by Tilly Pope
Accidental Boss
A Holiday Romance
Tilly Pope
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Epilogue
Also by Tilly Pope
About the Author
Copyright © 2019 by Tilly Pope
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
About Accidental Boss
Holly
I need this job.
But my Uber is late, I can’t find my other earring, and everything that can go wrong is going wrong.
So when I finally show up—late—for my interview and come face to face with my new boss to be, I almost lose it.
He. Is. Gorgeous.
But there are a few issues.
Like the fact the name on my application is wrong.
And I’m in the wrong building.
And this isn’t my interview.
FML.
Pax
I know there’s a mix up.
I know she’s supposed to be interviewing in the next building.
I also know they’re trying to take advantage of her.
But I’m not about to let this hottie walk away. Oh, no.
One look into her young, eager face and I know she’ll do anything I ask.
And I’m going to find out exactly what her boundaries are…
So I can break them and make her mine.
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1
Holly
“Where is my other earring?” I upend my jewelry box and precious metals and jewels clatter across the wooden top of my dresser. With a sigh, I search the scattered items looking for the matching emerald cut sapphire.
Can anything else go wrong today?
I’m already late for my interview, all thanks to this freaking missing in action earring and my Uber driver getting delayed in traffic. At least, that what he texted me. Running late due to unexpected traffic.
I get it; sometimes things happen. But when they’re out of my control and happening to me, I’m not a fan. I just want to get to this interview, land this job, and take care of the angry, red-lettered past due bills that keep showing up in my mailbox. And hopefully I can get them paid before things start getting shut off. I could ask my parents, but they’re already paying for the townhouse I live in, so asking for more feels awful.
“Ugh, screw the earrings.” I take out the one I’m wearing and toss it into the pile on my dresser. Turning to my full length mirror, I run my fingers through my naturally straight, buttery blonde hair. It feathers perfectly around my shoulders and I give my head a shake.
I don’t want to look soft and feminine for a job interview, but I’m out of time. I want to be taken seriously. That’s why I’m wearing my sharpest skirt, my best button down shirt, and my glasses instead of my contacts. After all, my vision isn’t perfect and glasses make me look smarter, right?
Still, I wish I had a few moments to wind my hair up and get it out of my face. But this will have to do for now, because I also don’t want to throw it up quickly and risk not looking neat and well put together.
My phone chimes as a text from my Uber pops up. I’m out front.
“Screw it.” I run my fingers through my hair, adjust my glasses and give myself one last once-over in the mirror before grabbing my keys and making my way out of the front door of my townhouse. I take an extra second to make sure it’s locked by trying the knob.
I’m so late. Racing as fast as I dare in heels, I open the door to the Uber and get in. We pull away from the curb and I stare out the window, willing us to get there faster, as if I can silently persuade the powers that be to take me back in time and make me un-late for this interview.
Stupid, I know, but a girl can dream.
I have to hope that being late won’t destroy my chances at landing this job. I need it. My parents can’t pay for my house forever. And what’s going to happen when the city starts shutting off my utilities? As it is, the only reason I have a phone is because we’re on a family plan.
Tapping the tips of my fingers on the door, I try to contain my impatience. They’ll hire me. I’m a good fit for them. On paper, at least. It’s not the dream job, but I’ll be happy to bring home a steady paycheck.
“Big day today?”
I glance up and notice the Uber driver’s brown eyes are studying me in the rearview mirror. He looks younger than me, with that fresh-faced look of a college boy. I’m only twenty-five, but I always feel like boys my age are just kids.
It’s weird, I know, but they act like boys and my brain just labels them as such. I quickly assume this guy is probably a college kid looking for some extra cash and picked up an Uber gig to work around crazy school and studying hours.
“Yeah, kind of.” I don’t really want to share intimate details of my life with a stranger. But I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.
“Kind of?” His eyebrows knit together like he has no idea how something can be kind of important.
I nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “I have an interview.” Nerves bubble up in me and I glance out the window as the city blocks fly past. No way this kid isn’t speeding. I don’t mind, as long as he doesn’t get pulled over and really cost me this interview.
“Fun.” He sounds like it’s anything but fun and I hold back a sigh. So childish.
“Are you nervous?” His eyes meet mine again before returning to the road.
“A little.” Okay, I’m more than a little nervous. I’m really nervous. Super nervous. But this is a serious issue. I’m in a dire situation.
I’ve already had numerous past due bills for water, gas, and electric show up in my mailbox. I’m pretty sure my blood pressure is rising as the stress of adult life begins to heat up. I’m like a frog in a cook pot, never aware someone’s turning up the heat. But somewhere along the way the water starts boiling and I’m struggling to cling to life at this point.
Or maybe I’m being overdramatic. But I am facing the possibility of losing my home and that is just unacceptable. I’d be heartbroken.
“Don’t be nervous. You look great.” He smiles at me and I notice the little crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
“Thanks.” I pull out my phone, totally done with this conversation, but he’s not done talking yet.
“Say, want to get a coffee after your interview?” His gaze darts back and forth across the road and a nervous waver enters his voice halfway through the question. “You could let me know how it went. Decompress. Talk to someone about how jobs suck and bosses are jerks. You know.” He lets out a nervous chuckle and I sigh.
“Thanks, but I’m in a serious relationship right now.” There is no attraction between me and this guy. Not because there’s anything wrong with him. He’s just so…timid. Everything about him screams insecure and he’s so young. “How old are you anyway?” I ask.
“Nineteen. I’m
a full time college student. Full scholarship, but it doesn’t pay rent or for food.” He gives an uneasy laugh that comes across insincere and betrays how anxious he is even if his sudden overshare hadn’t clued me in. “How old are you?”
He makes a left turn across traffic and I cling to the arm rest as I answer. “I’m twenty-five.”
Surprise lights in his eyes as he stares at me for a second before focusing on the road again. “I thought you were my age.” He quickly amends his statement. “Not that it’s a problem.”
“No worries.” I want to scream in relief as he parks in front of the building and I climb out. “Have a good one and thank you. Five stars!” I rate my ride and he gives me a grateful smile that makes me worry I’ve made a mistake being so nice to him. Refusing to think about it anymore, I hurry up the steps into the building, my thoughts quickly returning to the task at hand.
The ultra-modern place is soothing and calm, cool and smells like money and power. The receptionist’s desk is bright white as are the walls. Behind her on the wall is a single painting, a foggy scene that’s nearly all white except for three trees in various states of fading away.
The receptionist, a tiny, bird-like woman that’s so thin I wonder if a strong breeze would carry her away gives me a once over. “You’re late.” Her voice screeches like bad brakes and I wince.
“I apologize.” I’m not even going to try to give an excuse. I screwed up. Sure, I couldn’t control my Uber being late, but I could have called it earlier. I could have made sure I’d be here with plenty of time to spare. Being on time is my responsibility and I failed.
She hesitates like she’s waiting for me to say something else, her hazel eyes on mine. Her thick brown hair is pulled back into a harsh, tight bun that’s almost pulling her face back. As her bony hand slips a paperclip on a few sheets of paper, she glares at me. And I wait, patient and ready to move things right along.
“There’s a conference room down the hall.” She gestures to a corridor, and I dip my head at her.
“Thank you.” My throat is so dry I can’t even swallow as I walk up to the conference room door. I stand there for a second, suck in a deep breath and tell myself I can do this.
2
Pax
Fresh blood these days. No respect for anything. Not being on time, not calling to let someone know they’re delayed, nothing.
Hell, I had a guy in here day before yesterday that brought his cat with him. No joke, he had a fucking cat in his pocket. Not a stuffed animal, not a toy, not a tiny kitten he was trying to save. A fucking full-grown, adult cat. At first, I thought he was just strange and making random meowing noises, but after ten minutes he let the cat out to run around the conference room.
When I asked the inevitable question—what the actual fuck are you doing right now; did you have a cat in your pocket? —he looked at me like I was the one that had lost my mind and proceeded to tell me it’s his emotional support animal.
And I promptly showed him the door.
If I had an interview, fresh out of college, I’d show up thirty minutes early and look my best. The thought of bringing a cat never even crossed my mind as something a person could do; it was too crazy. But maybe it’s because I’m thirty-three and all these kids are nineteen and twenty and think the world revolves around them.
Miss Evans hasn’t even called to tell us she’ll be late and I’ve been waiting here for her like a fool. I don’t like feeling like a fool. While everything I’m looking at says she’s a good fit for the company, I’m thinking her actions—namely being so late and not communicating a good reason why—make her not a fit.
So if she shows up, I think I’m going to just tell her that I don’t need unreliable people on my team. Because I don’t. I’d rather keep looking than hire someone that I can’t count on.
A knock at the door draws my attention and I clear my throat. “Come in.”
The door opens slowly and a blonde steps in. Her wide, worried blue eyes behind big-rimmed black glasses meet mine and she quickly reaches up to push the bridge of her glasses back into place.
Her full lips part and my cock stirs. She’s fucking gorgeous. We stare one another down for a moment and she brushes her hair back from her face but it slides forward along the sides of her glasses again. There’s a pristine innocence to her that calls out to me and begs me to teach her a thing or two. Starting with teaching her how perfect those full lips of hers would be around the base of my cock.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Her breathless voice has my dick at attention and I sit at the table and press my palm to the throbbing organ while giving her a tight smile.
“Let’s just get started.” So much for fucking telling her I don’t need unreliable people on my team. Still, I don’t have to hire her.
But I want to.
I really want to.
I don’t need this kind of temptation in my life. Because if she’s working with me, I’m not going to be able to control this raging desire sweeping through me at this very moment.
“Of course.” She sits across from me, looking flustered as she places her phone face down on the desk. “I put it on silent.” She nods at it and I silently thank my lucky stars she’d done that much.
I’ve had snot-nosed kids answer their phones during interviews. And it’s never important calls. It’s always something along the lines of Bro, let me tell you about this chick I was banging last night… Of course, it’s always out of the mouth of a guy that clearly wouldn’t know what to do with the woman he’s bragging about being with, but I digress.
I merely nod at her admission. There’s nothing to say, really. Good job being a decent human being and putting your phone on silent so we can conduct this interview. I think?
“Tell me about yourself.” Over the years, I’ve found a way to interview people and really figure them out. It’s not a conventional approach, but it works for me more often than not.
She seems stunned. Her beautiful lips part but no sound comes out. Then she recovers and flashes me a cool smile. “I’m going to be honest. I’m going to lose my townhouse if I don’t land this job. I know that showing up late likely means you’re going to tell me you’ll call and I’ll never hear from you. So if you’re just interviewing me on formality with no intent to hire me, please just tell me. Let’s not waste each other’s time.” Her eyes widen as the words flood out until she gets a horrified look on her face and her hand comes up to cover her mouth, like she can take the words back.
I lean back in my chair, surprised at her honesty while keeping a carefully neutral expression. She called it—I was only interviewing her as a formality. But with how much I want to feel her lips on my skin and how she fascinated me with that candid answer, I’m not so sure anymore.
“I have no interest in wasting your time.”
Her expression relaxes and she seems to deflate before sitting up straight with a new-found zest for this sit-down. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“Are you always this candid?” I sit forward in my chair, intent on studying her beautiful features.
She licks both lips at the same time, then releases them slowly, redder than before and with the sheen of her saliva on them. I want to pull her across this table and taste those lips. Hell, I want to unzip my pants, pull out my aching cock, pull her across this table and feel her warm, wet mouth on me.
“No, I’m usually a lot more reserved than this.” Her cheeks go pink and she refuses to meet my gaze.
I nod. “Tell me about your qualifications.”
She launches into them, sounding almost rehearsed. Which doesn’t bother me. Knowing that she’s prepared for this interview is a good sign to me. She’s not trying to skate by. She put thought and effort into the wording to highlight her skills and downplay her flaws.
The only problem is that none of what she says is in line with the resume I’m looking at.
Well, fuck. Nadia probably gave me the wrong paperwork. Things are s
o hit or miss with that woman. She’s either Wonder Woman or she’s checked out. There’s not in between. But she’s good more often than not, so I’m willing to put up with the few mix-ups like this that happen.
“But, as you already know,” she says, her serious blue eyes on mine behind those adorable big framed glasses, “I need this job. So if I need to learn anything, I’ll put in one hundred and ten percent.”
I want to cringe at the simple math error.
“I mean, a hundred percent. I never say that.” Her cheeks are scarlet and I swear I can feel the warmth of embarrassment radiating off her. “I’m good at math, I swear.” Her eyes search my face and I see heat fill her expression.
Interesting. I know that look. I see her hunger and my cock twitches, rubbing against the zipper of my slacks painfully.
I stand up, very aware that I’m hard and she might notice. I’m not sure I care. Offering her my hand, I watch her rise, her ribs expanding as she inhales.
“Let me be the first to welcome you to the team.”
Her face lights up and she takes my hand, a smile spreads across her tempting lips. The softness of her skin on mine and the thump of her pulse at the base of her throat both send primal signals to my brain and I want nothing more than to lay her across the table and bury my face between her legs. Fuck, this woman is going to be the death of me.
“Thank you.” She breathes the words like I just saved her life.
“We’re happy to have you on board.” I let her hand go and notice she shivers and goose bumps rise up and down her arms. Under her shirt, her nipples are hard and I have to stifle a groan. This chick is hot. Is she even wearing a bra? Or is it just so thin it doesn’t hide her luscious tits? Either way, I have the feeling that it’s going to be very hard working with her.