Bossy: A Billionaire Boss Office Romance (Alpha Second Chances Book 4) Read online

  Bossy

  A Billionaire Boss Office Romance

  Rowena

  Eromantica Publications

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part II

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  EXCERPT

  About the Author

  Also by Rowena

  Mailing List

  Join Rowena’s mailing list for updates on upcoming releases, giveaways, and freebies!

  Copyright © 2017 by Rowena

  All rights reserved.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted or circulated in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Eromantica Publications

  First Edition: July 2017

  Synopsis

  Candace Brown has hit rock bottom.

  Despite growing up privileged with advantages galore, she finds herself in dire financial straits after a failed marriage to a hopeless gambler.

  She barely has time to regret dumping her high school sweetheart for the man who eventually ruined her life before she finds herself face to face with the one she let get away all those years ago.

  But Jaxson Pace is no longer the poor trash her parents scorned and stopped her from seeing—he’s a successful billionaire with a potentially dangerous grudge.

  Can Candace get him to forgive her for breaking his heart? Or will her first love find a way to make her pay for dumping him, sending her life into final devastating shambles?

  *A sexy BWWM office romance!*

  Prologue

  Candace

  3 months ago…

  I’ve watched enough T.V. to recognize the sinister click behind my head after closing my car door.

  My body stiffens immediately—except for my hands flying up and my eyes darting to the rearview mirror where I see a man with fair skin sitting behind me holding a silver gun pointed at my head.

  He’s wearing an oversized gray hoodie pulled over his head, and between that and the lush darkness of night outside, reducing visibility inside the car, I can’t really make out his features properly.

  Though my eyes are trained on him, I can still see my lifted hands trembling a bit.

  “Mrs. Henfield…” the stranger begins almost cheerfully.

  “Ms. Brown,” I automatically correct him, sounding far braver than I felt.

  I hadn’t taken my ex-husband’s last name, and at some point during the marriage, I realized it was useless correcting people all the time. Socially, I accepted the assumption, though my official documents remained unchanged.

  These days, however, I have no patience with the incorrect address, and I correct people left and right.

  “Oh, good—we got a modern, independent woman on our hands. Lucky us.” The man’s lips part in an oily grin revealing a bum tooth. “Your husband owes us a hundred grand and we need to collect,” he continues.

  I almost turn to look at him like he’s crazy.

  “He’s not my husband,” I say evenly, swallowing my rising outrage. “Well, he soon won’t be anyway—the divorce will be finalized any day now. So I’m not sure how what he owes is my business?”

  “Let me help you,” the stranger says in a falsely friendly tone. “You see, you two are still technically married, so you share assets and debts.” I have to hold back a bitter huff at the word ‘assets.’ “And now that your husband’s…hands are tied, his responsibility to us falls on you. Got it?”

  I remain silent, unsure what to say next.

  He taps my headrest with the pistol.

  “Let me make this clearer—if my boss doesn’t get his money, the two of you’ll start paying in other ways, understand? And then, who knows? Maybe we see if you have other family members who can help you pay. We noticed you have a beautiful young sister…”

  “Okay, I’ve got it! I’ll… I’ll figure it out. But how am I supposed to do it now? I’m sure you guys know we lost everything; I have zero funds right now. I just had to use the library to use the internet!”

  “We know this, and that’s why my boss decided to be merciful and help you out with a payment plan.”

  “But all the money I make currently goes to the basics. I have nothing left over!”

  Another tap with the weapon—this time, on my neck.

  “That’s not our problem,” he says flatly. “It’s up to you to do whatever you need to in order to come up with that hundred and fifty grand.”

  “Wait, I thought you said a hundred?”

  “That was just the principal—before interest and fees, you see. After the past few months of nonpayment, the amount is now one fifty. And the interest doesn’t stop—the longer you take to get squared, the more you’ll have to pay back. You know how these things work; you’re an educated girl.”

  I let out a breath, my mind beginning to work on the figures.

  If I get another job and sell the last of my valuables and move to an even shittier apartment to lower the cost of rent, it’ll probably still take at least a year…

  “You have one month to pay us,” he says with finality, as if he’s about to leave.

  I blink at him through the rearview mirror. “I thought you said your boss came up with a payment plan?”

  “He did. Instead of requiring the full amount within the week, you now have a generous timeframe to work with. See how merciful and kind?”

  I am speechless; what they’re asking for is absolutely impossible.

  “Your folks are loaded, aren’t they?” the stranger continues, creeping me out a bit more with how much he seems to know about me. “Maybe they can help you out. Especially since both their girls are at risk. Oh, and this goes without saying, but keep your mouth shut about all this. Breathe a word to the authorities or even your parents and you’ll be sorry. Guess you’ll have to be creative with the reason you give whoever for needing the money. In the meantime, I’ll talk to the boss and see if he can offer any other kind of leniency. But I advise you to assume he won’t and be ready to cough up the cash in four weeks.”

  I hear a back door open.

  “We’ll be in touch,” he says before slipping from my car into the darkness, firmly closing the door behind him.

  It’s a different guy this time waiting for me in the dark, just a few days after the first scare
.

  I’ve been trying not to be caught outside at night, but some of the jobs I take require night hours.

  “Excuse the irony, but you’re a pretty lucky girl,” the guy says from behind me.

  I can’t help but huff a laugh at that while keeping my hands up and visible.

  “How so?” I ask the shadowed face.

  “The boss said he’d give you more time. Fourteen weeks. He even paused the interest! But you need to make weekly payments of ten thousand, starting this Sunday. Payments are due every Sunday after that. If you’re ever late for any reason, we’ll send you a reminder of the stakes. If you’re unable to pay off the final total amount due at the end of the fourteen weeks, interest kicks in again—higher.”

  He hands me a burner phone.

  “Expect a text with drop-off instructions Sunday morning,” he says before taking off, leaving me wondering what sort of miracle I’m supposed to make happen.

  Part I

  Desperate Times

  1

  Candace

  Present Day

  I’m hoping like hell no one I knew in school—either high school or college—shows up in this building as an employee or visitor.

  Even if they turn out to be a fellow candidate for this position, it would be too much—I wasn’t supposed to end up like this, on the verge of begging for some admin job.

  As the daughter of two highly paid, responsible professionals, and the eldest child who got everything—from private schooling throughout my childhood and teens to an Ivy League degree—I had all the tools available to make far more of myself; there’s no excuse for not easily sliding into an upper-middle-class life.

  Which I did, don’t get me wrong—I was just unable to maintain it because of a series of horrible decisions; getting involved with the wrong guy can really screw you over.

  I know that keeping my eyes down while I sit here, waiting to be called in for my eleven o’clock interview, doesn’t make me invisible, but it makes me feel that way, at least, and I’ll take what I can get.

  I keep trying to distract myself from my fear of being noticed in this shameful position because I know the more I think about it, the more likely my fear will manifest; I believe my aunt now about all that law of attraction stuff: where you focus your energy is where you fertilize the ground—good or bad.

  I work on being positive, concentrating good vibes on getting this job which will help me slowly work my way out of my current mess. Relying on temping and a bunch of random gigs isn’t going to keep me going; a steady job is necessary, one I plan to supplement with evening jobs.

  This job, if I get it, runs 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., giving me lots of time to work in the evenings, and it pays a little bit more than usual for this type of work.

  Though I don’t actually have all of the skills listed for the position, I figured it was best to just show up; lots of things can be learned quickly on the job; say yes, learn later has been working out well for me so far.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, stretching it out as long as possible.

  I have about ten minutes before my official interview time, so I continue to concentrate on the act of relaxing.

  When my brain moves me to a warm, sunny day on a beach as if I’m fifteen again and on vacation with my parents in the Virgin Islands, I know I’ve succeeded.

  I slowly open my eyes in relief, my lips tugged into a small, satisfied smile.

  I’m calm and confident now, all of a sudden sure I’ll be hired and that I have nothing to worry about.

  I consider how to kill the rest of the time left to stave off another anxiety takeover; I need to maintain my peaceful state until the interview.

  I decide to use my e-reader app, and I’m digging through my bag for my phone when an overwhelming masculine aroma hits me, making my nose practically twitch with the stimulation of the heavy—and heavenly—scent.

  I search for the source and barely realize that my phone has slipped from my hands as my eyes lock with a pair of familiar blue ones that render everything else invisible, silent, insignificant.

  “Jaxson?” I think I say, the word clear in my mind but I don’t think it quite made it past my lips beyond a pitiful whisper.

  I must still be in the daydream I conjured up earlier, but that beautiful vacation scene has morphed into a daymare.

  Jaxson Pace is absolutely the last person I would have wanted to see right now—my cruel mind is playing tricks on me, showing me my worst fear after making me think I’d gotten past it.

  The insanely sexy, masculine mirage doesn’t respond to my stunned squeak—not surprisingly.

  The spell is broken when Jaxson’s gaze leaves my face and his eyes briefly flicker to my fallen phone, alerting me to what had happened and giving me the sense that I’m not actually daydreaming.

  I quickly scoop up the phone, despairing at the cracked screen.

  By the time I look back up, Jaxson has breezed past me, and I see only the back of his crisp, expensive-looking dark suit.

  Christ, this can’t be real.

  I pinch myself hard and suppress an “ow,” accepting that I’ve managed to walk right into the most humbling, embarrassing scenario possible.

  In the brief moment I saw him—though the few seconds seemed to stretch out much longer—Jaxson looked the same yet very different.

  I’ve never seen him in a suit, and the way he fills it out has stirred up things in me I haven’t felt in... it’s embarrassing how long, actually, and it has me squirming in my seat for different reasons than before.

  His shoulders are broader, his chest wider, his face, even more handsome than when I last saw it almost ten years ago.

  The boyish, good-natured beauty I remember is gone; the chiseled face of this older man in his place has a harshness to it, yet instead of taking away from his devastating looks, it only adds to it.

  I can’t believe this—the man I thought I’d marry when I was sixteen years old—my old best friend and first lover—has gone from a sweet dream to a smoldering vision.

  I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate so I focus on my breathing again before I embarrass myself more—I already klutzed it up with my phone, and I’ll have to worry about getting the screen fixed later.

  I can deal with a cracked screen; I need to work on my cracked composure.

  I suppress the urge to take off, unable to deal with the possibility that Jaxson actually works here and I could end up seeing him every day—a living Scarlet Letter reminding me of the consequences of my past actions.

  Since his face registered, my entire being has been wracked with conflicting sensations, oscillating between wanting the earth to open up and swallow me, and wishing the years that passed between us didn’t matter so much, and that he’d swept me up in his arms immediately instead of pretending I didn’t exist.

  Would it be better that way? With us pretending not to know each other if I end up working here?

  Is he in a position to put in a pity-filled good word for me? A spite-filled bad one?

  “Ms. Brown, we’re ready for you now.”

  It takes me a second to realize someone had spoken to me, and then my eyes focus on the pretty, smiling face of the redheaded receptionist.

  I’d totally forgotten she existed, and that she was nearby, possibly cracking up at the sight of my slackened, flushed face.

  “Thank you,” I say with a forced smile in return, waiting for an indication of what to do next.

  Is someone going to come and get me to lead me in or...?

  “You’re going to follow that corridor to the elevators, tenth floor. Number 1003,” the receptionist says in a neutral voice, but her eyes have a spark I can’t make sense of.

  I nod in understanding, gathering myself.

  The elevators should give me time to find my serenity zone again and get my job interview personality back together after being shattered by the sight of the man I once considered the love of my life.

  I knock l
ightly on the door of 1003, and my heart seizes when I hear a sharp, masculine “Come in.”

  My nervousness managed to take over again on the short walk from the elevators here, but the fact that my interviewer is a guy eases me a bit—interviewing with females has proven more difficult for some reason.

  But as I open the door, everything hits me at once—the voice, the cologne, the back of the head of the man currently staring out of the window, hands held behind his back…

  Jaxson.

  My heart starts pounding too hard and too fast.

  I stand there waiting for the next instruction or invitation, still holding the door open as if ready to bolt out.

  Jaxson continues facing the window for a few more seconds, and when he finally turns to sit in his large leather chair, all the composure I managed to scrounge up dissipates once again in his overwhelming presence.

  I wish I’d had a warning—a name on the door or something; I needed to prepare for this! The door doesn’t even say Human Resources or anything—it just has the number 1003.

  Is this why the receptionist looked sort of amused as she gave me the instructions? Am I giving her much-needed kicks in an otherwise routine day as she imagines my face right now?

  “You may close the door behind you, Candace. Have a seat,” Jaxson says in a much deeper voice than I remember, indicating the chair in front of his desk.