Boss Naughty

  Boss Naughty

  Alexa Hart

  Copyright © 2019 Alexa Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording

  or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher,

  except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, foreign and subsidiary rights, contact the author or her representative via alexa@alexahartbooks.com

  Passion Pique Publishing

  United States

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales are completely coincidental.

  Digital Edition

  Contents

  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

  Also by Alexa Hart

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to all the hopeless romantics. To the beautiful lovers out there who just want love, plain and simple. Love… wrapped in a delicious, hard as nails, muscle-clad package that will make you forget your own name… plain and simple.

  -ALEXA HART

  Chapter 1

  Ryan

  Pulling at the uncomfortably high neckline of my Valentino dress, I brace myself, readying to enter into the long-forgotten world of my parent’s uppity lifestyle. Today, I moved back into my childhood home, in Westchester, New York. I haven’t been home once through my four years of college, always having made some excuse to avoid holidays – a paper here, an exam there; my parents never questioned it much. As I descend the marble staircase into the awaiting sea of old money and high expectations, I solidify the cool and collected exterior I perfected throughout my ornate childhood. As the governor’s daughter, I can’t make a mistake. I have to be perfectly polite, educated, and beautiful as ever.

  “Oh darling, I wish you would have let me get that tailored for you, it doesn’t fit right at all.” My mother whispers in my ear, taking my arm in hers as she discretely tugs the waist of my olive-green day-dress. I ignore her comment, smiling dutifully.

  “Where’s Mr. Kimmel?” I ask her, referring to the publisher that she’d promised to invite as a way of stifling my protests to holding this graduation party. She glanced around the crowd momentarily, her eyes barely scanning the faces of the many guests I don’t actually know.

  “I’m sure he’ll arrive soon.”

  I grimace at her vague answer. It wouldn’t make a difference to either of my parents if he showed up or not – to them, writing is a menial pastime. I still cringe at the rare times I allow my mind to wander back to the day I first told them I’d be majoring in literature, not accounting.

  “Oh, there she is!” My father clasps a large and stern hand around my waist, pulling me in for a hug. I return the gesture haphazardly. He’s only ever hugged me in front of company.

  “Father, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.” I smile at the men surrounding us. One is older, with gray hair and matching light eyes. I don’t recognize him. The other is a familiar face, who draws a blush on my cheeks, an annoying remnant of my adolescence. Julian Price, CEO of Price Industries, is an occasional dinner guest of my father’s. Between his New York roots, and his massive commitment to philanthropy, he’s basically a prince in this city. Meaning his support matters more than most when my father wants to be reelected. Riches and social do-gooding aside, the man is quite handsome. He is middle-aged, though not nearly as middle-aged as my parents. His black hair is starting to show faint shades of gray in its immaculate styling, perfectly complimenting the smattering of scruff around his strong jaw. With oak-green eyes and a straight nose, he’s the definition of classically handsome. I meet his gaze head on, nodding at him and the other man, who glances at my father once before suspiciously excusing himself from the conversation.

  “Ryan, you remember Julian Price, don’t you?” My father nudges me.

  “Yes, it’s lovely to see you again Mr. Price, thank you for coming.” I smile sweetly at him, earning a nod and a glint of amusement in his emerald eyes, and I am sure he knows the smile is fake.

  “Of course, congratulations.” He is short almost to the point of being dismissive, but his smirk is mischievous, and suddenly I am uneasy in the conversation.

  “Ryan, Mr. Price here has just graciously agreed to give you a job.” My father takes a long sip of his scotch-filled glass, ignoring my wide-eyed glance between the two of them.

  “Forgive me if I’m wrong, Mr. Price,” I start, coolly, “but I thought your company was in telecommunications?”

  “Yes, that's right, it is.” He confirms, bubbling anger in my chest as I send him a glare meant for my father.

  “I’m not sure how I can be of help to you, as my degree is in literature.”

  Julian ignores my glare, his lips spread into a wide, lopsided grin. My father answers for him, as I knew he would.

  “You are going to be Mr. Price’s personal assistant while you learn the industry ropes, and then later we can talk about finding a more permanent position for you.” My father looks at Julian for confirmation as he speaks to me.

  “Of course,” Julian says, nodding politely. “I look forward to having you – I’m sure your degree will come in handy; I’ve been told that my correspondence skills leave something to be desired.”

  My father lets out a hearty laugh, clasping Julian’s shoulder and leading him away from the ambush I just fell victim to. Despite the sincerity in Julian’s voice I can hear the subtle edge; he’s baiting me, but why?

  I scan the crowd one last time for Mr. Kimmel, the only guest I requested at this garish party, and sigh. He’s not here; somehow, I knew he wouldn’t be. I’m sure there’s an invitation earmarked for him somewhere in one of the many trash bins on our estate. Bounding back up the double staircase I leave the party in search of peaceful solitude, but before I can turn the corner, I catch Julian’s gaze from the bar. He is watching me. Taking a short sip of his drink, he smiles and winks, amusedly. I ignore the gesture with a huff, disappearing behind several locked doors.

  * * *

  “I’m not going.” I resolve, my chin held high in front of my father’s mahogany work desk. The office is ornate in the most depressing way, with paneled wood walls and stained-glass windows. The room itself feels like it’s suffocating me.

  “You are, and that’s the end of it. Go shower before work, I expect you to look presentable.” Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, my father dismisses me, turning to some menial work on his laptop.

  My lips scrunch, ready to hurl my next protest, but the usual sound of his phone ringing cuts me off, pushing me to the back of the to-do list as he answers with a friendly greeting, waiving me away. Marching from his office, I bound up the stairs for a nice long, hot shower, determined to be late for my first day.

  I step into the hot spray of the luxurious shower, one of the few benefits of moving home, pouring a generous serving of v
anilla scented bodywash into my palm. The room fills instantly with the sweet scent, raising my mood minutely. When I finally step out onto the cool tile floor, I am squeaky clean, and my muscles have released their tension from the morning’s meeting with my father. With a quick blow-dry, and a classic black suit, I am ready to go.

  “You’re going to be late.” My mother chides, stepping into the kitchen as I leisurely sip my mug of coffee. I glance up at her, displaying the clueless expression I’ve mastered over the years.

  “Am I? Oops, I haven’t looked at the time.”

  She ticks at me, in that condescending way only mothers can. “Take Gerald, don’t drive yourself.”

  Nodding at her instruction, I grab a to-go cup and leave her alone in the kitchen, resigning to finally head for work. Gerald has been my mother’s driver for as long as I can remember. A kind, older man, he’s come to every dance recital, awards ceremony, and graduation that my parents missed. My mother doesn’t need to offer twice.

  “Good morning, Gerald.” I smile at him, handing him the cup as he opens the door of the black sedan for me. Taking a small sip, he grins gratefully at me before sliding into the front seat.

  “Miss Blake, thank you. Price Industries, right?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The drive to the office is pleasant -- more pleasant than any other moment I’ve caught since moving home – but it is over all too soon. Though we live outside of the city, my prolonged morning routine made us late enough to miss the traffic, putting me squarely in downtown Manhattan in less than thirty minutes. I silently curse myself for that little oversight.

  Price Tower is one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, grand and intimidating. The impossibly tall ceilings and full windowed walls allow no room for shyness or privacy; my heels click on the marble floor like a beacon, calling each set of prying eyes to me as I make my way to the elevators. Though Julian owns the building, Price Industries only occupies the top five floors. Pressing the sleek chrome 45 I take a deep gulp of the stale elevator air, ignoring the stares of the other occupants headed to lesser floors. The last of them steps out on 37, giving me just a small moment of solitude to put my game face on. I can rage to my father, and cry to my mother, all I want. I will not cry to Julian Price. I will not let him hear my voice break in anger. I’m used to my father using me as a pawn in his political life, that's nothing new. But Julian Price? He has another thing coming to him.

  “You must be Miss Blake. I was told you would be late. Follow me.” The woman at the counter greets me curtly as I exit the elevator, her steel gray suit complimenting her demeanor perfectly.

  “You were told? By who?” I question her, already annoyed. My mother must have called with some reasonable excuse.

  “Mr. Price. He mentioned it on Friday when I was filling out your onboarding papers – although, I couldn’t seem to find a resumé or an application.”

  I smirk a bit as I follow her, forcing back a laugh at her annoyance with my presence. If only she knew the feeling is mutual. Narrowing my eyes, I consider asking her how Mr. Price could have possibly known I’d be late, when I hadn’t even devised this plan myself yet, but I decide against it. She doesn’t seem like she gets many answers around here anyway.

  “I’m impressed, you’re earlier than I thought you’d be.” Dramatically glancing at his sleek designer watch, Mr. Price addresses me as I approach my new desk, his tone amused. Flashing a haphazard glare in his direction, I set my bag down on the smooth wood surface not bothering to thank the rude receptionist for her tour.

  “How did you know I’d be late?” I ask him, arms crossed no longer bothering with decorum. He takes a moment, studying me, his emerald eyes filled with equal parts mischief and utter entertainment. I meet his gaze head on, my chin high, silently letting him know that I will not be a willing participant in whatever game he and my father are playing.

  “Just a guess.” He smirks, stalking towards me and visibly enjoying the growing uneasiness in my posture as he approaches. When I don’t respond, he speaks again, motioning to a packet on the ornate desk. “This is a list of all your responsibilities, and basic how-to guides for the company software. Your login should be in there, but if you have any questions just come in, no need to knock.”

  With that he leaves me, retreating the five short feet to the glass door of his expansive corner office. What am I thinking? Of course his office is amazing, he owns the company. Sinking into my admittedly very comfortable ergonomic chair, I pick up the packet leisurely, thumbing through it without actually absorbing any of the information. I can’t quit – my father would just make me come crawling back – but I could be fired, and there isn’t a damn thing in the world he could do about it.

  The day goes by slowly, and with little opportunity to be let go. Still, I tried my best --signing onto my employee portal, I returned Mr. Price’s emails with curt sentences and little actual substance, after lunch I spectacularly messed up the filing closet for someone to deal with later, and most importantly, all the while pretending that Julian Price didn’t even exist. I watched him read the responses I quickly generated from his personal email, waiting each time for the same anger and disappointment I’ve seen fill my father’s eyes a million times, but it never came. Instead his stare filled with amusement and his lips grew into an ever-annoying smirk. I could feel him watching me throughout the day, but he thankfully knew better than to say anything. Now, as I pack my purse to leave, he finally approaches me.

  “I think your first day went well, all things considered.” He is smug, offering me a crooked smile, motioning for me to walk ahead of him. Feigning cluelessness, I turn to him with a long-perfected doe-eyed stare.

  “All things considered? I don’t know what you could possibly be referring to.” My voice is an octave too high, dripping with honey. It only serves to widen his smile, pulling a quirk in his brow as he studies me, waiting for the elevator.

  “Let’s be upfront with each other, okay?” He asks, without actually waiting for my answer. “Your father made you take this job.”

  I grant him a slight nod, off-put by his sudden and unusual frankness, words escaping my lips with unintended fervor. “I don’t want to work here Mr. Price, and we both know I can’t quit, so why don’t you just do us both a favor and fire me?”

  We step onto the empty elevator, silent as the door closes behind us. His deep green eyes are bright and focused, devouring me with some emotion that I can’t decipher. Is it amusement? Is he doing this purely for entertainment?

  “No, I don’t think I will.” He finally speaks, puckering his lips ever so slightly in his resolve.

  “Excuse me?” I blurt out, shocked by his strange refusal. With a sharp ding the elevator door slides open, and he flashes me a wide and definitely amused grin before stepping off and departing without answering my question.

  Chapter 2

  Ryan

  “Who ordered this?” Audrey, the unpleasant secretary asks shrewdly. I finally learned her name after a couple weeks here. I work, failingly, to suppress a smile as I pour my coffee, watching her through the sleek glass walls as she inspects the large shipping crate that now sits in front of her desk. A few watchers gather around her, one of them popping a ruler under the edge of the lid and lifting it from its structure.

  As it happens, I know exactly what it is. I may have ordered a case of Dom Perignon, accidentally of course, in place of the special pens Mr. Price requested – the ones that glide like gel. He’ll unfortunately be writing with standard BIC for the time being. Strolling into the lobby, I peer into the case, disregarding the eyes glued to me.

  “This was you, wasn’t it?” Audrey spits at me, her lips curled in their usual distaste.

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” Smiling at her, I grip a bottle, walking back to my desk slowly peeling off the sealing foil.

  As my polished fingers move to grip the now-uncovered cork, strong hands take the bottle from me, popping the cork f
rom the bottle with ease.

  “At least you picked something good.” Mr. Price commends me, his usual smirk pressed onto his full lips as he takes a short drag from the expensive bottle.

  I don’t return the smile, instead flashing him a cold stare. “Oh, before I forget, there was a small mix-up at the dry cleaners. Unfortunately, your suits have been irreparably damaged.”

  Flexing his jaw, Julian sits in my desk chair, motioning for Audrey to join us.

  “Audrey, please have the champagne delivered to my home. Someone must have mixed up the delivery address,” flashing a pointed look at me, he continues, “also could you please order some of those pens I like. And cancel the rest of my day, Miss Blake and I have some business to attend to.”

  Audrey nods, shooting me a glare and turning on her heel to scurry away, too intimidated by him to actually speak.

  “So, are you finally firing me?”

  “No,” he says succinctly, standing, “we’re going suit shopping.”

  “What? I di— “

  “It wasn’t a question, come on.” He settles a hand on my upper back, his face full of amusement and retribution. I sigh, conceding.

  * * *

  The small boutique-style tailor isn’t exactly what I pictured from Julian Price. He greets the man at the counter warmly, like an old friend. My father would have presented his requests without a greeting, a please or a thank you. While the silence of the car ride was easily passable as distraction with the world passing by the deeply tinted windows, it’s growing more and more awkward with each passing moment. If Mr. Price notices, though, he does nothing to remedy it. I know he’s waiting for me to crack, and from what I can tell, he’s a rather patient man.