clearly taking note of who was smart enough to arrive before he did. I swear I catch his gaze pause on me for just a moment, but it is gone before I have a chance to be sure.

  “Well, let’s begin.” Unbuttoning the black jacket of his designer suit, Mr. Carter leisurely takes his seat at the head of the table, listening intently as one of the partners outlines the 6 cases we will be discussing today. Five involve corporate law – our firm’s specialty. One is a real estate case. In the entire history of Carter & Jackson, we’ve only taken on four cases that aren’t corporate. My whole body hums with curiosity as we make our way down the list to the case in question.

  The partners rattle on about each one, obviously trying to impress Mr. Carter. They argue about Anti-Trust laws, and the best way to handle corporate mergers, until being silenced by his final say on the matter. His velvet voice is strong, and intimidating. I almost jump from my seat with each new sentence he speaks. Currently, Aaron is arguing with one of the other men about some mundane tax code.

  “You’re both wrong. Because the absorbing company is based overseas, that code doesn’t even apply. What am I paying you for?” The small outburst causes me to jump slightly in my seat, and his blue orbs catch me. I feel my cheeks go red under his curious gaze, causing his lips to upturn into a satisfied smirk. Great, I’m glad my severe discomfort amuses him.

  We finally move to the last case, and I can feel his eyes catch me every few seconds. There’s a few moments of discord about the merits of taking a real estate case pro bono, before Mr. Carter makes it clear it’s not up for debate. They drum over the best approach for at least 20 minutes, each person bringing up a new idea only for him to shoot them down in some demeaning and condescending way. I turn the case over and over in my head, wanting so badly to speak, but knowing it isn’t my place. Finally, after what feels like forever, Mr. Carter pipes up.

  “Is this the best we have? No one has any better ideas?”

  “I do.” My lips let the words tumble out without consulting my brain, and everyone in the room freezes, turning to shoot me daggers through their eyes. I squirm under the attention, but Mr. Carter motions for me to go on, almost amusedly.

  “We’re approaching this case as a single civil suit,” I begin, boldly using the word ‘we’, “instead, we should track down each of the other tenants, past and present, who have had similar problems with the company. We assist them in filing their cases alongside Mrs. Thompson, and we overwhelm their defense fund. It’s tantamount to a class action case; the legal fees alone will bankrupt the company. They’ll have no choice but to settle.”

  I hear a few sighs from the partners, annoyed that I had the audacity to speak up, even more annoyed that my input is viable. Mr. Carter scrutinizes me with his clear-blue gaze, making me sweat under the weight of the evaluation. For a moment, I can almost see a ghost of a smile grace his lips before his voice rings out in a final declaration.

  “No.”

  My cheeks burn as Mr. Carter bluntly reminds me that, as an associate, my job is to observe and nothing else. Shortly after the meeting draws to an uncomfortable end, the room filled with palpable tension, and most eyes on me. I fight the urge to voice my discontent, standing curtly to leave with Maya close on my heels.

  “Just shrug it off, he’s an ass to everyone.” Maya comforts me as we reach our cubicles, safely out of earshot. Her kind words only serve to fuel my frustration; a lump in my throat threatens to bloom into tears without an outlet for my anger. I pass her a small smile, sitting quietly to finish my work for the day.

  When I finally shrug my coat on to leave, I walk past Mr. Carter’s office with my chin high. Forcing my expression to remain unbothered, I feel his probing gaze on me through the glass separation. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a backwards, unsure glance as I leave for the night.

  Chapter 2

  Michael

  Shrugging the black Tom Ford suit jacket from my shoulders I sit exhausted on my black-suede office couch, readying for a long night of work. Movement in the corner of my eye pulls my attention upward. Through the glass wall I can see her. Her long golden-brown hair sweeps past her shoulders in a wave, catching the light with each step she takes. I search my brain, trying to remember the name of the feisty associate, Sarah? Sophie? Something.

  My brow furrows with frustration as she raises her chin just a bit, and I’m sure she can feel my gaze, silently willing her to look at me. But she doesn’t. Annoyance bubbles in my chest at her lack of obedience to the order she didn’t even hear. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I try to shake the intruding image of her rose-colored lips from my mind, refocusing on work.

  Before I can dive in, Aaron, my best senior partner, leisurely stalks into my office, spreading out in the plush seat across from me. I glance up at my oldest friend, aware that he’s here purely to give me shit for today’s meeting.

  “So, you have a thing for abusing my associates?” Despite the quip, his voice is filled with amusement. I sigh, not wanting to search my brain for an explanation.

  “She’s feisty.” I furrow my brow in disapproval, but my tone remains unconvincing.

  “She’s also brilliant. It was a great idea; why did you reject it?” Aaron turns serious. He’s right. The associate is right.

  “Is she always like that?”

  “No,” he answers quickly, “normally she’s rather professional, but she does like a challenge.”

  I snort, maybe I could use her on the case after all. Tinkering with the ins and outs of her idea, I can’t think of a better alternative, much to my own dismay.

  “She strikes me as unbelievably frustrating,” I admit, remembering the split-second wave of triumph that passed through her coffee-colored eyes as she spouted the idea that upstaged my best employees. The last thing I need is a distraction working side-by-side with me.

  Aaron nods in confirmation, flashing me a small knowing smile, but doesn’t concede.

  “Do you want to win the case?” Leaning back into the soft cushions, I run a hand through my hair. I hate it when he’s right. I hate it when anyone other than me is right.

  Aaron stands to leave, satisfied with a job well done. Just as his tanned fingers brush the sleek chrome door-handle, I call out one last question.

  “What’s her name?”

  Smirking, he answers, “Sophia Williams. Cubicle F.”

  * * *

  It’s 8:45 a.m., and I have been sitting at Sophia Williams’ cubical for half an hour, growing more and more annoyed with each passing second she doesn’t arrive. The small grey desk is immaculately organized, rivaling my own workspace. She has a framed picture of an older couple, I assume her parents, posing with a blue-eyed Husky. Aside from that, there are no personal items. The sound of someone clearing their throat with discomfort pulls me from my snooping, and I haphazardly set the silver frame down on the desk as I meet her eyes.

  “Good Morning Mr. Carter, may I help you with something?” Her practiced professional tone irritates me for some unknown reason, but I don’t give the feeling any weight.

  Standing, I walk around the desk to face her, our sudden closeness making me painfully aware that we are the only two people to have arrived yet. In this proximity I can tell just how tiny she really is compared to me, standing a full foot shorter at least. She is forced to tilt her chin to meet my eyes, and I hold her gaze for a few moments before I speak. She maintains the eye-contact for longer than I expect her to, wordlessly meeting my challenge, causing a quirk in the corner of my lips.

  “Miss Williams. I wante
d to apologize for my tone in our meeting yesterday,” I begin, my voice smooth and sincere as people begin to shuffle through the door behind her. “I’ve examined your approach more closely, and I think we should go with it.”

  The associates behind her stop dead in their tracks when they spot me, like wild animals spotting a predator in the brush. Sophia takes a moment to process my words, doing little to hide the incredulous expression on her face.

  “You do?” She asks, disbelieving.

  “I do.” I nod firmly, “delegate your current workload to your colleagues. Until this case is over, I expect it to be your sole focus. You’ll be working directly with me, I’ve already informed Aaron. I have a meeting to get to now, but be in my office around 1. We’ll discuss the next steps.”

  Before she can respond, I am out the door, my pulse already racing in anticipation for our meeting.

  Chapter 3

  Sophia

  I stand at my cubicle, dumbfounded. Turning, I meet the curious eyes of several of my fellow associates.

  “Did that just happen?” Maya speaks first, her tone alight eliciting a few low laughs among the room. A smile begins to bloom on my lips, grateful for the shred of recognition, and I nod at my friend, mirroring her apprehension.

  “What the fuck?” Maya lets out a full bellied laugh at my half-joking question, setting her purse down to help me sort through the tasks I now have to delegate. By the time the clock hits 9:00 a.m., my work has been sorted, and I am on my way to the firm’s library to prepare a detailed and immaculate briefing for Mr. Carter.