The New Boss

by Wylder, Penny

  The New Boss

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  1. Brooke

  2. Malcolm

  3. Brooke

  4. Brooke

  5. Malcolm

  6. Brooke

  7. Malcolm

  8. Malcolm

  9. Brooke

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2021 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

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  1

  Brooke

  I close my eyes and try to remember the lines. I’ve never been someone who can recite lines in my head, so I have to whisper them under my breath—something that’s easier said than done on a bus in the middle of L.A.

  People surround me on every side. I think I’m touching three or four different people right now, but instead of dwelling on that, I close my eyes and breathe and pretend I’m on a stage surrounded by darkness. I channel the feeling of the south and imagine sweltering humidity and the sound of cicadas.

  “Three young gals in a little bitty ol’ town in Louisiana…Harry swore to me the names alone made this Pulitzer Prize material.”

  The words flow smoothly from my lips, the monologue cemented in my mind now. That’s how I know I’m truly in love with a character—her words just stick in my mind. And Kate from The Cover of Life is someone that I want to play with my whole entire being.

  The audition isn’t until the end of the week, so I have some time, but I’m preparing night and day because I want to nail it. Theater roles like this don’t come along very often, especially when it seems like everyone in L.A. is aiming for movies and TV.

  I had my fair share of those auditions, but I’m just not what they’re looking for. I’m a little too curvy for camera work, and I’m too young to be cast in maternal roles where the extra curves are okay.

  So, I look for theater auditions that fit my type and go for them with gusto. Not that it’s worked so far.

  This one would be different. I promised myself that when I saw the audition listing and read the play and fell in love with it. This one would be different. I would show up and be so perfect for the role that they couldn’t help but cast me.

  After all, I’m from the south, so I’ve got that lilt down perfectly.

  Breathing out, I recite the monologue again. And then I say it a third time. I keep my eyes closed. People sometimes stare like they think I’m crazy, but they know I’m not. I’m hardly the first person to practice lines on a city bus.

  This is Los Angeles. You can’t throw a rock here without hitting an actor.

  Opening my eyes, I glance out the window. Oh…oh no. I missed my stop. I’m at least three stops past the tall, shiny building where I’m starting my new survival job today. Shit. Shit.

  I signal to stop, and force myself to standing before fighting my way through the crowd of people to the bus exit. As soon as it stops, I’m sprinting into the free air, and it feels like surfacing from underwater after being in such close quarters with so many people.

  The view in front of me stops me in my tracks. Tall buildings that nearly block out the sky. People on people on people walking. I don’t think that I’ll ever get used to this. Georgia was just…so different.

  I haven’t been here that long compared to some people—like my roommate—but I love the vibe of the city. I like that it’s bustling with life, and no matter where you go, there are people doing what they love. The change of pace is massive, and it’s something that I’ve always wanted.

  But I force down the thoughts of awe and happiness because I’m going to be late for this job. Not exactly a great look on my first day. And of course, I’m trying to make a good impression, so I’m wearing a skirt and heels.

  Terrible clothes for when you have to rush down L.A. sidewalks and hope that you can make it without falling into traffic.

  Why is it when you’re in a hurry it feels like you’re moving through an obstacle course in molasses? I miss every light and have to wait at every corner. Plus, the city feels like it’s full of wide-eyed tourists who are walking in slow motion. Honestly, people. It’s not that hard to move to the side so you can look at your map or take your picture without making people go around you.

  It should be fine, right? I’m just a secretary. I’ll be running a calendar and getting coffee, probably. So low on the totem pole that they might not even notice that I’m a few minutes late on my first day. Besides, these high-powered people never get to the office before the peons like me. They’re probably still relaxing in bed in their gorgeous penthouses, drinking Italian espresso and imagining all the money that they’re going to make today. And then they’ll breeze into the office around lunch and do a few things before sweeping off to a glamorous party in the evening.

  There. I see the giant glass monstrosity that is my new workplace a couple of blocks away. When I answered the ad for the secretary and came in to interview with HR, I’d been so intimidated that I could barely breathe. If I’m being honest, I barely remember the interview.

  It made me more nervous than any audition that I’ve ever been on. Pretending to be someone else? Easy. Selling myself? Hell no.

  I’m breathing hard by the time I stumble into the plaza. My feet are already aching in these heels, and I know that I’m going to regret wearing them by the end of the day.

  It’s still early enough that there’s a ton of people streaming into the building, but I am officially late. I need to get my badge from security and meet my HR contact at the office so I can get oriented. Then I actually have to meet my new boss. Malcolm Meyer. It’s such a Hollywood name. Like an old-time movie star.

  I just hope he’ll be okay with me being late. Maybe I can explain.

  “Look out!” A voice calls from my right, and a younger guy in a suit comes barreling toward me from the front doors. He’s carrying way too much coffee and looks like he’s in a state of panic, and in the two seconds that it takes me to think that, he’s almost running into me.

  I dive out of the way—and directly into someone else. Instead of falling with me, it feels like I slam into a brick wall. And in these heels, there’s absolutely no chance that I stay upright.

  It’s the kind of fall where you’re on the ground before you even realize that you’re falling, and you don’t entirely remember how you got there. All I know is that I’m now on my back staring up at the vaulted ceiling of this lobby, and that there are people looking at me.

  Coffee guy is long gone.

  That’s definitely not him looking down at me.

  The man that’s looking down at me right now is…a god.

  I blink. No. That can’t be possible. But that’s the only word that my brain is supplying right now. Because he’s the hottest fucking man that I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Even from the way he’s crouching down over me, I can see that his suit is expensive and tailored within an inch of its life. That tailoring shows me a powerful body that’s barely contained by those clothes. He’d look more at home in out-door gear. Or a Roman legionnaire costume.

  But it’s his eyes that strike me. An icy, pale blue that sends a shock through me. The good kind of shock. Followed by the shock of a jaw that could cut diamonds and a head of dark hair that I instantly want to run my fingers through.

  This man looks like he could be the lead i
n a film. And I know, I’ve seen enough of them.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blink. I’ve been staring at him without moving, and now there’s a little crowd gathering around us. “I think so,” I say. “That was just a little unexpected.”

  The corner of his mouth turns up into a smile, and my stomach explodes into butterflies. His smile is the very definition of a panty-dropper. I’m shocked there’s not a trail of women following him.

  He offers me a hand, and I take it, and he helps me up into a sitting position, a hand on my back. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No,” I laugh, “just my ego. I’m late, and I was rushing.”

  “I’m sure your boss will understand,” he says with a chuckle.

  “I hope so.” My mysterious stranger helps me to my feet, and even in my high heels, he towers over me. “I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

  One eyebrow raises. “I’m sure you’ll watch where you’re going next time.”

  I bristle at his tone, but I plaster on a smile. It’s my first day. I can’t make people angry on my first day. “I’m sure I will.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  I brush myself off. “Security. Have to get my badge. First day.”

  He flashes me that amazing smile again. “I’ll come with you. Have to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

  “I didn’t hit my head,” I say again, but I don’t protest as he follows me over to the security desk, and I can feel his eyes on me while they check my credentials and give me a badge that will get me into the elevators.

  I can’t believe he’s still standing there. Or that he’s actually real. This is like those movies where the plain girl stumbles into the beautiful man’s arms. Except this isn’t a rom-com. Men like that don’t go for women who crash into them and nearly injure themselves.

  “You really don’t have to stay with me,” I say, smiling. “I mean, I appreciate it, but I’m okay.”

  He chuckles. “I’m going to the elevators anyway. Might as well.”

  I fight the blush that rushes up my neck. Working in this building, it’s going to be impossible to forget that he works here. I’ll be sitting at my desk and wondering where he is in the building. How could I not?

  He swipes his badge for the elevator to open, and I follow him inside. My brain is flooded with elevator make-out scenes and the moments in movies where the hero slams the stop button and kisses the heroine like he might die if he doesn’t. And then he fucks—

  I slam that thought to a stop like a goddamn train. You touched him once, Brooke. He’s a complete stranger and you are still late for work.

  “Floor?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “What a coincidence,” he says with a smile. “That’s my floor too.”

  Fuck. I’m definitely not going to be able to get him out of my head if we’re on the same floor.

  He looks over at me, and I try not to notice. But I do. “What’s your name?”

  “What?”

  His hands are in the pockets of his suit, and he looks so at ease it’s unbelievable. This is a man that’s at home in whatever room he’s in. No matter where.

  “Brooke,” I say, extending my hand. It’s incredibly difficult to ignore the strength in his hands when he shakes it. “Brooke Stewart.”

  “You said it’s your first day?”

  “It is.” I wince. “I’m doing great so far.”

  He smirks. “No. But I’m sure you’ll make up for it.”

  I must be imagining that he glances up and down my body when he says that.

  “What job are you starting?”

  I swallow. “Secretary.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Do you know Malcolm Meyer?”

  There’s a look of shock, and then his eyes darken. His face turns into something much less pleasant. He covers it in an instant, but I already saw it. “I do know him,” he says. “I am Malcolm Meyer.”

  My heart drops through the floor. All the way down to the bottom of the elevator shaft. This is so bad. Bad on so many levels. I’m fucked.

  2

  Malcolm

  Conflicting emotions run through me as the curvy woman practically flees, accompanied by the woman from HR for her orientation. I don’t like people who are late. And when I’d thought she was some random secretary in the building, I’d found it more amusing. But she works…for me. This was the very promising candidate that HR had promised me.

  This certainly isn’t a great first impression. And yet…the usual anger that would accompany that behavior in an employee is completely absent. I’m not sure why.

  I can’t seem to stop thinking about the way she stumbled into me, and the lush curves I felt pressed against me before she fell. Or the way her hand was soft and warm in mine. Or her big brown eyes staring at the ceiling in shock. The subtle scent of roses that clung to her skin and hair when I helped her to her feet.

  She’s stunning.

  This is Los Angeles. You can’t turn your head without seeing a beautiful woman. But something about her made me stop and look. And even now I’m looking down the hallway where she’s disappeared, like I can see her through walls. Brooke.

  What is it about her that’s caught my attention? I shake my head as I walk into my office. I’ve had plenty of secretaries in the past. And I’ll admit that I’ve had secretaries that are beautiful. But Brooke is sticking in my mind like nothing else right now.

  I’m a busy man, and even the beautiful secretaries I’ve had haven’t drawn my attention for more than a moment. Instead of sitting down and getting started on what I’m sure is a mountain of email, I’m thinking about the way her lips parted in shock when I told her who I was.

  And I’m wondering if those lips are as soft as I’m imagining them to be. Was that perfect shade of pink on her lips shared by anything else on her body? Her nipples? Lower?

  Below my belt, my body starts to react. Jesus, Malcom. You’ve known her for five minutes. Get yourself under control. I know better than to mix business with pleasure. I’ve done it before, and it never ends well. Never.

  It doesn’t matter how beautiful she is—and she fucking is—nothing can happen. It would be unprofessional, and I don’t have any idea if she’s even a good fit for the job yet.

  I block her out of my head and sit down to do my work. She’ll be spending most of the day in orientation and learning the duties anyway. And I trust the temp to show her the ropes of the email system and how I like things done.

  Honestly at this point I should just hire the temp. The agency keeps sending the same woman after I lose a secretary. And she fits in pretty well.

  I don’t know why I can’t seem to keep one.

  That isn’t true. I do know. It’s because they see me and they instantly feel about me the way I feel about Brooke. They look at me and imagine some kind of sweeping romance.

  I’m not an idiot. I know I’m attractive. I work hard to keep myself that way. People underestimate the value of looking good in business. If you’re attractive, people trust you more and your work is just a little easier. But I’ve never slept with any of my secretaries; I’ve never wanted to until now.

  It’s just a physical reaction. Chemistry. I’ll get over it. I can be professional.

  But as I work throughout the day, my thoughts keep straying to the curvy brunette. I keep wondering what she’s doing and where she is in her orientation. I’ve been keeping an eye on my outer office, but I’ve only seen a couple glimpses of her.

  I’m so distracted that I don’t get nearly enough done. And I’m still thinking about her long after the sun is set. Finally, I give in, and I pull up the email that I got from HR with her résumé.

  Pretty standard. A handful of office jobs here and there. All good recommendations, and good grades in college. But she doesn’t have a business degree like so many of my employees and former assistants have had. She has a degree in acting.

&nbs
p; Brooke Stewart is certainly beautiful enough to be an actress. That’s for sure.

  I shouldn’t google her, but I do. She’s the first result, and the website I click on has her gorgeous eyes staring out at me from the screen. Even the photo feels like her eyes are punching me in the gut. In a good way. In a dangerous way.

  She has a bunch of headshots and a bio that sums up what was on her résumé. It’s not a super complicated website, just somewhere for casting directors to touch base if they see her and want to find out a little more. Smart.

  The last thing I click on is a link her reels. In L.A., you see a lot of them. You have friends who are actors, and they ask you to watch them. So I’ve seen my share. There are a few videos on the page.

  And the minute that I click play, I’m sucked in. She has an honesty and a vibrancy that pours through the screen. The first reel is her smiling and laughing. Some kind of party scene. I’m not really paying attention to the words—just to her. She’s so fucking beautiful that I can’t look away.

  The second reel is more dramatic. She’s emotional and tears stream out of her eyes. I tune into her voice then. A rich alto that’s talking about heartbreak and how she can’t do this anymore. I have no context for the words that she’s saying, but I want to make her feel better. Pull her into my arms and fix it.

  One thing is for sure, Brooke Stewart is a damn good actress.

  The final reel is a little different. Brooke is wearing darker make-up and a silky red shirt that clings to her curves and shows everything. It drops low and reveals enough cleavage that I want to see more.

  This scene is clearly a seduction. She’s looking at the camera and flirting. Smiling and looking away and back again, glancing up from under her lashes. I have a flash of her on her knees, looking up at me with those same eyes, and I can hardly breathe.