by Sylvia Fox
Work Me, Alpha
Billionaire Boss Series
Sylvia Fox
Contents
1. Carrie
2. Liam
3. Carrie
4. Liam
5. Carrie
6. Liam
7. Carrie
8. Liam
9. Carrie
10. Liam
Epilogue
Sneak Peek
Also by Sylvia Fox
Copyright © 2017 by Sylvia Fox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Sylvia’s Other Titles
Boss Me, Alpha
Wife Me, Alpha
Drill Me, Sergeant
Mentor Me, Professor
Cock Me, Pilot
Frisk Me, Officer
Play Me, Coach
Love Me, Cupid
Service Me, Mechanic
Ignite Me, Fireman
... with more coming soon!
Created with Vellum
1
Carrie
There are only a few ways to describe Liam Landon, my new boss at the bar where I’ve worked for so long that it feels more like home than my tiny rundown studio apartment. Smug? Check. Arrogant? Check. So rich his shoes form puddles of money wherever he walks? Yep, check. I’m not a huge fan of Liam Landon because of all this, but mostly because he swooped in and bought the bar from my real boss, Alex Boston. And then fired him without so much as a goodbye and a thanks for playing.
In fact, he didn't keep any of the other staff either. Instead, they've been replaced entirely by Liam’s crew.
Except for me. I'm the only one left.
And now I’m sitting in the back office, expecting this to be the moment he lets me go, too.
He smiles that smug, patronizing smile of his and leans back into the chair like he feels right at home. Truthfully, though, he looks so out of place, he might as well be a polar bear in the middle of the Safari Desert. Hell Cat, as much as I love it, has always been more of a rowdy hole-in-the-wall than a cocktail bar where everyone looks as if they’re worth a million bucks. And Liam here, well, he’s worth more than a million.
Rumor has it, he has billions.
“Hello, Carrie,” he says. “Thanks for coming in. As I’m sure you’re aware, I haven’t yet hired a manager for Hell Cat, which is why I’ve called you in for a little chat.”
“Couldn’t find someone else to do your dirty work for you, huh?” I say without bothering to hide my disdain. I know why I’m here. It’s taken him awhile to get around to it, but he’s going to give me a kick out the door just like he has to everyone else. He has no reason to keep me around. Hell, I don’t know why it’s taken him so long to fire me in the first place. He’s staffed up plenty of other bartenders, making me more than redundant.
He raises his eyebrows. “Really? Is that any way to speak to your boss?”
“It’s not like you’re going to be my boss for long,” I snap back, “so what’s the point in playing nice? Just get it over with and let me go.”
He taps his finger on the desk, a faded, chipped plastic thing he hasn’t bothered to replace yet. I guess he’s too busy gutting businesses to worry about the little details like office furniture or keeping the employees who made this place into the popular nightlife hotspot it was.
Hell Cat was famous within the younger crowd, with those who like to take down their hair and let loose on a Friday night. And tourists. They loved it, too. I have a feeling that whatever Liam has in mind will turn this place into the opposite of what it was. Wild, fun, free. In his stuck-up suit, all I can imagine are long rows of stiff, straight-backed business professionals sipping at martini glasses and holding polite conversation before everyone keels over from boredom.
I guess it’s a good thing I’m about to get fired.
I could never work in a dump like that.
“You know, Carrie.” He presses his hands flat on the table and stands, towering over me. I know he means to come across intimidating but it only makes me roll my eyes. He's just like every other guy I’ve met in my life, throwing his dick around to get his way. “I was actually going to offer you the manager position before you came in here acting like a spoiled princess.”
I snort, standing and placing my palms flat on the table to meet his gaze. “Yeah, right. That’s a load of horse shit, and we both know it.”
He stares at me, barely blinking, studying me with an intensity that would make most people melt. But instead, I throw that intensity right back at him. Two can play at this game.
“Just tell me one thing,” he says. “What the hell did I do to make you hate me? Or is this just your sparkling personality?”
“Oh, it’s my personality all right. Pissed off at the world twenty-four seven,” I say with another eye-roll. “Or did you ever think that maybe I wouldn’t be spectacularly pleased that you bought my bar and then fired everyone I know and love? They’re my family, and now they’re gone. Jobless. In New York City. Thanks a lot, Mr. Moneybags.”
His lips quirk as he narrows his eyes. “Your bar?”
“That’s right.” I lift my chin. “My bar. I’ve worked here since it opened, and I’ve been here almost every single night of its existence. If this place belongs to anyone, it’s me. Not you, with your fancy suit, your overpriced tie, and certainly not with that ridiculous espresso machine I’ve heard you want to install.”
“And why shouldn’t I install an espresso machine?” he shoots back. “This is Manhattan. Everyone drinks coffee. There’s a cafe on every corner.”
“This isn’t a cafe,” I say slowly, shaking my head at his cluelessness. “That’s what you don’t get and why Alex never should have been dumb enough to sell Hell Cat to you in the first place. People don’t come here for fucking coffee.”
I should shut up. I really should. Right now, I’m collaborating with the enemy, giving him tips on how to better run this place when I should be storming out without another look back. But I can’t help it. I love Hell Cat. I want nothing more than for it to continue on and live for as long as the city will have it. Decades, if possible.
Centuries.
Liam eases back, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall, eyeing me up and down with a strange appreciative glint in his eyes that makes me shudder. I feel a lot more comfortable with the glaring he was doing only moments ago. Because there’s no denying the guy is hot. Just not my kind of hot. I like a man with tattoos, a ripped t-shirt, and calloused hands. Not this fancy-pants moneybags before me now. Though his suit sure does fit him well, clinging to his defined biceps and bulging chest.
“You seem to have a lot of opinions for someone who acts like she wants nothing more than to storm out of here,” he says.
“Well, I don’t want to watch you fuck things up,” I say. “You bought the bar for a reason, didn’t you? Why Hell Cat instead of another one of your cocktail bars?”
“It’s one of the most famous bars in the city.” He smirks. “How could I resist?”
Ugh. I want to smack that smirk right off of his face. So, buying Hell Cat was just a way for him to add a famous name to his portfolio without really caring or understanding what it stands for, what kind of place it really is. He doesn’t know what the clientele wants. Hell, he’s probably never even been to Hell Cat until now. I would have remembered a guy in a
thousand-dollar suit, one like Liam, with impossibly dark hair and a killer smile.
“And so did it ever occur to you that you should keep the soul of the place intact?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Don’t change what makes it Hell Cat. Don’t start serving fancy cocktails. Don’t install an espresso machine. Don’t come up with an elaborate food menu when no one wants to come here to eat. Repair the jukebox, replace the old shot glasses, and maybe do something about the tight fit behind the bar.”
He nods, surprising me. I expected him to argue or at least put up some resistance to my ideas. “Despite my better judgement, I’d like to give you another chance to say yes to the manager job, Carrie. I could use your input and your expertise on this place.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you fired everyone,” I can’t help but snap.
Truthfully, I’m tempted. For one, it would mean I wouldn’t have to go home jobless, which is always a bonus. I have some money saved up but not enough to last me more than a couple of months. I’ve made good tips here at Hell Cat, but not enough to keep me going for long. And, two, well…as much as I want to storm out of here with my head held high to make a point, this is my home. And it’s hard to walk away from that.
“Right,” he says, giving me a dismissive wave. “If that’s how you’re going to be, then forget I asked.”
“Wait,” I hear myself say. “How much input can I give?”
“Some,” he says. “I’ll listen to what you have to say, but I can’t guarantee I’ll always agree. Once the place is fully up and running again, I’ll leave you in charge of the day-to-day operations, of which you’ll have full control. I have a lot of properties to manage, as I’m sure you know, so I can’t be here all the time.”
That means I only have to make it a couple of weeks before I can get him out of my hair. And then I can be in charge of Hell Cat, something I never thought would ever happen. As much as I’m a bartender at heart, and not a manager, it almost feels like a dream come true. Minus the whole Liam aspect of it, of course. But that’s only temporary, and his smug face will be gone soon enough.
“Fine.” I nod. “I’ll do it.”
2
Liam
There’s a reason I never keep previous employees when I purchase a new acquisition, and Carrie Marshall is the perfect example of this. There’s too much baggage, too many negative emotions flying around. People are often too loyal, too attached to the way things used to be, and it’s easier to start fresh with a new batch of employees than to win the old ones over to your side.
Carrie hasn’t held back in showing her disdain. But she doesn’t know the whole story, the real reason why Hell Cat ended up in my lap. The previous owner was running it into the ground and owed thousands of dollars in debt. I have no intention of sharing that information with her though. Part of the agreement is that I keep my mouth shut.
“How long do you think you’ll stick around?” Carrie asks after agreeing to take on the manager position. I can tell she’s eager to get rid of me, and I almost echo the sentiment.
Almost.
Because while I let everyone else go, I kept her.
The truth is, Carrie Marshall is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my fucking life, and I’ve been surrounded by beautiful women from the moment I was old enough to understand what that meant. My family is old money, so to speak, and my father was a bit of a shark when it came to the opposite sex, always with a new one on his arm every month, and usually half his age.
All that said, she might be beautiful, but she has the attitude to rival Oscar the Grouch, anger and irritation dripping with every word she speaks. She thinks she’s too good for this bar now that I own it, and I can tell her pride almost made her say no to the manager job.
And she’s starting to get on my goddamn nerves.
“Don’t worry,” I say with a tight smile. “I’ll be gone soon enough.”
“Great.” Her voice is almost too bright. Honestly, I really shouldn’t have hired her for the job. For one, she has no experience managing anything as far as I can tell. And two, I have a feeling she’s going to make my life a living hell any time she doesn’t agree with me. Which, it’s glaringly obvious, will be a hell of a lot more than the times she agrees with me. She wants to keep everything at Hell Cat exactly as it is, and I hate to break it to her, but that’s not how this experience is going to go.
Things have to change. Things have to improve. Otherwise, Hell Cat will be a bad investment I have to let go.
“I’ll have my assistant draft up some paperwork for you to sign and date, and then we’ll get started.” I give a nod, determined to keep this as professional as possible. “Can you be back here tomorrow morning at eight?”
Her face blanches. “Eight? In the morning? Let me just check one more time. You do realize this is a bar you’ve bought and not a coffee shop?”
“This is a business meeting, not serving shots until three in the morning. Be here at eight.”
“Rise and shine, princess,” I say with a smirk when Carrie rolls in with a yawn and a messy bun on top of her head. She’s clearly just rolled out of bed. But, despite that fact, she looks even sexier than she normally does. Something about her bedhead throws images of sheets and tangled limbs and long, naked legs into my brain. My cock twitches against my belt despite myself. What the hell? This isn’t the time or the place or the woman for that. This is Carrie Marshall, the manager for my newest acquisition, and the woman has made it more than clear she despises me with every fiber of her being.
Still, my eyes get caught on the way her loose shirt hangs down to reveal the cleavage spilling out of a lacy pink bra. I swallow hard. I’m always a sucker for lace, and especially a sucker for the flesh I know it hides underneath. I wonder what her nipples look like, taste like, feel like. It would be so easy to shift closer and slide my hand up her shirt, to finger at the edges of her bra until she begs me to rip it off with my teeth.
“Earth to Liam,” she says with an exasperated sigh. “If you were going to call me in here at the crack of dawn, you could at least pay attention to what I’m saying.”
I blink, coming out of my daze. “Crack of dawn? You can’t honestly be calling eight o’clock the crack of dawn.”
“The sun only rose half an hour ago. Therefore, I had to get up at the crack of dawn to get here on time.”
“Nice try,” I say. “The sun rises at six. I know this because I actually have a professional life where I don’t get to sleep until noon everyday. Unlike some people.”
“Are you referring to me.?” She snaps, raising her eyebrows. “You do realize the reason I don’t get up at six is because I go to bed at four, right? Because I’m here. Working my feet off every damn night.”
I sigh. This meeting has gone off the rails, and it’s barely even started. I didn’t want to argue with Carrie, and yet here we are, trading barbs instead of talking about the renovation plans for Hell Cat. At this rate, we’ll never get any work done, and I’ll have to spend another day getting this place ready for the opening.
“Can we just put aside whatever hatred we have for each other and work on the damn plans?” I snap without meaning to. It’s out of character for me, to say the least. My associates always consider me cool, calm, and collected. I can ease into any boardroom and smile my way through every question thrown my way, regardless of how idiotic or intentionally pointed. But this woman really brings out the worst in me, fraying my nerves and wearing my patience thin.
Maybe it’s the way she’s unable to say anything without a pissed off tone in her voice. Or maybe because I find it impossible to concentrate when that shirt of her dips so far low.
The reality is, it’s probably a combination of the two.
“Fine with me.” She drops into the chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “What is it that you’d like to show me, Mr. Moneybags?”
I pick up the folder, sigh, and then toss it right back onto the table again.
“Carrie. I realize I irritate the hell out of you, and I’ve gotta admit the feeling is mutual.”
“How very observant of you,” she says.
I give her a look. “I told you yesterday I’d like your input, but I need you to actually pretend to be civil. It doesn’t have to be genuine. We can agree on our mutual dissatisfaction with each other and smile politely until all of this is done. And then we rarely have to deal with each other anymore once this fine establishment reopens.”
“Mutual dissatisfaction? Fine establishment?” She coughs out a laugh and shakes her head. “Keep talking like that and everyone will think you’re turning this place into some kind of bland corporate meeting place.”
“Carrie.” I close my eyes, reaching down deep inside me for the patience that’s really missing today. “Can you agree to be civil or not?”
A beat passes, but then she nods. “I’ll be civil, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to ooze with niceness.”
“Trust me,” I say. “There was no threat of me thinking that.”
3
Carrie
Liam isn’t wearing a suit, which has thrown me totally off my game. I wandered into the meeting, half-awake, and stopped short when I saw him standing there in a long-sleeved tee and jeans. Why isn’t he wearing a suit, I keep asking myself. Why does he actually look like he fits into this location rather than standing out like a sore thumb?
These thoughts swirling through my head mean I didn’t listen particularly well when he started talking about going over the plans. So, I tried to save face by being snarky, which almost backfired even worse. I figured that if I distracted him with my overwhelming disdain for him that he wouldn’t notice the way my eyes were glued to his impossibly-large biceps. Or his abs. Under the tighter and thinner material of his shirt rather than his suit, it’s impossible not to see just how ripped his entire body is.
