Mr. Hot Grinch (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss Book 3)

by Lindsey Hart

  Mr. Hot Grinch

  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 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  EPILOGUE

  ALPHALICIOUS BILLIONAIRES BOX SET 1

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  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 2020

  All rights reserved.

  Edits by Charmaine Tan. Cover by Cosmic Letterz.

  You can contact the author, Lindsey Hart at:

  team@lindseyhartromance.com

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  I landed myself a hot grinch for Christmas.

  And it's my new boss!

  I was kind of desperate,

  So, I hired her.

  She might not be nanny material,

  She might burn food faster than I can grunt,

  She might talk back to me like she is the boss,

  She might even be on the brink of becoming my archnemesis.

  But my son adores her and that's all that counts.

  So, that puts Miss Saucy Nanny with curves for miles in a specific category,

  The Absolute No Touch Zone.

  So, I have no damn business wanting to unwrap her like a Christmas gift.

  Or crush those full lips of hers with mine whenever she swings me a smirk.

  Plus, when she finds out my secret,

  She'll be out of here faster than I can say Ho.

  And I would not be the only one left to suffer.

  So, this Christmas, the nanny has a strike and takes top spot on my no-wish list.

  CHAPTER 1

  Feeney

  There’s nothing quite like going home for the holidays. Unless you don’t have a home to go to because you had to mass exodus when your parents suddenly lost their minds. Cut. Off. No money. Frozen bank account. No car. Merry freaking Christmas.

  I guess you could say I did it to myself, but that’s not entirely true. I like to think I have principles, and one of them is that I will not allow myself to be married off to a complete stranger.

  It’s also not true that I dug my own grave because I’m clearly not dead, and I didn’t choose to kill the relationship between myself and my parents. We might not be super close, the way some families are. I might have primarily been sent to boarding schools while they made tons of money and lived a lifestyle befitting their status. They might have chosen where I went to college and what I studied—business, of course. But still. Deep down, they’re good people. They were raised the same way, so they can’t really help it. They’re just trying to look after me. And they do love me and want what’s best for me.

  At least, I thought so.

  Until they betrothed me to a total stranger.

  Betrothed. It’s such an archaic term, but I can’t think of a better word to use. They really did betroth me to some asshole. As in, they promised my hand in marriage to seal some sort of business deal. Yes. Because they don’t have enough money already. They want more. They want this giant merger between two companies, and I have no idea where they came up with the idea because I don’t even know what the other company is. I don’t want to know. I refused to look up the name Maxwell Stone because I don’t want to know anything about the deal. I honestly don’t understand much of what went on in their heads because I sat there and listened to about four point eight seconds of it before I flew out of my chair and ran out of the room.

  I have no doubt they’ll cut me off now.

  Maybe that’s not a big deal to some people, but I’m a Hardington. Elizabeth Euphenia Gloria Hardington, or Feeney, because I hate the name Elizabeth. It was my dad’s mother’s name. I have nothing against her; I just never knew her, and right from birth, I seemed to hate the name and any variation of it. My mom’s mom was named Euphenia. She died a year before I was born, and my mom always promised herself that if she had a girl, she’d get the name in there somewhere, so she did.

  Euphenia is a bit of a mouthful for everyone, so I go by Feeney. It’s easy and non-threatening. People can say it, even if they think it’s weird. Lucky for me now, the world is full of strange names, especially when parents compete with each other to see who can give their babies the most creative names ever.

  After cutting my parents off the minute they said something about a merger and a marriage to some dude I don’t know, I went to my room and packed a bag. I threw in everything I thought would be worth something, but it wasn’t much. Just my phone, tablet, and laptop—no jewelry because everything is stored in dad’s safe, and I hate wearing it anyway, so it’s never around my room. I was able to pack two designer purses—my spare and the one I use—two pairs of designer shoes, two changes of clothes, and the cash I had in my wallet at the time. It was only four hundred dollars, sadly. That’s a lot to carry around, but it won’t get me far in the real world.

  I no longer have a working credit card since I can bet my dad froze it the second I walked out of the house, seeing as it was jointly in his name. So was my bank account, so that’s, of course, frozen as well.

  You know what sucks? Being hopeless this close to Christmas. Being hopeless in general.

  Thank god we live in Florida. Pinecrest, of course, so we blend in with all the other well-off families. My parents have houses elsewhere too, but they’ve owned this one since before I was born, and it’s the one I call home. Or rather, called home. As in, past tense.

  So here I am. Hopelessly slogging down the street in my canvas runners, my ripped up skinny jeans, my plaid shirt, and a cardigan. My car is in my dad’s name too, so I couldn’t take it. I literally had to walk out of the subdivision and just keep going. I’m still trying to hold my head up high and pretend like my heart, head, and shoulder aren’t breaking from the stupid, heavy duffel bag.

  Anyway, the nice thing about living in Florida is that it’s hot, at least. I could be worse off, living in the northern states, where it’s snowy and absolutely frigid. I’d really be screwed then. As it is, the sun is beating down hard on me, and I have a few more hours of daylight left. It’s the
weekend, so it means tons of people are out walking, running, and doing family stuff with the kids. No one looks at me like I’m some kind of delinquent.

  Which I’m totally not.

  My parents are the ones who wanted to marry me off to someone I don’t even know. For business. I’ve never known them to be controlled by the dollar before, and it’s insulting. It’s criminal. They’re the delinquents.

  I might be seriously solo here, but after walking for an hour, I’ve already formulated a pretty shitty preliminary plan.

  My BFF is also rich. Of course she is since I went to boarding school and then an Ivy League college. I went to the best of the best, which is where we met. Samantha’s parents are pretty normal as far as rich parents go. They wouldn’t try and betroth her to some hairy troll who probably has a problem with nocturnal emissions. Why can’t he get a wife the normal way? Jesus. I don’t even know if the guy wasn’t like eighty-five.

  No, I do. My parents would never do that to me.

  I hope.

  Right now, I’m not sure what I would and wouldn’t put past them.

  But the guy was probably nasty. Rich, entitled, and so spoiled that he thought he could just buy his way into my dad’s company and also buy a wife to sweeten the deal and warm his gross bed. He probably is hairy. Like, eight-inch back hairs or something. Someone with butt hairs, nose hairs, and ear hairs.

  I giggle as I start imagining a really hairy dog—the kind you have to actually pick up the hair and brush it back to find the eyes. I cut my thought off because it’s weird to be laughing by myself, to myself, for no apparent reason. It’s also not funny. Nothing about this is funny.

  I’m normally pretty easy going, and I’ve been told I have a good sense of humor, but right now, it’s not going to help. Much.

  I pull out my phone and slide my finger over Sam’s contact. My plan is to call her and have her come pick me up. I know I can’t hide out at her place because that’s the first place my parents would expect to look for me. I’ll get her to help me figure out somewhere to go. Sam has lots of friends, all sorts of friends. Some of them are from normal, middle-class families who live in less expensive areas of the city. Maybe one of them needs a roommate. I know Sam’s good for a few hundred bucks too. She’ll sport me enough for a month’s rent, and I’ll pay her back when I have a job, of course. At least I have my Degree, and since my parents forced me to take business, I’ll be able to use it. I shouldn’t have trouble finding a job—any job. I won’t be fussy. I’ll work my way up like everyone else, struggle like everyone else.

  I’ll live however I have to in order to be free because anything would beat being married to a man I don’t know, love, or trust. I know my parents have made most of my choices for me, but it was always okay with me. This? This is not okay. This is them trying to steal my freedom, and I’m never going to let that happen.

  Sam will know what to do. She’s crazy pretty, and she’s extremely popular. Everyone loves Sam. She’s also wickedly smart, and she’ll know exactly what to do. The best part? I know she’ll never tell my parents. Once I’m settled, I’ll call and tell them I’m fine, I’m not coming back, and that if they try and interfere with my life, I’ll do something.

  Maybe move across the sea to freaking Europe, never talk to them again, which would really hurt me because I do love them despite this massive lapse in judgment, or cause a lot of chaos for the company. I never thought I’d resort to blackmail, but it’s the most likely option at the moment. I know a few things about my family and the company that my dad wouldn’t like coming to light. They’d probably agree to leave me alone in exchange for my discretion. Honestly, if I wanted to make some quick money, I’d go to some magazine or newspaper and sell those secrets, or just mention this whole crazy thing. How my parents, well-loved and well-respected by everyone who meets them, tried to basically trade me in as part of a business deal. I’d be able to cash in on that one.

  But I can’t.

  I just can’t do it.

  Not only would it humiliate and hurt them, and I don’t want to do either, it would only make things worse for me. And I guess the guy at the other end of this. Hairy or not—and his name was Maxwell Stone, which sounds very much like a good name for a warty troll with butt crack hair past needing a good trim—I don’t want to call him out. Maybe he’s nice. Maybe he has a good story. I can’t be so heartless that I’d hurt other people for cash. It’s not who I am, and it’s never who I’m going to be.

  No matter how desperate and lost I am.

  CHAPTER 2

  Feeney

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously? Me? A nanny?” We’re sitting in Sam’s expensive new SUV. Her family might be rich, but they’re pretty ‘normal.’ At least she gets to drive herself and doesn’t have to be chauffeured around the way some people do.

  “You’re good with kids, so why not? And this one is normal. Not all rich and spoiled. Luke lives in Miami. I’ll drive you there, don’t worry.”

  “Because! I’m not good with kids. I’m good with babies. And we really only have your sister’s baby to go on.”

  “Caroline’s kid is a brat,” Sam good-naturedly says about her sister’s daughter.

  “How can an eight-month-old baby be a brat?”

  “She doesn’t let Caroline sleep. Ever. And she’s picky about nursing. Won’t take a bottle, so Caroline is tied to her constantly, and she also cries all the time.”

  “I think most babies are like that.”

  “Caroline’s been through two nannies because none of them can stand it.”

  “I see.”

  “But this kid isn’t a baby. He’s four, and he’s a nice kid. Luke’s a friend of the family. He’s had a really rough go of it after his wife died. It was really sudden. She got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer out of nowhere, and then she was gone four months later. Shade was only two when she died.”

  “Shade? What kind of a name is Shade?”

  “I know,” Sam laughs. “It might be weird, but he’s a nice kid.”

  “So you keep saying. That usually means it’s not true. He’s probably a monster.”

  Sam looks injured. “Do you think I’d suggest a job to you where you have to take care of a snotty-nosed, monstrous little brat when you need it most?”

  “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go or any other options. You don’t know of anyone who needs a roommate, and I don’t have a job to afford a place of my own. I can’t stay with you. I also can’t let you set me up in an apartment and take money from you like that until I get a job. Anyway, it would be too obvious. My parents would find me right away too. They’d set up security in the building or probably pay someone to kidnap me and drag me back home.”

  “Jesus. Are you serious?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug.

  We’ve already gone over this, over everything that happened. Honestly, I don’t have a lot of information for Sam. It was just so out of character for my parents to suddenly ask me to marry someone. I didn’t really give them a chance to explain, but I kept telling myself they didn’t deserve it. They’re not the type of parents who would just throw me into a deal like someone would tempt a dog with a juicy piece of meat. It’s not them. They might have been slightly absent from my life for the most part, but I know they love me. How could they possibly think that not even asking me is best for me? It doesn’t make any sense.

  “I don’t want to think about it anymore. I just want to do something.”

  “Well, Luke is looking for a nanny. It’s a live-in position like I told you. You’d be looking after his son, for the most part. You’d probably have to do some basic cooking and cleaning, but I know Luke has an actual housekeeper who comes and cleans a few times a week, so it would likely be pretty minimal.”

  “Cooking?” I can’t keep the despair out of my voice or off my face.

  “You’ll learn fast,” Sam assures me like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

  I’
ve never really made a meal in my life. My parents have a chef, and the fridge is always full. My mom is always on a special diet, and it’s complicated—all the time—so of course, they’d pay someone to make sure she gets the right meals. And while they’re at it, they put something in the fridge for my dad and me too. But that’s not all. My parents also have two full-time cleaners, a gardener, another guy for the pool, personal trainers, blah, blah, blah. My mom is a bit of a tyrant to work for, and the staff members are constantly changing. I feel bad now when I have to admit to myself that I stopped trying to learn their names or get to know them.

  “I can’t just freaking learn by watching videos on the internet. You have to have someone teach you how to cook.”

  “That’s bull. You can definitely learn by watching videos. Anyway, should I call Luke or not?”

  “I have zero references and experience.”

  “That’s alright. He’d do it as a favor to me.”

  I groan and sink down further in the passenger seat. “This sounds like it’s going to be a disaster.”

  “Yeah,” Sam grins. “Probably. But at least you won’t have to marry some guy who probably has a shriveled up old weenus because he’s probably eighty.”

  “Stop! My parents wouldn’t do that. Would they?” This whole thing kind of just proves to me that maybe I don’t know them as well as I thought. Or, like, at all because I never thought they’d pull something like this.

  Sam digs out her brand-new phone in a very bright, sparkly pink case. She’s just had her nails done, and they basically match. They’re disgustingly long, a bit like talons, and they make a terrible clicking noise on the screen. Then Sam holds up the phone while I hold my breath. Maybe there’s still hope. Maybe Luke won’t answer. Maybe he won’t say yes. And maybe there’s some other way I can get on with my life without having to first undergo the ultimate humiliation.