by Jolie Day
BOSS: The Wolf
A Romance Novel
Jolie Day
Contents
Prologue
1. Charlie
2. Joel
3. Charlie
4. Joel
5. Charlie
6. Charlie
7. Joel
8. Charlie
9. Joel
10. Charlie
11. Joel
12. Joel
13. Charlie
14. Joel
15. Charlie
16. Joel
17. Charlie
18. Joel
19. Joel
20. Charlie
21. Joel
22. Joel
23. Charlie
24. Joel
25. Charlie
Epilogue
SOLD: Highest Bidder Sneak Peek
Billionaire BOSS: Secret Baby Reading Sample
Also by Jolie Day
Connect with Jolie Day
BOSS: The Wolf © Copyright 2020 Jolie Day
Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Warning: This story contains mature themes and language.
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Cover Design: ARP Book Covers
November 2020
About this Novel
Boss Rule #1: Never sleep with your employee.
Apparently, rules aren’t my thing.
Because the moment I wake up naked next to my hot-as-hell new employee,
I want to go for round two.
I’m not exactly Prince Charming. Some call me The Wolf.
I don’t do love, and I sure as hell don’t do forever.
But one look at her, and I become a one-woman man.
She has a British accent and a car that won’t start.
I’m in a rush, so I do what I need to do and send her on her way—sure I’ll never see her again.
Then she shows up at my company to interview for a new position.
What are the odds?
So I hire the long-legged beauty from the UK.
The guys are circling her like vultures.
But she’s my prey.
In six months, her visa will expire, and she’ll be back overseas.
What can a little down-and-dirty fun hurt?
But one kiss turns into two, then three, then more.
Suddenly, I’m defenseless against her charms.
But the second I start to picture a future,
She quits.
Vanishes—without warning or explanation.
She’s left back to the UK…
I know I need her back.
And I only have one chance to make things right.
Prologue
Joel
Shit. I’m late.
Glad I decided to take my bike today—it’ll give me a few extra minutes, or I’d be stuck in traffic with these other jackholes right now. I fly down the Manhattan bridge with the wind blasting across my skin—my favorite view of the city and the Empire State Building—to start out the day. It’s early summer when the heat’s not unbearable or humid as hell.
I’m weaving in between cars to keep a steady speed, when I catch sight of an old, broken-down green car on the side of the road.
I’m the CEO of my late grandfather’s company, and I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss. After having coffee with the guys, I’m already late as it is. I’m not looking for that much of a delay and decide to keep going, but then I see a woman opening the hood. I race by so fast that I can’t make out too many details—but I can see the important stuff.
Banging hot body. Big hips with a round ass to match, long tan legs extending from the bottom of a pencil skirt, all perched on top of a pair of stilettos. Personally, I prefer a woman in boots or sneakers, because it gives the vibe that she’ll be willing to hop on my bike with me (and on something else after that). But I can’t deny how well heels accentuate all the curves of a woman’s body.
I make a quick U-turn and pull up a few feet from her. She stares me down, seeming cautious at first, and quickly turns back to the smoking parts under the hood.
“Trouble?” I approach her and pull off my helmet.
“It would appear so.” She frowns, staring cluelessly at the steam billowing out around her.
Is that a hint of a British accent? I’m glad I stopped. I’m a sucker for a chick with an accent. I’m even more confident that I made the right choice when I step close enough to take in the curves of her body and her long, wavy golden-brown hair. Holy fuck. When she cuts her crystal-gray eyes over to me, it sends a shock straight to my dick. She’s got that sassy, devilish spark to her—I can already see it. Even if she’s keeping it well hidden under her business attire.
“Mind if I take a look?”
She studies me closely, hesitant to trust some strange guy on a motorcycle. But after checking the time on her phone, she seems to get desperate.
She waves her hand toward the smoking car. “Go for it.”
I check a few things, and she leans in close over my shoulder. One glance back, and I see tits. Beautiful tits bursting from her button-up blouse. That and the sweet scent of her perfume is enough to drive any man insane—even me.
“When’s the last time you had the oil checked in this thing?” I pull out the dip stick—I don’t even need a rag to rub off the damn oil—and show it to her. “Look, it’s dry as a bone.”
“What?” She gawks at it. “Oil? Hell if I know.” She tosses her arms out to the side, her long hair falling over one shoulder, obviously exasperated. “It’s my elderly neighbor’s car. She lets me drive it, but I haven’t taken it into a shop since I got to the states.”
“Well, that’s your problem. It’s overheated. Cars need oil and sticks need to get dipped.” I smirk, but she doesn’t seem to get my attempt at humor.
“How can I fix it? I’m really in a hurry.” She furrows her brow and pouts.
I realize then that she looks somewhat familiar, but I can’t figure out why. “There’s a shop right up the road where I can grab you some oil. You can come along if you’d like. That is, if you’re not too afraid to jump on this thing.”
She jerks her face up with wide eyes, and it’s obvious she misunderstood me. I try not to laugh, hiking my thumb toward the bike, and her expression softens with relief. Or is it disappointment?
“You’re very kind. I’ve actually been on one of these things before”—She points to my ride—“with a bloke when I first came to the US. But, I’ll just wait here. I’m Charlie, by the way.”
I extend my hand to hers for a shake, knowing for sure I’ve met this woman before. But she doesn’t act like she knows me, or if she does, she’s not letting on. “Joel. Nice to meet you.”
“Joel? That’s funny. The first name of my future boss. Well, hopefully. I’ve got a job interview with him
in a few minutes…One that I’ll definitely be late for now.” She worries her bottom lip, anxiously checking the time on her phone.
“You wouldn’t want to miss that.” I turn, put on my helmet, not wanting to hold her up any longer, and jump back on my bike. “Be right back.”
1
Charlie
Earlier that day
I hear the birds chirping outside my window, and it annoys the crap out of me. Not the birds, but the fact that all I can see is the brick wall of the building next to mine. Back in London, my old flat had a spectacular view of giant old trees I could see from any vantage point.
My time here in the states is only temporary. I thought when the time came for me to leave, I’d be more than ready to go home. But I’ve yet to gain the work experience I craved when I decided to come here in the first place. Not to mention the fast-paced life of New York has so much more to offer. It sucked me in like a drug, and I feel as though I’ve only just scraped the surface. The interesting people who live here, with their busy lifestyles and careers—I want that, and a bit more. I knew within a few weeks of living in New York, I was hooked.
Now that everything is more complicated and my days here are numbered, it’s becoming harder to do what I need to do to get by. But regardless of how unmotivated I feel, I’ve never been one to give up so easily. I peel myself out of bed and get ready for another day.
Once the bed is made, I hop into a hot shower and then enjoy a bowl of fresh fruit for breakfast. I’m already scrolling through job listings on the Internet when my phone rings.
“Heeeey, girl!” Nora’s voice beams over the line.
She’s calling earlier than usual, and I can hear the bustle of the city streets in the background. She had a date the night before, and I figure she must be making the walk of shame back to her place. But Nora’s never ashamed of anything.
“You sound like you’re in a good mood,” I tease, relieved for an excuse to shut down my computer and the exhaustive job search for a few minutes. “I take it the date went well?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Um, yes…”
“Good. Because the night I just had was soooo unbelievably explosive, that when I tell you about it, you just might fall over.”
I can’t help but laugh as I lean back and prop my feet up, ready for another tale from Nora’s sex-capades. Sometimes I wonder if bragging about it afterwards is more fun for her than the sex itself.
“Tall, tan, and built like a brick shit-house, with long brown hair.” She whistles. “You should’ve seen this guy. Anyway, we walked back to his place, and just before we go inside, he takes my face in his hands and gives me the longest, softest kiss of my life. Gah, he was such a good kisser.”
“Uh-huh. Go on,” I encourage her, waving my hand (as if she can see me), marveling at the way she always describes men by how they look and how well they “perform.” The day Nora calls and tells me anything of substance about a man, like what he does for a living or what his hobbies are, I’ll know she’s in love.
But today is not that day.
“Once we’re inside, he pushes me against the wall, and we make out. Then, he picks me up and wraps my legs around his waist and carries me into the bedroom. He never put me on the bed, Char. He held me up the whole time, and we did it with my back against the wall!”
I catch myself imagining the scenario in my head, only happening to me instead. Damn. It’s been far too long since I’ve been with a man.
“You’re torturing me.” I feel flush with desire as she carries on, describing every last detail she can remember.
“That’s not all.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Once we were done, he freaking bent me over his lap and spanked me. Holy crap, Char. Who knew I’d enjoy something like that? But it was sexy as hell. I almost cam—”
My mouth falls open at the mere thought, and I interrupt. “He spanked you? Really?”
“Yes. But I think I might’ve scared him off.”
My mind goes in several different directions. There’s no telling what Nora said, but I contain myself. “Why? What did you say?”
“Harder!”
I burst out into a fit of laughter and sit up. I can’t help myself. “That’s all? Harder? And what makes you think you scared him?”
“Well.” I hear her sigh. “He stopped—just like that. It’s not funny, Char.”
I try not to laugh again. “Maybe he was done.”
“Maybe, but who knows?”
“Did the guy call you after?”
I hear her shuffling the phone around. “Which guy?”
“The guy who spanked you. The one we’re talking about!”
“Char! I told you I scared him off. Besides, it was just last night.” She huffs out a breath. “Don’t pour salt in my already-bleeding wound. You should’ve seen his face, though!”
I giggle at her antics. “Girl, you’re so dramatic.”
“I am not. Anyway, enough about me. What’s going on with you?”
I drop my chin on my fist. “Same as always: nothing. You know, I’ve heard a woman can become a virgin again after a long period of time without sex. I forget how long, though.”
“Girl, that’s a myth. And who’s being dramatic now?” Nora chuckles into the phone, and it makes me giggle. “Anyway, what’s the hold up? Get back out there and have your own night of sexy fun to torture me with, then you can tell me all about it.”
“I wish.” I frown, opening my computer to see a still-empty inbox. “I don’t have any time to waste. I have to find a job ASAP, and so far, nothing. Nada. Finding a job in this city is like searching for a needle in a haystack.”
“Oh, come on. You can spare a night or two out on the town. Once you get laid, a job might just fall right in your lap. That’s how things work. They all tend to come together at once.” The line falls silent for a moment, then her tone changes entirely. “Is it your work visa?”
“Yes.” I sigh heavily. “It expires in less than six months. And if I don’t nail down a job soon, I won’t be able to pay my rent, and I’ll have to go back to London even sooner than that.”
“No, that can’t happen!” she shrieks in a panic. “You’re my best friend. My BFF. This city was a drag before we bumped into each other, literally, in the market on the corner. Do you remember that?”
“How could I forget? It was iconic.”
“Babes, I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave.”
“I know.” We’re quiet for another few moments, sitting still in the heavy acceptance that we both have to face that very reality soon, but I don’t think either of us are ready to come to terms with it yet. “Which is exactly why I need to get off of this phone and get back on the hunt.”
“You do just that, hon.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
We reluctantly say goodbye, and I return to my search. Back in London, I’d worked for a number of couture designers and upscale fashion boutiques. But I never seemed to be able to work my way up into a higher position. Finally, a woman who had a great deal more luck and success in the industry than me, suggested I spend some time in the states.
She swore to me that it’d be easier to work my way up here, which would look good on my résumé. It was also meant to make me appear more traveled and experienced—aka, more interesting. But so far, I couldn’t seem to keep a job, much less earn a promotion of any sort. It wasn’t through any fault of my own or due to bad performance. The economy was just unpredictable, and designers were quick to reevaluate their staff on a whim. Since I was always the “new hire only here on a visa” anyway, I was the first to go each and every time.
I scroll through the short list of available positions I’m qualified for and begin to wonder if it’s time to find something outside of my field, just to be able to stay here. But honestly, that seems absurd. I might as well go back home, if it means ignoring the career I’ve been building over the last seven years—an
d working at a job I hate.
I feel myself becoming overwhelmed when there’s a knock at my door. Surely Nora wouldn’t surprise me with one of her unannounced visits (not that I’d usually care on any other day), when she knows how important it is for me to focus right now.
I swing the door open to see Mrs. Loughty’s face, lighting up with a loving smile the moment she sees me. She’s an older woman with gray hair she keeps pulled up in a bun, and she’s slightly hunched over, making her a good two feet shorter than me.
“Oh, so good to see your face, Charlotte dear! I was at the florist’s and saw these beautiful tulips that made me think of you. Aren’t they lovely?”
As much as I know I don’t have time for this, I can’t help but invite Mrs. Loughty in. She has to be the sweetest little woman on the face of the earth. And while I may not want to return home, it’s always nice to spend time with someone else from London. It’s like teleporting back there just for a short bit.
“Would you like some tea?” I motion to invite her in.
“That would be delightful, dear. And some biscuits.”
I put on the kettle and arrange the flowers in a vase. Maybe they’ll bring me luck, I think.
“Tell me, dear—Is America still treating you well?”
“Yes and no.” I bite my lip as I gaze longingly at the flowers. “Yes, in the sense that I love it here and would like to stay. And yet, no, because if I don’t find another job soon, the odds of that happening get lower every day.”