Brazen Bossman: A Hero Club Novel

by Emma Nichole

  While I’d never tell my mother this, I don’t think we can tread water for much longer without drowning.

  “Ma!” I hear my brother, Oliver, calling from the kitchen.

  I look across the booth at her, and she sits silently with a smile.

  “Ma!” he calls again.

  “Aren’t you going to answer him?”

  “If he needs something, he’ll come talk to me at a normal volume. No need to shout across the damn restaurant.”

  My mother is a fifty-nine-year-old spitfire in its purest form. She’s maybe five foot nothing, with dark black shoulder-length hair that she keeps pulled back in a low ponytail, but she doesn’t take shit from anyone. Especially not my brothers, Oliver and Benjamin.

  I shake my head and laugh.

  “Dang, Ma. I was calling for you,” Oliver says when he finally decides to come out into the dining room, instead of hollering from the kitchen.

  “I heard you, but I’m your mother, not one of those hussies you keep around. You’ll come talk to me respectfully.” She levels him with a stare.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulls off his apron and tosses it onto the counter behind us.

  She turns her head toward me, and mouths, “Still got it.”

  I smile and scoot over so Oliver can slide into the booth next to me. “You smell like a grease trap,” I tell him, nudging him over a little.

  “That’s what happens when you actually get work done back there. And that’s actually what I was needing to tell you, Ma. We are going to have to call Mario next week to see if he can come clean out the trap. Ben and I have done what we can with it, but it needs the professional touch.”

  She sighs a little, probably trying to hide it from us, before she responds, “I’ll call him in the morning.”

  “Who are we calling in the morning?” my other brother, Benjamin, asks as he slides into the seat beside my mother.

  “Mario, to see if he will come fix the grease trap,” Oliver replies.

  “Finally. We tried to do it ourselves, but as much as I hate admitting it, we do have a fatal flaw. We can’t fix everything ourselves.” Benjamin smirks.

  My brothers are six years older than me, identical twins, so I’ve always had built-in bodyguards and pains in my ass since I was born.

  I wouldn’t trade them for anything though.

  “If we are done here, I’ve got to get going. Meredith is meeting me at the apartment,” Benjamin says as he checks his phone. “And I have to make a stop first.”

  “It’s nearly eleven at night. What could you possibly need to stop for?” my mother asks.

  “Well, Ma, I don’t want to get my booty call pregnant and we used all four remaining con—”

  “NOPE! No need to finish that sentence. I don’t need to hear it. Go. Go. Get out of here,” she says with a wave of her hand.

  He leans over and plants a kiss to the top of her head. “Later. Ma, I love you. Pipes, be good. Oliver, sorry I’m the hotter twin.”

  He doesn’t even give any of us a chance to respond before he whirls out of the building like the Tasmanian Devil.

  “Yeah, I need to get out of here too. I don’t have a booty call waiting, I’m just tired as hell,” Oliver says. “Need me to walk you to the bank?”

  “No, I’m a big girl. I want a soak in my tub with a glass of whiskey so badly, right now, that any mugger or murderer who gets in my way has another thing coming,” I reply.

  “Don’t you dare say things like that, Piper. I don’t even want that juju in the air,” my mother scolds.

  “I didn’t mean to negatively affect your juju, Ma,” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “But really, I need to get going. I have some work to get done tonight too before the morning.”

  “Asshole still being an asshole?” Oliver asks.

  “Always. He’s just so impossible and impersonal. It’s like he just doesn’t care, ya know? I don’t know how to do that or respond to that. I care too much sometimes. So I just don’t understand him. Plus, he’s a fucking asshat who wouldn’t know manners if they knocked him upside the head.”

  “Language, Piper Kingston,” Ma scolds.

  “Really?” my brother and I say in complete unison.

  “I’ve heard you call Nancy Parsons a fucking bitch because she didn’t salt her side of the sidewalk three winters ago,” Oliver says.

  “And I heard you refer to a beer delivery man as an ungrateful fuck because… well, honestly, I don’t even remember,” I add.

  “Certain situations call for severe language.” She shrugs and slides from the booth to stand, and we do the same.

  “Get going, Pipes. I’ll stay back with Ma and get it all closed up then walk her home,” Oliver says to me.

  “Thanks.” I pull my crossbody bag over my chest. “I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon.”

  I kiss my mother’s cheek and give my brother a hug before slipping out into the New York night.

  I try not to notice the stress written all over my mother’s face, nor the way that exact stress has eaten away at her physically.

  She is smaller now from not eating very much, and she has perpetual dark circles under her eyes. She’s missing the fire that was once vibrating off of her.

  She has two mortgages out on our building, on top of the mounting loan debt my father left behind. Any other person would have sold the restaurant by now, paid off the loans, and called it a wash, but not my mother.

  And honestly, not my brothers and me either.

  Kingston’s is what keeps us connected to my father. It’s like we can feel him in the building every time the aroma of marinara sauce fills the air and the hustle and bustle of our regulars swirls around us.

  I don’t know what we would do if we lost the building, but I’m not naïve, nor am I a child. I know that unless a miracle happens, that is imminent.

  I just hope my mother will survive when that time comes.

  Nathanial

  One could say I’m a fucking asshole.

  In fact, I may have been told that to my face a time or two, usually accompanied by a swift drink to the face or a slap across the cheek, courtesy of whichever female is suddenly realizing I’m not interested in whatever it is they thought we were.

  I know that’s exactly what I am. A fucking asshole who is addicted to working and wants things the way he wants them, no questions asked.

  Is that so wrong?

  My addiction to work has never been more obvious as the clock strikes midnight, and I’m still in my suit, the tie long since forgotten, sitting in front of my computer in the office, even as the cleaning crew does their job around me.

  The last thing I ever expected for my life is working here, at fucking Lennox Publishing. I didn’t spend four years in college and another two interning all over New York City for a fucking master’s in architecture to run a fucking publishing house. I’ve loathed this company for as long as I can remember. I’d even venture as far as to say this place is the reason I’m as fucked up as I am.

  My father chose this place, this company, over his family. He was here more than he was home, and any time a fight would brew because of it, he’d let me know quickly that this place was the reason we could afford the nice house, the luxuries, and the Ivy League school I attended.

  The trademark Lennox guilt. He was a master at that.

  The loud, shrill ring of my desk phone permeates the room, pulling me from any and all thoughts that were occupying my mind.

  I scrub my hand over my face and put the receiver to my ear.

  “Lennox.”

  “It’s after midnight, Nathanial. Why are you still in the office?”

  My mother’s tone is soft, yet stern. It always has been.

  “How did you know I was still here?”

  “You’re a Lennox.”

  I scoff, “Fair enough. I just needed to finish a few things that couldn’t wait.” Sighing heavily, I sit back in my desk chair. “How is he today?”

  “T
oday was a rough day. He tried to get up this morning to get dressed for work. I had to calmly explain to him that he didn’t work anymore. He got very angry. You know that Carson Lennox temper is ever present, even if he isn’t.”

  My father was diagnosed middle-staged Alzheimer’s last year. That was a tough pill for him to swallow. He and my mother knew that day; managing Lennox Publishing wasn’t something he would be able to do anymore, so against my better judgment, and for the sanity of my mother, I took over. They signed over all rights and power to me… and here I am. Owner and CEO of Lennox Fucking Publishing.

  I stepped up when it was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “And what about you? Are you all right?”

  “Oh, you know me, Nathanial, I’m okay. I’m keeping busy and helping with him.”

  “But are you taking care of yourself? And don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not the priority right now.”

  “You can’t take everything on alone, Mom.” I begin to tap my fingers on the desk. A habit I’ve formed over the past few years when I start becoming agitated or stressed.

  “I’m not. I have you. You’re managing the business for us, and that’s helping more than you could ever know, sweetie.”

  “I’m doing it for you. I’m not doing it for him.”

  She sighs heavily. “Will you two ever put things aside and move forward? Jesus Christ, this has been going on for what feels like forever. He’s your father. You two are so stubborn.”

  “Do we really have to have this conversation right now?”

  “No, we don’t, but eventually, you’re going to have to. He’s a sick man. You never know what could happen at any moment, and I don’t want you living the rest of your life with any regrets.”

  This is absolutely not happening right now. That’s not even something I can think about without feeling a ball form in the pit of my stomach.

  “I know, Mom. I know. Look, it’s really late and I have a few things to settle before I call it quits for the night. Gabrielle is going to be here in the morning to discuss a few things on our side of things, so I’ll be back in early.”

  When I made the decision to put most of my focus on Lennox Publishing, it left a hole in my position at NCL Properties, which I co-own with my childhood best friend, Gabrielle Hawthorn. She has been a rock throughout this whole process. Picking up where I’m obviously slacking on that side of my life and keeping business booming.

  “You stretch yourself so thin. Tell Gabby we said hello,” she sighs.

  “I’ve got it handled, Mom. I promise. I will tell her. Get some rest, okay? You need it.”

  “Likewise, sweetie. I love you.”

  “I love you too. Goodnight.”

  When I finally peel myself away from my desk a couple of hours later and step into my cold, dark penthouse apartment, my mind matches that exact aesthetic.

  Until I heard from my mother, the plan was as it always is.

  Leave work. Invite someone to come keep my bed warm for a couple of hours, fuck her into oblivion—taking out all of my frustration from the day—send her on her way, have a glass of scotch, and collapse into bed for a few hours.

  After talking to my mother, and that conversation sending my brain into overdrive in a place it doesn’t want to be, all plans changed.

  Now, I’ll start with the scotch, possibly make it two, and I know there will be no sleeping soundly tonight.

  Chapter 2

  Piper

  Dear P,

  You do find yourself in quite the predicament, don’t you?

  My first thought is to warn you to be careful. Interoffice fraternization can get very messy very quickly.

  You have to ask yourself: is this a passing infatuation brought on by the intense negative emotions, or is it vice versa?

  Just some food for thought.

  Ida

  I tuck my cell phone back into my bag after reading the email response from Ida and really let it sink in.

  Is this just because, at the end of the day, I’m lonely?

  Lonely is never a word I’d use to describe myself, but why else would there be this deep-seated… crush… on someone I truly would rather punch in the face than touch?

  That’s not entirely true. I’ve seen small glimpses of a different man in his eyes, but they’re few and far between.

  The sun is just barely seeping through the large glass windows of our office when I step through reception. I wanted to get in early so I could make sure everything is in order for Nathanial’s meeting this morning, which is apparently so important I was forced to stay up until three prepping the spreadsheet and handouts for it.

  I place my bag and laptop case on my desk and head down the hallway to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee because… caffeine.

  Since it’s too early for anyone to be awake… period, I’m not expecting the intoxicating aroma of coffee to caress my nose before I even reach the kitchen.

  There must be someone here.

  I round the corner into the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks so forcefully; I stumble on my heels and have to catch myself on the wall.

  There are arms around my waist before I even realize it, and the crisp scent of mint, soap, and man fills my senses.

  “Careful.” Nathanial’s smooth voice runs over my skin.

  It takes me a solid ten seconds for my brain and my body to communicate long enough for me to pull myself from his touch and step back. During those ten seconds though, there was this sizzle, this electric current coursing in the air between us that I am trying my best to ignore, because clearly I’m losing my goddamn mind.

  “Are you all right?” he asks. “I’m used to women falling at my feet, but I didn’t take you to be the type.”

  My eyes meet his then I roll them to the heavens. “Wow. Even when you have a sliver of kindness, you say something like that.”

  “It was a joke, Piper. I do make them from time to time.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep that a secret. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that getting out.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  He looks downright delectable today in his charcoal gray suit and crisp white shirt underneath. He has forgone a tie, and it’s a choice I appreciate. I can see the tiniest bit of chest hair because he hasn’t buttoned the top button yet, and there is just something about it that makes me weak in the knees.

  “You’re here early this morning. I wasn’t expecting you to roll in until your usual two minutes late.” He pours himself a cup of coffee then retrieves another mug from the cabinet above the counter.

  “A, the train schedule is not my fault, and B, I always stay two minutes later than I’m scheduled to make up for it. Your attempt to nitpick is flawed, at best, sir.”

  I see the slight flicker of his lips pursing as he pours coffee into the second mug and adds two sugars and one cream.

  “For you.” He slides the mug across the counter toward me.

  “You know how I take my coffee?”

  “I’m a very perceptive man, and as it would happen, that spreadsheet isn’t needed for this meeting. I suppose I forgot to email you about that when I got the call around dinnertime that they had cancelled.” He picks up his coffee and takes a sip.

  I stare blankly for a few moments, giving him my best slow blink before speaking. “You knew last night, literally minutes after I left the office, that I didn’t need to work at home. Last. Night?”

  “Yes. As I said, it slipped my mind to inform you.” He lifts my mug from the counter and offers it to me. “Here. It seems like you could use the caffeine. You’re a bit grumpy, I think.”

  What an asshole.

  I yank the mug from his grip, suppressing the desire to toss the scalding coffee in his face and grip it with both hands.

  “Then why are you here so early if there is no meeting?” I ask, blowing the steam swirling up from the mug.

  “I am expecting someone this morning. They should be here any minute, actually.”


  He leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest in a way that is both authoritative and relaxed. It makes my head spin.

  “Must be important then. You’re never here unnecessarily.”

  “With all due respect, Ms. Kingston, I’m here entirely too much.” He pushes off the counter and straightens his collar and it’s clear to me this conversation is over, at least according to him.

  “Why do you do that?” I cross my arms the way he just had his.

  “Do what?”

  “Call me Ms. Kingston sometimes and Piper other times.”

  I would never admit it out loud, but I love when he calls me by my name. I like the way the P sounds rolls off his tongue. And to be honest, Ms. Kingston gives me billionaire Dom vibes, and that’s a mentality I cannot have at the office because I’ll never get any work done.

  “I call you Piper because it’s your name, and Ms. Kingston when I’m trying to get my point across.”

  I swear that I see a bit of a… look… on his face when he says that, and it makes me squeeze my thighs together.

  I clear my throat then speak.

  “Well, I guess I should get to work, considering I’m here ninety minutes early.”

  “That is what I pay you for.”

  I release a heavy breath and turn on my heel toward the door, but his voice stops me in my tracks.

  “Piper.”

  I turn toward him. “Yes?”

  “I’d like you to sit in on the contract meeting with the studio we are pegging to produce all the audiobooks. Tomorrow, midday. There will be some deal points tossed back and forth and I’d like you to take note of them as they occur.”

  “Are you sure the meeting is really happening, and I won’t get here tomorrow and be told otherwise?” I level a stare at him.

  “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

  “I’ll be ready with bells on. I’ll be chained to my desk, I mean at my desk if you need anything,” I tease as I leave the room.