by J. A. Pierre
The Executive Boss
J.A. Pierre
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by J.A. Pierre. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
Chapter One
“No wife should have to fight for first place in her husband's life.”
Milan Hudson sat in his executive chair listening to his client, Claire LaMere, talk about her philandering husband. She was in her early thirties with a body toned from consistent exercise and expertly applied make-up. She was high maintenance, but she’d been paid to look good by her soon-to-be ex-husband.
She laid her pain bare for Milan to see, crying into a handkerchief. Milan thought the fabric looked soaked and was just about to offer her a fresh Kleenex when she came up for air.
“I have a list of must-haves.” It included the couple’s mansion, yacht, and Mercedes, as well as millions transferred into her bank account.
Despite not signing a prenuptial agreement, Claire’s husband was putting up a fight.
Milan didn’t feel bad for her. She was young and would find another husband. And even if she didn’t, three years of marriage to a man nearly twice her age with a three million dollar payday should tide her over.
Claire batted her mascara lashes at him. He smiled, closed-mouthed.
She’d once asked Milan to meet her for dinner, but he’d politely declined the request. He didn’t want to offend and lose a client. But he also wasn’t in the business of providing women like Claire the kind of comfort they were after. She’d hit on him, mostly in subtle ways: offering up the hotel room where she now stayed, mentioning the yacht she was set on getting, even though she couldn’t sail.
Everyone knew Milan loved to sail—as a hobby, not a lifestyle.
He pretended that her overtures hadn’t registered, but the last thing he wanted to do was complicate the divorce proceedings by mixing business with pleasure.
"I’ll help you win this case and get everything you deserve. I know you’ve worked hard.” For your husband's money, Milan thought.
Claire smiled. "I'm so glad that you understand where I'm coming from." She sighed and wiped the corner of her eye. "People don’t realize that even as a housewife, I work hard for my family."
It was the first time he’d heard her mention having one. She’d only produced one child, but a kid meant more money for her.
It was always interesting to Milan how his clients who knew about their cheating spouses went on to start families. He suspected the potential for a bigger payday once the split was inevitable factored into things.
He was ready for lunch.
He made a small show of checking his Rolex watch. It was a gift from his mother. "I think I have all that I need." Milan stood. The Calvin Klein suit he wore looked exquisite on his six-foot-two frame.
His tanned skin, broad shoulders, intense green eyes, and sharp features made him look more like a model than a lawyer.
Claire examined him with approval.
Milan always knew when he could sleep with a woman.
“Thanks for taking the time to see me on such short notice. I just wanted to get a few more things squared away.”
"No problem," he lied. The truth was, he’d already figured out how long it might take him to come out the victor in the divorce proceedings against her husband. He liked these types of cases to move quickly, especially when the woman involved took an unwarranted interest in him.
He would have the case wrapped up within two months, and then he wouldn’t need to see Claire as much because the terms would be finalized. The official ending of the marriage would take a few more months though.
Claire dropped her purse and Milan began to reach for it, but she was already bending over.
"This is a position I wouldn't mind being in,” she said, looking up, her close proximity to the floor suggestive.
His dislike for her immediately jumped up several notches, but Milan masked his disdain with a smile. He just didn’t like hoes.
At least wait a couple of months, he thought. If Claire slipped up with another man, even him, she’d lose big. He’d have to think of a way to inform her of her precarious position.
“I'll call you tomorrow.” He moved away from her toward the door.
“Sure.”
He turned around; she was close behind him―closer than he’d thought. He felt her hot breath.
Milan felt he’d underestimated the naïve-looking woman. She was not as vulnerable as she was pretending to be. He opened the door.
“I'll be in touch,” he said out of courtesy.
“I wish it was more often,” Claire said as she left, brushing her hand against his thigh.
Milan didn’t bother to watch her leave. His heart and his dick would remain intact, and it’d take more than a pretty blonde to make him reconsider.
***
Saharan Williams sat at her mother’s kitchen table eating blueberry buttermilk pancakes. “Are you normally dressed before Lamont?”
Her mother, Tammy, nodded, as she finished her last bite of the pancake. “That was good.” She picked up a glass of orange juice and took a sip.
Saharan picked up a bottle of Aunt Jemima maple syrup and poured more onto her pancakes.
Tammy shook her head. “I don’t know a soul on earth who pours as much syrup on their pancakes as you.”
Saharan had decided to stop by her parents’ house before her first day at work. There was no way she could turn down her mother’s delicious pancakes. She smiled contentedly as she chewed. In her twenty-three years, she’d never found another blueberry buttermilk pancake that tasted as good as her mother’s. Besides that, her childhood home was only a ten minute drive from her apartment.
“Come on Lamont!” Tammy yelled. “Remember I have to go to work too.”
Her mother sighed loudly.
Saharan looked up. “You okay?”
Their eyes met. Something wasn’t quite right.
“I’m ready,” Lamont said, bounding down the stairs. The seventeen-year-olds car was at the auto shop. Tammy would take him to his summer internship at Microsoft that week.
“You look nice,” Saharan told her little brother. He was dressed in a long-sleeved dress shirt, a pinstriped tie, and black pants.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Tammy sighed. “Let’s go then.”
Saharan stretched out her hand and touched her mother’s arm. “Are you okay?”
Tammy stood up but didn’t say anything.
Saharan grew concerned.
“I told mom and dad last night that I wanted to meet my birth mother.”
“What?” Saharan put down her knife and fork.
“I’ve always wanted to meet someone who actually looks like me.”
Saharan shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she glanced at her mother. She saw the pain on her face. “I'm confused. I thought you were happy.”
Lamont gave a dry laugh, but there was irritation on his face. “I am happy.” He shrugged. “But I’ll like to know more about my family history. She’ll be able to tell me that.”
Tammy wiped a tear away, and both Saharan and Lamont turned to her. “Sorry.”
“It doesn’t take anything away from this family.” Lamont moved to hug Tammy ti
ght.
Saharan watched them, confused by the sudden news, and tried not to tear up.
Tammy patted her son’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Saharan checked the time on the microwave in her parent’s large kitchen. “I should get moving myself. Thanks for the pancakes mom. It reminds me of you always preparing something special for me on my first day of school.”
Tammy cracked a smile then.
Saharan stuffed her mouth with her final bite. She was happy that she still had the food in front of her, because Lamont had left her speechless.
Chapter Two
Saharan stood in the corner of the office.
It was her first day as a paralegal at the law firm of Blackstone and Carter, the top choice for the rich and savvy who wanted to hold onto their money.
Saharan felt way over her head. She had the sense that working at the firm would be nothing like what she saw on television. Firstly― not many of the lawyers there would turn her head.
Of course, she hadn't counted on seeing Milan Hudson.
She wanted to get closer. To touch him. But just as she’d entered his office, following his secretary, two men had barged in behind them. They headed straight to Milan’s imposing desk.
He’d motioned to his secretary, Jeannette, for her to wait. His eyes had met Saharan’s and for five brief seconds, she’d held the man’s attention. Then suit number one began yapping away.
Milan was gorgeous. Saharan took in every detail of him as she waited for an introduction. It was her first day working for the in-demand divorce lawyer, and she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Certainly not the man in front of her. The longer she stood, the more Saharan wanted to meet Milan. Those men weren't discussing anything confidential with him, but they had his attention.
She wasn’t sure why she wanted him to look at her…just once more. Her palms and panties became moist.
Saharan blinked. She’d never seen herself as a lustful woman. She crossed her legs at the ankles. It was an awkward way to stand― then again, she already felt out of place standing there.
“We've got one more hour before it starts," the associate said. "I really appreciate your input, Mr. Hudson.”
Milan looked patient and fairly young. She’d have to Google him later.
The new paralegals didn’t know to whom they’d be assigned to, and Saharan hoped Milan was a decent supervisor. She’d heard enough horror stories about paralegals working gruelling hours and being taken advantage of in other ways.
She glanced at the carpet. I wouldn't mind being under him, she thought. The impulsivity of it made her swallow.
I’m here to work, Saharan reminded herself.
"I don't think this looks like a good time,” Jeannette whispered to her. The woman spoke so softly that it took a few seconds for her voice to register. “Let's come back in a few minutes.”
Saharan followed her out. As an English graduate, she’d wanted to see if she really had what it took to become a top lawyer.
Law school was expensive, and she didn’t want to waste time or money, so before she went any further, she figured she'd get some first-hand experience that summer.
She’d applied, interviewed, and then was offered the paralegal job because of her academic background and prior work experience.
At least that's what Saharan told her friends when they asked. Some had gone on to pursue their master’s degrees, while others permanently joined the work force.
The truth was, Saharan’s father’s occupation as a judge had weight and she’d easily gotten the job after a short interview.
It wasn’t to say her background was necessarily overlooked, but Saharan appreciated the perks that came with being the daughter of a powerful Washington D.C. legal figure.
***
Saharan sat at the desk reading through the employment manual. It wasn’t exactly something she wanted to spend more than an hour on. As a former tennis player, she'd always liked the idea of one-on-one competition. She was certain lawyers like Milan would understand the mind-set; being able to topple your opponent through sheer skill had its appeal.
The men had left Milan’s office half an hour ago, but it was still early, just 10 a.m.
His eyes flashed through her mind. Saharan narrowed her eyes, trying to remember their exact color and hue. The lawyer was magnetic, in a pure sexual energy kind of way. She sensed that he could be a danger to her heart if she dared venture close.
She heard a ringing phone and Jeannette speaking.
"Okay, I understand," Jeannette said.
After a few minutes, Saharan wondered what was going on. Finally she broached the subject and went to the secretary’s desk to ask.
Jeannette looked up from the documents spread across her desk. “I'm sorry; you won't be meeting Mr. Hudson today. He’s very busy, but first thing tomorrow morning you will meet him.”
She proceeded to give Saharan work to do in the interim. “At least you’ll be able to help me out today. I’m sure Mr. Hudson will keep you busy when he gets his hands on you.”
Saharan couldn’t help but smile. She bit her bottom lip to hide it when Jeannette glanced up at her once more.
At home that evening Saharan sat on her sofa in a tank top and sweatpants. Her stomach growled from hunger, but she was busy Googling for anything she could find on Milan. Finally, she couldn’t fight her hunger any longer. She sighed and picked up the phone, dialing Maria’s Italian Restaurant; it was her go-to place for takeout.
“Hello, Maria’s Italian Restaurant, can I help you?”
“I’ll like to order take out,” Saharan said. She listened to the usual question. “For one please.”
***
Saharan had been getting ready for bed when her mother called.
Tammy was upset. “This situation has thrown me for a loop. Your dad, though, he doesn’t seem daunted at all.” She sighed heavily into the phone. “But I have to support Lamont. This is my son.”
“Mom, it’s okay.”
Saharan couldn’t say that she understood how Tammy felt. Her parents had adopted Lamont at seven-weeks-old. Saharan remembered the anticipation of the day that her parents brought home the baby.
He was little and smiley, and Saharan loved him instantly. Tammy didn’t have to ask Lamont’s big sister twice to get her some baby lotion, or pampers, or a bib. Saharan was right there at her parents’ side.
She glanced at her red polished toenails now on top of the living room floor. She’d enjoyed reading to her little brother at night.
“I raised that child,” Tammy said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Mom, please.” Saharan didn’t want to tell her not to get angry. She wasn’t sure what to say. She’d always been close to her mom and respectful of her feelings.
Before Lamont had arrived, Saharan’s parents had explained to her how he was adopted. And despite having a different mommy and daddy from Saharan, would be her little brother.
Saharan had not anticipated that one day Lamont would want to meet his mother.
“I was the one up with him at nights, and your dad was there for soccer practices, and later his football games,” Tammy said. Her voice quivered. “I guess I just don’t want this woman…his birth mom…to change things.”
Saharan sighed. “You have to remember that she gave him to us. Besides, Lamont loves us.”
“I know that.”
“Well then. Act like you raised a son with some sense. He just wants to see the missing piece of the puzzle.”
“And that gets to me also. He maybe has mentioned once in his life about wanting to meet her. Then nothing”
“This time it’s for real, huh?”
“Well, the file’s open.” Tammy coughed. “So, it’s going to happen.”
“Where does she live?”
“Virginia.”
“What about the dad?”
“He wasn’t around back then.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I have to go p
ut some dinner on the stove for when your father gets home.”
“Okay, mom. Talk to you later.”
“Right.”
“We love you.”
“Love you too, Sah.”
Chapter Three
Milan sat at his desk the next morning, putting the final touches on a report. The day before had been long, but fifteen-hour work days helped him to sleep better.
It was the nights where he got home by seven that sometimes caused him the most trouble. If he happened to flip on the television, he’d get a yearning for a woman, or more often, a family. Occasionally, he picked up the phone and called someone from his contact list. Most of the time they came to him, sometimes he went to them. But Milan had no appetite for a woman he’d already had.
Though he’d never admit it, he’d never felt any real connection to any of his conquests.
He wanted a challenge, and lately nothing was challenging him. No one drew out his desire.
The ringing phone got his attention and he picked it up. “Hello?”
"Mr. Hudson, are you available this morning to see Ms. Williams?”
"Send her in."
The young woman walked into his office with her head held high. She seemed confident enough. She was curvy — about medium for height. Milan guessed five foot six. She was a C cup, inching toward a D.
Milan was a breasts man and he liked the way the new paralegal’s chest filled out her cherry-colored blouse. The skirt she wore clung to her hips.
Her nails were manicured and her hair neatly swept up. Milan thought that her warm cinnamon skin looked like butter; his attraction to her was strong. He needed to pull himself together quickly before he started off on the wrong foot.
After all, he was her boss. He was known as the executive boss to his peers because of the nickname: ‘The Executive.’ His father loved to call him that― he had a lot of pride in Milan. His father was a retired lawyer who’d taught his son everything he knew, and his son was a fast learner; he'd quickly established a reputation as a formidable lawyer willing to fight for a win.