Bossy Billionaire
Page 1
Table of Contents
Bossy Billionaire (Lords of Gotham, #3)
TEASER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MEET THE LORDS OF GOTHAM
OTHER BOOKS BY DEBORAH GARLAND
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
HERE’S DEBORAH!
A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy
Lords of Gotham, Book Three
By Deborah Garland
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TEASER
He’s the boss. But she’s calling all the shots. Can they fall in love in between all the hilarious sabotage?
Everything stops when CEO Luke Hart struts through his luxury hotel. He’s tall and gorgeous with golden hair he wears like a crown. There’re secrets behind those blue eyes and he’s determined to stay closed off.
Enter Lexi. A quirky smart-mouthed law school student in need of tuition money. Luke’s new assistant. And the hot and dirty one night stand he can’t forget.
Luke’s never crossed the line with an assistant. But Lexi tempts him with deep brown eyes, diamond pink hair, and those short skirts are making him lose his mind. She’s everything he needs, but he can’t have her. Not while she works for him. So he turns brutal and bossy, anything to push her away.
Lexi isn’t a quitter. She needs this job, and she’ll endure whatever Luke throws at her. She knows there’s only one thing he wants more than payback. He wants her.
But is Luke willing to wreck his professional reputation in order to claim his soulmate?
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Bossy Billionaire Copyright ©2020 Deborah Garland
Rebel Billionaire Blurb Copyright ©2020 Deborah Garland
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by: KUDI-Design
Published by Deborah A. Garland
www.deborahgarlandauthor.com
DEDICATION
For Mom
Who gave me one piece of dating advice.
And I never forgot it.
Read on and you’ll get that lesson too.
CHAPTER ONE
Luke
The skirling of bagpipes vibrated against the windows behind Luke’s desk. His late father’s ornately carved antique was appropriate for the look of his New York City hotel, but lacked functionality. Like Luke.
Flashy. Handsome. Useless.
The blinking message light on his desk phone held his attention far greater than his youngest brother, Grayson, grinding on and on about yet another issue with his penthouse apartment.
After glancing briefly out the window watching the parade march down Fifth Avenue, Luke broke into his brother’s rant, “How do I access my voicemail?” He slapped every button on the phone’s console. “My assistant quit this morning.” He made a mockery of his CEO role at The Sterling for three years after he and his two brothers inherited the hotel.
But he vowed to put more of his heart into the job he didn’t want. Watching yet another assistant quit on him suggested getting his shit together was off to a terrible start.
Grayson huffed from being interrupted. “Lucy quit?” He hauled his enormous feet on Luke’s desk. “She was hot.”
Tristan, his hoity middle brother, corrected Gray, “Lucy quit two months ago.” With his arms crossed, he added, “This one was Carly. And she didn’t look so hot staggering away with mascara stains running down her face.”
“What are you doing to these women?” Grayson nagged Luke.
He didn’t need a Hart family tribunal at the moment. “Seriously, my light is flashing, that means I have a message, right?”
“If it’s important, they’ll call back.” Grayson waved his hand.
“Would you say that if you were expecting a call from your agent?” Luke shot back, his ire hitting below the belt because Grayson’s acting career was in the toilet and the guy hadn’t heard from his agent in months.
“Asshole.” Gray yanked his feet down, knocking Luke’s CEO nameplate, a picture of them with their mom, and the rest of his tepid coffee to the carpet.
“Watch it.” He jumped to snatch the mug, for once grateful that ugly latte color carpeted the entire back office suites.
Tristan rolled amber eyes at Gray and took out his phone. “Jessie, can you please come to Luke’s office? Yes, he’s wearing pants.” His brother sent a scrunched what the fuck glare at him. “Never mind.”
One damn time he got caught in his office without pants while changing for his nightly VIP parties and suddenly he was known as The pantless CEO all throughout his hotel.
“And he calls me a train wreck.” Grayson grabbed his leather jacket and he and his torn jeans stomped out of the Luke’s office, slamming the door behind him.
What the hell Gray was so angry about baffled Luke. He and Tristan worked twelve-hour days running The Sterling. Grayson was an equal owner, but he rarely made it past the lobby bar. He’d only climbed their out-of-order escalator to the executive offices that afternoon to bitch about his housekeeper.
Luke dragged Tristan into that screwed-up conversation because as the COO, housekeeping was under his brother’s jurisdiction.
“So, what happened with Carly?” Tristan asked in his accusing voice.
Luke rose from his chair and buttoned the jacket of his favorite jet-black suit. Damn, he’d forgotten to wear a green tie for St. Patrick’s Day. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am the CEO around here. I answer to no one, Tristan. That includes you.”
Absolute power corrupted absolutely.
Tristan spun on his Prada Oxfords. “Good luck figuring out how to get into your voicemail, asshole.”
“Wait,” Luke called out and slumped back in his tufted executive swivel. “I’m sorry. I’m...not sleeping well. I’m exhausted. I’m snapping at everyone. That’s what happened with Carly, okay? Happy?”
“No.” Tristan removed his dark-rimmed glasses. As usual, his brother dressed for the occasion with a striking jade tie against a light gray suit cut perfectly for his towering frame. “What can I do?” he asked, sounding so damn hospitable. Fitting, they were in the hospitality business. Whether they liked it or not.
“Can Jessie cover my shit for a while?” he asked, lacking the strength to discuss hiring another assistant.
“Done.” Tristan smiled down at his phone after a beep. “The jet’s back with Laney. The trip to her textile mill didn’t take as long as expected.”
&n
bsp; Luke loved that Tristan found a woman he adored. Seeing him so happy was a slow-moving inspiration heading right for him. If he let it. Laney had a magic about her, all right. She’d enchanted Luke into agreeing to do a complete renovation of the hotel instead of selling it for ten billion dollars a few months back.
Not that Luke needed the money. Before assuming the CEO job at the hotel, his law practice kept him flush with cash. Sure, The Sterling’s monthly revenues busted the seams of his bank account, too. With minimal effort on his part. Tristan did most of the work.
For the first three years, he’d spent most days hungover after endless nights of partying, promoting the hotel with his showboating and whoring around Manhattan. The Sterling had to be a great hot spot. Look how fun the CEO was!
That’s a horrible marketing strategy, Tristan, who was a branding expert before assuming the COO title, liked to remind Luke.
With his wolfish days and nights behind him, and his busy law career on hold, Luke faced a mountain of time alone with nothing to do. To the point it irritated the hell out of him. He needed a distraction.
“It’s almost five pm.” Tristan knocked him out of his self-pity party. “Why don’t you get out of here. I want to go get Laney. We think...”
“You think, what?” Luke asked, conscious of the muffled voices drifting back and forth outside his office.
Tristan smirked. “Laney might be pregnant.”
Luke’s throat tightened. His dominant side always told him producing the first Hart baby was his responsibility. Being the oldest, and all. “Might?”
“She missed her period.” Tristan ran a hand through his thick reddish-brown hair, full in the front and cropped in the back. “We’re worried because she’s been working non-stop converting the textile designs with her new software and she hasn’t been eating enough. Now, her iron levels are low. A pregnancy would be high risk for her. We just got engaged. She wanted to work on this project and plan a wedding. Her doctor could put her on bedrest.”
Luke soaked in his brother’s troubled voice. “How do you feel about all this?” Despite the bickering, Tristan was his best friend.
“I want whatever she wants, but I also want her healthy. We haven’t even thought about kids.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. Odd for his brother to be so shortsighted since Luke heard those two going at it all hours of the night from his apartment next door. He, Tristan, and Grayson each had their own penthouse villas right there in The Sterling. “Either way, I’ll be happy, but I want her to be happy and not stressed.”
“Happy wife, happy life.” Luke nodded, repeating what the divorce lawyers at his old firm used to coach their clients. He missed working as a lawyer. But when his dad died and left them the hotel, he took a leave of absence to deal with this place. “Keep me posted.”
“Definitely. And I’ll tell HR to get you someone else soon,” he said then added, “Since you keep scaring away all the women I hire you, how about we try a guy this time?”
“For what?” Luke thought he missed a pivot in the conversation.
“To be your secretary? Why are you laughing?”
“A dude secretary?” He didn’t mean to sound like a reverse-sexist, he was just being real. “What guy wants to be a secretary?”
“Someone who needs a paycheck.” Tristan was really good at cutting through the bullshit.
“Good point.” Luke exhaled and glared at his messy desk. The overflowing stack of contracts he had to review since he was a lawyer and The Sterling didn’t have a general counsel at the moment added to his daily crabbiness. “What if we create a business intern position?” he suggested.
“Interesting.” Tristan nodded, but fidgeted like he wanted to get the hell out of there. “I’ll wrap my head around this and figure out—”
“I can manage this one, Tristan. I have some clue about what the hell is going on around here. Who do you think runs this place while you were off on your sex cruises?”
His brother’s smile disappeared, and a sheen of sweat glazed across his forehead. “Don’t bring that up anymore, okay? Laney got a front-row seat to the worst side of me and I’m a lucky bastard that she still wanted me.”
“Sorry, man.” Luke stood and rounded his desk. “But that’s where you found the love of your life.”
Tristan narrowed angry eyes at him. “Do not even think about going on that cruise.”
Luke guffawed a laugh. “I don’t need an easy fling.”
His brother shook his head and strode to Luke’s office door. “Have a good night, Luke.”
“Hey, it’s Friday. Why don’t we meet up somewhere after you pick up Laney?” he asked, wanting to make sure Tristan stayed on his side since Gray won’t be talking to him for a while.
“I’ll let you know.” His brother swept out of the office.
“Wait!” Luke called out to Tristan, but he’d hiked right for the executive suites’ double doors leading to the mezzanine level of the hotel.
That damn message light on his phone was still blinking.
Then it went out. That really summed up his week.
Running his hotel utterly exhausted Luke. He’d been walking around way too irritated. He needed something, anything to kill the loneliness coursing through him. He needed sex, but without a gala or a fundraiser he could waltz into and leave with a woman on his arm, he had a feeling he’d end tonight much like the others over the past few months.
Alone.
Lexi
THE STENCH OF SHELLAC thickly layered on the wood surfaces all around the financial aid offices of NYU made Lexi’s nose twitch. The entire office smelled old. Waiting on a plastic chair, she pinched the hem of her red dress, the color out of place considering all the green around her. With her pink hair and heavy eyeliner, she didn’t look like a typical law school student, either.
“Alex Markham?” an admin in the bursar’s office rasped from behind the counter.
A fat-finger typo at Fordham University had knocked the ‘is’ off her name Alexis six years ago and that goof still crept into the most random of school records. It’d followed her to this today, even though she was in her third year and final semester at the NYU School of Law.
“Coming,” she said, gathering her book bag.
When Lexi’s mother painfully admitted at Christmas she didn’t have the money to pay Lexi’s last tuition bill, she’d scrambled and applied for several emergency student loans so she could graduate. Applying allowed her to start the semester, but one by one, rejections had rolled in because her Fordham University records listed her as Alex Markham!
Then an email came in to meet with a financial advisor. Something must have come through requiring a personal interview. Yeah, to show she’s not Alex!
“Cute dress,” the admin remarked to her as she led Lexi through a maze of corridors.
“Thanks, I got it on sale,” she said, following the admin deep into the bowels of the finance offices where a low hum of voices murmured around her.
Law school was crazy expensive. Lexi becoming a lawyer had been her father’s dream. He’d died on 9/11 with many other firefighters. Her undergrad tuition had been paid in full, thanks to the generosity of many Tuesday’s Children scholarships.
That charity didn’t extend beyond undergrad. Her NYU law degree was on her dime. Not that anyone owed her free tuition for life. Didn’t make it any less expensive. Her mother, who’d refused other forms of charities out of pride, had scraped and managed each semester’s payment for NYU with two cents to spare. Their roadside family motel down at the Jersey Shore did crap business in the winter, so those months had been tough.
Years of free tuition at the expensive and prestigious Fordham University drove Lexi’s altruistic side. She’d spent what free hours she had volunteering at food banks. She never earned any real money for a rainy day. Now, it was pouring, and she felt like a drowned rat.
“Right this way.” When the admin flew right past the Dean of Finance’s suite where Lexi e
xpected to sign her loan paperwork, a pit formed in her stomach fearing something horrible was about to happen.
The cushy office where the dean sat faded in the distance behind her and low mauve cubicles came into view. Something very visceral awoke in her. Fear pulsed through her veins, the bottom falling out, like the day she watched in horror as two tall towers fell and her mother’s piercing wails skidded up her spine. Even at six years old, she’d known something was wrong.
Any panicky feeling now brought back the memory of that terrible day.
By the time she reached the desks in the collections department, Lexi no longer had the ability to swallow. Anita Canter, the most unsympathetic woman in the world, treated law school students like they were already conniving sharks.
Maybe the dean was busy? Please. Please. Please.
“Have a seat.” Mrs. Canter pointed to a stained chair, no emotion in her cigarette-hoarse voice.
Pushing past the disgust of her bare legs rubbing against that nasty fabric, she sat. “Thank you for seeing me,” she said, forcing herself to sound chipper.
“We received the final rejection from your last-minute loan application blitz.” It was like the woman couldn’t help the dig. “But it’s March, Miss Markham. I’m sorry, but after today if the tuition isn’t paid in full, I have to suspend your enrollment.” Mrs. Canter held up Lexi’s financial papers covered in dandruff flakes. Gross.
The pulse in her throat throbbed. She’d fought this for two and a half years. The bottom. No money. The stretching finally snapped. She’d also missed the merit scholarships. The only time a 3.95 didn’t help her.
“Can I make a small cash payment?” She had a few hundred dollars available on one of her credit cards.
“It’s too late to apply for a payment plan. You needed to do that at least six weeks before the semester started.”