by Lindsey Hart
“I get the idea,” Muffy groaned.
She closed her eyes and slammed her hands over her ears. Why did her life always have to turn into a massive disaster?
CHAPTER 2
Alex
“It’s a thing. Women like men who have money. They like the money. They like being pampered and spoiled. That’s why the terms Sugar Daddy and trophy wife exist. We can’t have meaningful relationships with a woman because we have fuck loads of money and it stops them from seeing or liking us for anything other than what we can do for them.”
Alex leaned back in his chair. The thing cost like a million dollars, but it was ergonomic or some shit, so he gave the go ahead for HR to order them.
His partner in crime- not literally, literally just his business partner, but also his good friend, Jay, paced the room. The guy was a serial dater. Alex wasn’t sure that Jay was much better than the string of ditzy fake breasted, fake lipped, tight assed, short-skirted women he went out with. The guy definitely had a type.
You’re rubber and I’m glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.
The childhood taunts railroaded through Alex’s mind and he was hard-pressed to keep a straight face. Those girls were definitely rubberish, plastic-ish, okay, same difference, but that didn’t make Jay glue. The guy was like bug repellent, except for women.
“I don’t know,” Alex started. He was going to try and give some sagely business partner, friend advice, but Jay cut him off at the pass.
“Women don’t like a guy that doesn’t have any money. Do you see a bunch of broke guys going out and getting laid all the time? No. Why not? Because women don’t think that’s sexy. They want to be treated like princesses. They want flowers and spa dates and to be taken out to shows. They like nice cars, not old beaters that die on the side of the road. They want to be taken out shopping and bought expensive dresses and shoes and purses.”
“Some women might be able to settle for halfway,” Alex said dryly. “Maybe you should find someone normal and you’d have better results.”
Jay spun and pointed an accusatory finger in Alex’s face. “You’re an ass, you know that?”
Alex shrugged, only mildly offended. “Guilty as charged. I never pretended otherwise.”
“Since we’re all about social experiments here, I have a challenge for you. You seem to know everything about women and dating. You always have some advice for me, but you’re never willing to put your money where your big yap is.”
“First of all, this company isn’t a social experiment. We develop apps for online counseling. That’s hardly an experiment. That helps people. Maybe you should try downloading a couple and talking to someone who knows what they’re doing. They’d probably tell you the same thing I’m telling you. You have to stop dating the wrong kind of woman and you’d get better results. Change the variables in the experiment.”
Jay shook his head. “Always so smart. Just because you have like twenty-eight degrees doesn’t mean you know anything about women. You don’t even date.”
“That’s because I don’t like the results. I’ve been there, done that. It was time to move on.”
“Exactly. Been there. Done that. You probably didn’t get any better results than I have.”
“That’s because I was doing the same thing you were doing. Going for the wrong people and expecting some kind of miracle.”
Jay screwed up his face. It looked like he’d just tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and went sprawling facedown into dog shit on someone’s front lawn. Like, really mushy dog shit.
“No! No way! I’m not letting you get away with this again. You always make me look bad. It’s like your twenty-ninth degree.”
“I don’t need a degree for that. You have a Masters all on your own.”
Jay flipped Alex the bird and Alex grinned. He wouldn’t offer such tough love if he didn’t know that Jay couldn’t take it. They’d been friends since they were kids. The real turning point came for them in their second year of college, when their group project had been to create an app that had the potential to make a big difference in society. So yeah. They’d created it. And yeah, it had. And yeah, they’d made a hell of a lot of money in the process.
Not that the money part mattered. He had re-invested most of his earnings and till now, Alex actually still lived in a moderate house and drove a moderate car. He didn’t wear expensive suits or expensive shoes. Just regular suits and regular shoes. Just like his advice, middle of the road really was the way to go. Besides, he really did want to help people. It might be corny as hell but growing up with a mom who’d used drugs on and off for his entire life and a dad who’d been to prison twice, both times for jacking cars, it was important to him. Not that he’d ever tell anyone about his past. He hadn’t bothered to bury it, but people just didn’t bring it up and he was more than happy not to.
“I’m going to bet you twenty bucks because I know you can’t resist a challenge. You always were way too competitive. Like when our prof told us that an app would never work, and we proved her ass wrong. You dug in your heels and you worked for four years on it until it took off and then you worked even harder. It’s like the more success we have, the harder you work.”
“Yeah, because it matters even more after being successful that you don’t fail.”
“Anyway,” Alex shook his head. “If you know so much about dating, I want you to prove that your advice works. Maybe if I see it in action, I’ll believe it. I’ve always been one of those hands-on learners. I can’t just read it, I have to see it for myself.”
Alex nearly laughed. He crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back further in the chair. The thing groaned but took the strain of his weight without sending him ass over heels backward.
“What’s the bet then?”
“You have to go online. Be anonymous. Make a fake profile. Pretend to not have any money. See if someone is willing to date you. For like, longer than a week. Let’s say, two weeks. I want you to make it obvious you don’t have much money. Take her on the lamest kind of dates. The kind of dates that completely suck. Make her pay. Like, seriously, have your credit card decline after dinner so she has to pay. That kind of thing. If she’s actually into you, maybe then I will be willing to admit that there are genuine people out there.”
“But that’s not at all what I was saying.”
Jay shrugged. “Maybe not. I get your point. I actually just want to see you sweat. So please, record some of it secretly somehow. Even just what she says. It doesn’t have to be video. Just to prove that you did it. And I have to meet her if she’s into you to prove she is. It can’t be contrived or faked or you lose the bet.”
Alex considered. He’d like to hold one over Jay. The bastard was right. He couldn’t turn down a challenge. He truly was far too competitive for his own good, though he tried to channel his energy into more positive things.
“Alright.” Alex couldn’t believe he’d just agreed to something so stupid. “But if I pull this off and she’s truly into me, then you have to let me find a girl for you. One who knows you have money, but someone who is willing to see past that. A girl who doesn’t look like she just crawled out of a toy factory.”
“They do not look like that!” Jay protested indignantly.
“I’m just saying… they kind of fucking do.”
Jay flipped him off with both birds. “Sure. You win this bet and I’ll go on whatever date you arrange with someone ugly and we’ll see if we hit it off.”
“You’re such a dick. How do you want to help people so badly when you can’t even help yourself?”
Jay was all out of birds. He was all out of snappy comebacks and as he stormed out of Alex’s office, he swore that he heard the guy mutter something about having no fucking idea.
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I KISSED THE BOSS
A Two-Book Romance Box Set
Available in Kindle HERE
I kissed someone at the Christ
mas Party last night but I don't remember who it was.
And it’s not like I can go around kissing every guy in the office to see who would turn out to be the charming prince of that night. But my number one problem right now is my hotshot player of a boss.
Why is he so mad? What did I do?
Did I fax the wrong letter maybe?
Or clip his documents wrong?
PREVIEW OF ‘I KISSED THE BOSS’
CHAPTER 1
Amberina
No matter which way she looked at it, Trey Hartford would always have been her downfall.
Ambi’s hands shook as she held the black phone receiver away from her face. She closed her eyes and took a breath. One. Another. Two. A shaky third. Three. She kept going, all the way to ten. When she hit the magical marker that was supposed to calm everything down and make the world brand spanking new and sparkly, all her problems still remained. She knew she couldn’t put off the call any longer. It only takes so long to check if a date is open.
As much as she would like to say that November twenty-seventh was taken, it unfortunately, wasn’t. While she was busy with other parties leading up to it, it wasn’t wedding or grad season and while a few people hired an event planner to help with Christmas functions, it wasn’t exactly a hot time of year.
Not only was she free, she knew that no matter what, no matter how much she hated Hartford & Heatherford Assured Investment Group- their stupid name was reason enough to hate them- she knew she’d take the job. A high-profile client like that could really help her business and she’d work hard to get a good reference.
Ambi punched the red hold button and mustered up her sweetest, I don’t give a shit tone.
“Sorry for the hold. We’d be delighted to help you plan your event.” I’d rather die a slow, agonizing death choking on a party popper. “If you want to set up a time to meet, we can go over the details. I have an office, or I can come to you.” I’d rather munch on broken glass and rusty nails than ever go to H&H.
She was pretty sure their name shouldn’t have been Hartford and Heatherford. Those two H’s should have been dumbed down to Hell and Heller. Or double hell. Not that their name wasn’t shitty enough on its own. Dale Hartford had probably been searching for just the right business partner for years, one with a name so close to his that it would look resoundingly ridiculous on a sign or card and sound even worse, not to mention the assured part of the name, which was misleading, since investment was never a sure thing.
“Oh, well, I can give you some of the details now, as my schedule is quite full over the next little bit. That way we can just get started if that’s alright?”
Ambi closed her eyes. Normally, she loved keeners. People who had their shit together enough to avoid making her life a living hell. This girl though, Sarah, was grating on her already shredded nerves. Which wasn’t her fault. Sarah couldn’t help that she was probably blonde, beautiful and bubbly, the three B trifecta. It was that she worked at H&H that was the annoying part.
“Yeah. Sure.” She reached for her notepad, the one with llamas dancing at the top in various frilly outfits and polka dot dresses. “Shoot.” As in please shoot me now before I can ruin myself taking this job.
“Well, we wanted something that could include anyone, so please no references to ethnicity or religion. We want this to be as neutral as possible, so we would prefer no reference at all to Christmas. If it has to say something, happy holidays would be preferred.”
“Great. Not a problem.” You do realize you started this conversation telling me you wanted me to plan a Christmas party?
“The budget is pretty wide open. This is the first real office party we’ve had in ages and we want it to become an annual thing. Mr. Hartford Sr. has eighty thousand set aside for decorations, food, games, entertainment. You know. Basically, think of an upscale wedding. All the good stuff. What do you normally charge for your services of something of this magnitude?”
“How many people again?” Ambi choked out. She scrawled eighty thousand across the top of her notepad in huge, blocky numbers. Who the fuck spent eighty K on an office Christmas party? Oh, right. A happy holiday party. And double right. Dale Hartford, douchebag of the century.
“There are eighty in the office.”
How perfect. A grand for each of you. I’m sure no one could use that extra thousand on things that actually matter like food or paying down credit card debt. All employees want a freaking party they’re forced to go to instead of a well-deserved bonus.
Maybe they were getting that too. Ambi shook her head, trying not to be uncharitable. Maybe Dale Hartford didn’t run his business like he ran his life. And his son. Maybe he wasn’t such a dick when it came to his company and he actually treated his employees quite a bit better than he treated his son’s (at the time) girlfriend.
“Eighty. Right.” Ambi realized she had to say something. Awkward pauses on the phone didn’t make anyone comfortable.
“We were thinking of renting out a nice hall type place. Having a dinner, hopefully catered, some live entertainment during that, maybe a magic show or someone who plays piano, then having dessert and a live band. Drink tickets would be up to the hall pricing, as we don’t want people to get completely wasted on the company’s dollar if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. Yes. That all sounds very doable for your budget. I’d require a deposit of ten percent to get started, non-refundable. My services for something of this size, given that it’s only a month away and that’s kind of last-minute in the event world, would be around six thousand. Is that alright?” She winced after, wishing she would have quoted double the price, just to stick it to H&H. She was too honest.
“Yes. Perfect.” Sarah didn’t even miss a beat.
“Great. I’ll come down to your office for a cheque and I’ll have a couple of packages put together for you by then. Does tomorrow afternoon work?”
“That would be perfect. Thanks so much.”
“Thank you for calling. Can I ask how you heard about me?”
“Oh.” Sarah giggled into the phone. She was probably twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger at the moment, leaning back in her desk chair, her pink sky-high heels perched on her appointment book. “I don’t know. Someone in the head office just gave me your name and asked me to call about planning this. I guess word of mouth? Or maybe they looked you up online?”
Right. Because her company was at the top of every search result in Minneapolis. Not. Ambi wasn’t starting out or anything, but it took years to build a successful business. She’d only been doing event planning for a few years. Not long enough that she’d be someone’s choice in a cold search. Maybe it was word of mouth. Maybe someone worked at H&H and she’d helped plan their wedding or their daughter’s or son’s wedding or grad or something. It sure as hell wasn’t Dale Hartford or his son. One hated her and the other she hated- okay, maybe hate was a strong word and maybe she disliked them both- so that was a big nope on their part.
“Yeah. Sounds good. Thank you. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
“Super.” Sarah drew out the s, making it sound really snake-like. “Do you know where we’re located?”
Unfortunately, yes. “I do. Thank you. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon, likely around three, if that’s alright?”
“That’s perfect. Thanks a bunch. Have a super day.” There was that snakey s again.
“You too.”
Ambi put the phone back down in the cradle on her desk and leaned back in her chair so far the thing nearly snapped. Yes, she was still one of those people who had an office phone. She wasn’t about to give her freaking cell number out to potential bridezillas and the like. She was perfectly capable of ducking into her office at all hours of the day and night to check her messages, seeing as she lived in a small apartment right above the even smaller retail space.
The shittier, evil, horrible parts of herself wanted to plan the worst, most bland, horrible office Christmas party in histo
ry, just to stick it to the Hartfords. For being such dicks. For treating her like she was garbage just because she didn’t come from a line of blue-blooded assholes. Pedigree. That was the problem. The whole reason Dale Hartford told his son that if he didn’t end things with her, it would be the end of him and his inheritance. Like she was a dog or something, which in Dale’s eyes, she likely was.
She was some poor college kid with student loans, working her way through a Business Degree, hoping to graduate and go into event planning, a humiliating career in which she worked for and served others menially for fairly low pay. It didn’t matter that she was good at it or that she loved it and always had. That she’d planned most of her high school fundraisers and was involved in a ton of different activities and groups in college.
No. To someone like Dale Hartford, she was trouble. Or troubled. Not that it mattered. She was beautiful enough to ensnare his son. Trey had to be pried from her claws before she brought them all to ruin. Imagine. Trey Hartford married to someone who was raised by a single mother after her alcoholic father ran out on them. She’d probably lift a finger to plan their wedding, which would be absolutely shameful. And she wasn’t a size zero, so while she was pretty enough, the whole trophy wife thing was off the table. She could do nothing to advance H&H. She wasn’t suitable. If she was a dog, she wasn’t the right breed.
So, Trey gave her the boot. He chose his family, his inheritance, and H&H over her.
Ambi slammed her open palm on top of her notepad so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. She was definitely producing that moisture because of the desk slap she’d just handed out and not because it hurt to think about Trey, even five years after the fact.
She’d stick it to H&H by doing an amazing job. By being the best event planner they ever freaking had. By doing her job so well that she’d prove them both wrong. She was a success in her own right. She might have worked for three years after college to save up and pay off her student loans before she could open her business, but she was rolling now. Plus, she’d be taking six grand of their money for doing pretty minimal work.