Boss: A Novel Read online

  Boss: A Novel

  Lauren Love

  Boss: A Novel

  Lauren Love

  Copyright © 2017

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Note: This book was previously published under a different pen name, but has been re-edited and re-released.

  Boss: A Novel

  Lauren Love

  For everybody who has ever been confused about love…

  Chapter 1

  “We need to celebrate!”

  Olivia is bouncing excitedly from one foot to the other.

  “How are you not dancing right now?”

  Olivia’s enthusiasm is infectious but I have to keep my focus on the glowing screen in front of me. I have a lot to do before I can consider celebrating.

  “It’s just an interview. I don’t have the investment yet. And didn’t we just finish celebrating your new modeling contract?” I respond to Olivia without looking at her.

  “And I only got that contract because of the website you designed to showcase my range. Come on, Claire!” she smiles.

  She drops into a cross-legged position on the floor with an easy grace that I could never hope to achieve, “We need to at least order pizza and crack a bottle of wine.”

  I finally raise my eyes to look at her.

  Even with her long blonde hair hanging wet and loose around her shiny face, Olivia is still stunning. Ordinarily I might resent her natural beauty and charm but she’s been my rock and my sunshine since high school. Not that I’m unattractive, I guess. My brown hair is lush and just wavy enough to keep it interesting. But I’m more girl-next-door than Olivia’s supermodel looks.

  She’s looking at me with those big blue eyes and hopeful smile… and I have no choice but to give in, shutting off my computer

  “Alright,” I grin.

  I get up and head for my new bedroom, eyeing the boxes still stacked along the wall, “But if we’re having pizza and wine, I need to go to the gym first. I need to test out my new app.”

  Her voice recedes behind my closed door but she’s still chatting and making plans when I re-emerge wearing blue workout gear.

  I’ve been trying not to get too excited about the interview with reclusive billionaire Kaden Blake but Olivia isn’t making it easy. When I sort out the advice of our college professor, Dr. Henderson, with my new app design and prototype, I had been hoping for some advice, or maybe a nudge in the right direction.

  The app needed funding and manpower to develop but no bank was going to lend me the seven figures I needed to get it off the ground. Dr. Henderson had seen the potential in the deceptive simplicity of the design and arranged the interview with his rich and successful alumni, Kaden.

  Lucky for me, Kaden Blake’s main offices are in New York because both Olivia and I spent the last of our combined savings on this tiny, shared apartment. And that was on top of the expense of moving to New York from our country town.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Alright,” Olivia chimes at me, grabbing up her sketchbook, “I’m going to go find a park. And I’ll pick up the pizza if you get the wine.”

  I agree and make my way down the steps, through the security door and out onto the street.

  The second I’m outside I can feel the buzz of energy all around me.

  Manhattan is alive and breathing with music, car horns, sirens, and people speaking in a multitude of languages. The street is a sea of multi-colored vehicles, buses and yellow cabs. Across from me is a woman on a balcony two floors up, swearing in Spanish at a man standing on the footpath.

  The man is holding up a coat and trousers.

  “You know I don’t speak Italian, Carlotta! You want me gone? Fine! Give me my shirt back and I’ll be out of our life forever.”

  I stifle a smile and silently wish him luck as I make my way up the street. It takes me a few minutes of dodging and getting shoved to get into the rhythm of moving through the crowd. I’m really not used to being around this many people.

  I jump in behind a tall woman with long nails and a wide brimmed hat. She’s cutting through the crowd like a hot knife through butter so I let her lead the way.

  Buskers along the sides play versions of folk music, classical, and hip-hop, each bleeding into the next as I make my way through the crowd. With the changing music comes smells from the alternating food stalls - exotic and spicy aromas tantalizing my senses.

  This is why I moved to New York.

  I turn off onto a side street and hit the doors of Joey’s Workout Spot. It’s relatively new and small when compared to the larger fitness chains but apparently thanks to a range of exclusive workout apps I’d designed, they’re growing in popularity. In exchange for my skills, I get free membership and the royalties just cover my rent. But if I want to eat beyond the next few weeks I’m going to have to think bigger…

  I check my phone as I’m stretching and groan.

  Two missed calls from Trent. When I broke up with him three months ago I thought he’d be as relieved as I was but apparently not.

  We’d met in college and he was pretty much a dream come true. Handsome, charming, smart. Everyone had thought of him as the next Bill Gates - and he still might be - but right now he was just the prick who cheated on me a lot. His last words to me before I walked out of his life still rang in my ears and made me sick to my stomach.

  The only way a stupid girl like you is going to make it is if you’re screwing a man who already has.

  I exhale sharply and grit my teeth.

  He’s gone, Claire. What he says and what he thinks does not matter any more.

  I flick to my newest app.

  I like to test all my designs in the gym before I hand them over.

  This app is called Apocalypse Runner and essentially takes the listener through a range of couch to 5k drills to the sensory backdrop of a post-apocalyptic world full of crazy punks and mad laughing clowns.

  After the success of Pirate Rowing and Zombie Cycling as well as Rainforest Hike and Beachside Jog, I have the feeling I know what the market wants.

  The market needs something to make them forget that they’re in a gym and makes them feel alive.

  ****

  Thirty minutes later I’m dripping sweat and laughing as I step off the treadmill.

  The voice actors have done an amazing job. The characters feel real which really added to the sense of danger as well as the humor. I grab my notebook out of my bag and take note of a couple of bugs I found and work out a rough timetable. All going well I should be able to turn the new app in by the end of the week.

  I’m still smiling when I hitch my bag over my shoulder but when I turn, I slam into a hard wall of fabric and muscle.

  I jump back with a squeak and to my horror I stumbled over something on the floor and fell on my butt. My gaze rises slowly, taking in the shiny black shoes, long legs and wide shoulders clad in a tailored three-piece suit. The way the fabric moves speaks of money and power, but also that the man within was lean and strong.

  Finally my gaze reaches his face and I have to swallow hard.

  Handsome doesn’t even come close.

  A strong jaw, straight nose, wide full mouth, sandy-blonde hair clipped so it looks both shaggy and neat at the same time.

  He crouches with the kind of easy grace that Olivia always has and we’re suddenly face-to-face.

  His beautiful, light stormy blue eyes take my breath away.

  I know I’m ogling at him but man! I have never been so close to anyone who looked this good before. And my b
est friend’s a model, so that’s saying something.

  He’s not really frowning but he’s looking at me like one might look at an alien found on their doorstep. I can’t imagine how I must look to him, all flushed and sweaty.

  “Are you, alright?” his voice is quiet and smooth, and I detect a slight accent, maybe something European.

  Watching his lips move makes butterflies flip in my stomach.

  He’s not just handsome - he’s captivating.

  Everything about him makes me want to know more.

  Who is he? Where did he come from? What would it be like to wash up on a tropical island with just him and the scraps of clothing the raging storm didn’t rip off…

  I blink and force myself to breathe again.

  “I’m fine,” I say, inwardly scolding myself.

  Seriously, Claire! It’s hasn’t been that long since you got laid and you didn’t enjoy it much anyway.

  Something tells me that it would be a very different experience with this man.

  I try to get up but only manage to fall on my clumsy butt again.

  “Let me help,” he says.

  He holds out one large hand and I take it on instinct.

  It’s a mistake.

  The meeting of our hands is electric and I have to look away to hide the bolt of pure excitement that shoots up my arm. His hand is strong, enveloping my smaller one and hinting at the kind of strength that could be so gentle but also be very cruel.

  As he pulls me to my feet, I can’t help the flood of erotic flashes that play behind my eyes.

  I imagine my legs wrapped around him, my nails digging into his wide back. He has the kind of physique that’s just made for slamming a woman against a wall and screwing her hard enough to leave a permanent indentation.

  I look down for what tripped me but can’t see anything. Great. I tripped over my own feet.

  Smooth.

  He reaches down and picks up my bag.

  It’s an old denim and patchwork backpack that I made back in high school.

  I’ll admit that it’s starting to get old and ratty but in his manicured hands it looks like an escape rope made of ripped sheets and clothes. He’s looking at it curiously while still holding it away from his expensive suit.

  “Thanks,” I say, trying not to sound snippy as I snatch it back and hitch it up on my shoulder, “I’d better go grab a shower. I’m all sweaty and smelly.”

  I groan inwardly.

  Yep, that’s me. I’ve got all the sexy lines.

  He quirks an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth turn up in what might almost be a smile.

  Before I can humiliate myself any further I sidestep him, careful not to get any sweat on his suit and scamper out the door.

  My sole consolation is that in a city this size, I’ll probably never run into him again…

  Chapter 2

  The car arrives five minutes early and I take one last look in the full-length wardrobe mirror.

  I look like a stranger.

  The black pencil skirt stops mid-thigh and with the five inch heels I feel like I’m standing on stilts. The matching fitted black jacket sits over my sleeveless white silk blouse. With the hot red lipstick, it’s like all my other features are magically accentuated.

  If I stand still, I actually look sexy.

  “You look fantastic,” Olivia gushes, eyes wide and smile even wider.

  I frown and take a few awkward steps across the room. Not as wobbly as I was but I still I feel like a little girl wearing Mom’s clothes while she’s out.

  “I’m not sure about the shoes.”

  “The shoes are perfect,” she points a warning finger at me, “Trust me. No man has ever said no to a pair of screw-me-heels ever in the history of the world.”

  “Must you call them that?”

  “Call them what?” she replies, all innocence, “Oh! You mean the screw-me-heels?”

  I flush and she giggles.

  I get the feeling that she loves me because she can still shock me.

  “Yes,” she continues, standing up and making me turn, “Business 101. When asking a man to invest a million dollars you must wear screw-me-heels. Trust me if it was acceptable for guys to wear them they totally would, all the time.”

  “Right.”

  Her attempts to make me laugh are working but something is niggling in the back of my mind in a voice that I’ve been trying to shove away for three months now.

  I know Trent was just being nasty, trying to hurt me because he was losing me but for some reason the words just won’t go away.

  The only way a stupid girl like you is going to make it is if you’re screwing a man who already has.

  Is that what I look like?

  A woman willing to have sex to get what she wants?

  A knock on the door signals that my time is up and I take a last look at my hair, the one feature I’ve always loved.

  I don’t know what Olivia did to it but it moves like water when I tip my head, looking like thick melted chocolate cascading over my shoulders and framing my heart-shaped face.

  “Wait,” Olivia says, grabbing her phone to snap a photo, “This is going to be the day that everything changes. We have to document it.”

  Laughing, I pull her up beside me, hold my phone up and we both smile, heads touching.

  “If this is the day, then it’s because you’re with me.”

  She smiles and her eyes shimmer, and I can feel mine doing the same.

  “Get out of here before you ruin your makeup!” she says and pushes me towards the door.

  I open to a freckly petite woman with short neatly cut red hair under a gold trimmed, black chauffeur’s hat.

  Her neat black pantsuit hugs her boyish frame and her hands are clad in fingerless leather gloves. It strikes me that it really wouldn’t look strange if she was wearing a pair of driver’s goggles to go with the outfit. A giddy sort of laugh bubbles in my chest.

  “Miss Snow?” she says in a thick Scottish brogue that matches the woman perfectly but seems so out of place in the moment.

  “Yes,” I reply but it comes out more of a croak.

  She looks me up and down. I feel as though I’m being inspected and I’m not sure if I’m passing. Her eyes narrow on my red heels and when she meets my gaze she isn’t smiling.

  “Come on then, Miss,” she says, already turning away, “Mr. Blake doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Her gaze lands on Olivia and lingers for an extra second before she heads back down the narrow staircase. Olivia and I exchange an amused look before I blow her a kiss and start following the driver.

  Out on the street she opens the back passenger door to an expensive looking black limousine car and waits, looking straight ahead.

  Before I get in, I pause.

  “I feel like I should know your name,” I say and when she frowns at me I add, “Since you know mine already.”

  Her eyes narrow for a second but then she seems to relax and the smile she gives me looks almost friendly, “You can call me Rowe, Miss.”

  “Short for Rowena?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  I cringe and add, “Would you mind calling me Claire?”

  “Yes, Miss Claire.”

  I notice a glimmer of something that might be amusement in her green eyes and I smile as I slip into the cool leather interior.

  Once Rowe is seated, she checks to make sure I’m belted in and then pulls out into the sea of traffic so fast I have to grip the seat to keep my balance. I can only watch in growing horror and morbid fascination as she doges and weaves through the road-blocked vehicles at the kind of speed that shoves me back into my seat and turns the world outside into a blur.

  “Try to relax, Miss Claire,” Rowe frowns over her shoulder at me.

  I want to shout at her to focus on the road but I don’t want to distract her at this breakneck speed so I just smile and nod and sigh with relief when she turns her attention back to the oncoming traffic jam. />
  Whistling through her teeth, she makes a sharp turn up a side street without even slowing and to my surprise we pull to a smooth stop outside what must be Blake Tower.

  A second later my door is opened by a tall, smartly dressed man.

  He holds out a hand to help me out and I take it, hoping he can’t feel me shaking. Taking one look at my face he frowns and then throws a dark look at Rowe.

  She just shrugs and gives him a wide toothy grin, “Good morning, Brock.”

  “Rowe,” he greets her with a curt nod.

  Once I’m on solid ground again, Brock lets go of my hand, “Follow me, Miss Snow.”

  I look back at Rowe.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Claire,” she replies and her lips twitch, “I’ll be waiting for you when you finish your meeting.”

  Oh yay. Another thrill ride.

  Turning back to the building, I look up and up and up till I think my eyes cross. I had read that this building was something like 70 stories high.

  I’ve never really been scared of heights but wow. After another second of gaping up like a fish, I follow after Brock and even manage a smile when he pulls a huge glass door open and holds it for me to enter.

  As I pass through the doors I notice the intricate gold lettering on the thick polished glass:

  Blake Tower

  He leads the way through the wide foyer of steel and sandstone and over a grey-black polished marble floor. I have to really focus on my feet as I can feel the heels slipping slightly on the smooth floor.

  There is no way am I going to slip and fall on my ass today.

  When we reach a line of glass elevators he presses the call button and the doors slide open with a muted ping and after waving a hand to signal that I should enter first, he leans in and presses the button for the top floor then withdraws.

  I look at him wide-eyed as the clear doors slide closed with a hiss before lifting me up and away – alone.