Cocky Boss

by C L Cruz

  Cocky Boss

  Badder Bosses, Book 3

  C.L. Cruz

  Cocky Boss Copyright © 2020 by C.L. Cruz. All Rights Reserved.

  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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Liz Fox

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  C.L. Cruz

  Visit my website at www.clcruz.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: June 2020

  CONTENTS

  Claim Your Free Read

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Ruthless Boss by Liz Fox

  Also by C.L. Cruz

  About the Author

  Claim Your Free Read

  Dani

  I have a habit of falling for men who are unattainable. It’s how I keep myself from getting hurt—if nothing ever starts, nothing can ever end. But when I end up with my boss, Harrington Abbot, at an out-of-town conference and we finally get to know each other outside of the office, sparks fly. Maybe it’s time to finally take a risk and choose love over security, even if it might mean getting my heart broken.

  Quick Trip is a steamy, standalone, office romance novella.

  Click here to claim your copy NOW!

  Chapter One

  Weston

  I pull up in front of the three-story office building and let my car idle as I end the call. In the forty-minute drive from the city to my attorney’s office in Oxden, I’d secured an investor for a new business concept. I do what I do, and I do it well, no matter the circumstances. There’s a reason King Enterprises is among the top venture-capital firms in the nation.

  A valet approaches and I toss him my keys.

  “Holy shit,” he says, snatching the keys out of the air. “Is that a Maserati Granturismo?”

  I look down at the car—black, sleek, powerful. Expensive. “Yes. Don’t put a fucking scratch on it.”

  The valet shakes his head, eyes wide under shaggy bangs. “No. No, sir.”

  Leaving it at that, I turn back toward the building and head inside. He must be a college kid here at Grandview University. That’s what I get for hiring an attorney in Oxden, but I needed one outside of Oakwood City. One who isn’t afraid of my father. Cody Washington fits the bill. He’s young, sharp, and self-made, and his reputation in the courtroom is proof that he isn’t afraid of anyone.

  When he called this afternoon, my assistant, Quinn, had put him through right away.

  “You’re going to need to come in. I’ve found something in the paperwork you sent over that you need to see to believe.”

  It had been hard to tear myself away—I’m not used to leaving work before dark—but Quinn had finally managed to push me out the door with promises to get my potential investor on the phone for me. I’d arrived just before the office closed for the day, in a good mood thanks to the closed deal.

  Cody greets me personally, explaining that his assistant has already left.

  “I’m sorry to keep you,” I say, following him to his office.

  “Don’t be.” He sits behind his wide, mahogany desk and shuffles through his papers.

  I sit across from him in a leather chair, unbuttoning my suit jacket and crossing one leg over my knee.

  He continues talking as he searches. “My mother-in-law is visiting for three weeks. Three. Long. Miserable. Weeks. Why would anyone need to do that three times a year?”

  “You must have married young,” I say, noticing the picture on the shelf behind his desk. It’s Cody with a tall, beautiful woman, each of them holding a baby, standing on a beach somewhere tropical.

  Cody laughs. “True love, you know?”

  I laugh with him, but the truth is, I don’t know. And I’m fine with that. I don’t have time to date. And ever since I saw the ugly side of marriage through my parents, I have no desire to nosedive into the dreaded institution. Count me out.

  Finally, Cody slides a stack of papers across the desk. I immediately recognize it as the contract I’d signed last month when my father had finally retired and agreed to sign King Enterprises over to me. It had been a quick transaction, my father in a rush to catch his flight to the Bahamas.

  His attorney had been there. “Everything is all laid out. You receive the profits. He gets a percentage. It’s all very legal.”

  When I’d hesitated, my father had become impatient. “I’m leaving in a few minutes. Do you want to do the work and get the profits or do the work and get a salary?”

  I’d signed and not given it any further thought, simply glad to finally be out from under my father’s thumb. Now, seeing the look on Cody’s face, I’m having regrets.

  “Did you have an attorney look this over before signing it?” he asks.

  “Well, no. Not one I trust, anyway,” I say, suddenly not feeling so cocky.

  He keeps his opinion on that to himself and instead flips to one of the middle pages and taps a paragraph near the bottom. “Read this.”

  My eyes skim the words. Condition. Marriage. Sixty days. Null and void. “What the fuck is this?”

  “This,” Cody says, tapping the paragraph again, “is your father being a tricky bastard.”

  It doesn’t make sense. I can hardly process it. Why? Why would my father do this? Then, my eyes catch another name: Monty Kingsbury. “So, if I don’t get married within sixty days of signing this contract, then the contract is null and void and the company reverts to my half-brother?”

  “Exactly.”

  Monty was ten years younger than me, born to my father’s mistress before my parents had even divorced. Somehow, my dad was still married to the woman. This had to be her doing. Otherwise, the little snot wasn’t set up to inherit anything.

  “Sixty days is up this weekend,” Cody adds helpfully. “He doesn’t think you’ll get married?”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Why would I? My mother was miserable. I didn’t know someone could cry as much as she did when I was growing up. And my father was never home, constantly sleeping around. Why would I want to help perpetuate the family tradition?” I rub my face with both hands. “I’m not doing it.”

  Cody leans back now, leaving the contract between us like a ticking time bomb. “What about the money?”

  God, he’s right. I have a lifestyle to maintain. I’ve made promises to my mom. And Quinn is long overdue for a raise. My salary just isn’t going to cut it, and the idea of working for Monty makes me want to hurl.

  “Look, this isn’t what you want to hear, but at this point, you don’t have a lot of choices. Don’t let him win. Find someone. Marry her. Do it fast or it will cost you big.”

  He’s right. Only taking into consideration the deal I just made on the way over, I’ll be forfeiting millions of dollars. Even worse, I’ll be handing them over to Monty, my father’s mini-me.

  “In the meantime,” Cody continues, “I’ll see if I can find a way to get the clause thrown out.”

  “But who?” I ask. “I’m not even dating anyone.”

  He shakes his head. “It doesn’t have to be romantic. In fac
t, it’s probably better if it’s not. It should be someone you can trust. Someone who won’t try to screw you over.”

  Strangely, the first person to pop into my head is Quinn. She’s worked for me for years—long enough that I can’t remember a time without her. She makes my life easy and is always happy to help. Not to mention she’s practical, sensible, reliable…and I haven’t missed the curvy body she tries to hide beneath modest clothes. Maybe I could tolerate being married to her, if only until this gets worked out in the courtroom.

  I take a deep breath, a plan forming in my mind. “Cody,” I say, “how quickly can you draw up a prenup?”

  Chapter Two

  Quinn

  I dip my fingers into the bath water to test the temperature—scalding, just how I like it. My apartment in the Village has a tub in the bathroom, but I’ve only ever used the shower. I’m typically so busy with work that by the time I get home, I barely have time to eat dinner before I collapse into bed. But not today. Today, my boss, Weston Kingsbury, CEO of King Enterprises, actually left early. Which means I did, too.

  Don’t get me wrong—I love my job, and I like spending time with Weston more than I probably should, but I’m not going to say no to an opportunity to get home before dark.

  Which is how I suddenly find myself with free time on my hands. As the water runs, I pour myself a glass of wine and strip out of my work clothes, wrapping myself in a silk robe that my friend, Helena, got me for my birthday that I hardly ever wear. The latest Liz Fox book is on my nightstand, unread. I pick it up on my way back to the bathroom. I’m just not very good at treating myself, but tonight, that’s going to change.

  Hanging the robe on the bathroom door, I sink into the bath, the warmth of the water soothing my outside while the sweet red wine soothes my insides. The thought flits briefly through my mind that it would be nice to have someone to share this with, but I banish it, looking longingly at the man-chest on the book cover. I go on dates, but none of the men measure up to my expectations. The only one who comes close is Weston, but I swear he hardly sees me—and when he does, it’s definitely not as girlfriend material.

  I soak in the bath, reading and drinking, until the water is cool, my toes are pruny, and I’ve finished a couple glasses of wine. I’m drying off when there’s a knock at my door. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s nine o’clock at night. Who would be here this late? Who would be here ever? I don’t exactly have a robust social life. Maybe it’s Helena or one of the other girls from the building.

  Sliding my robe back on, I pile my wet hair on top of my head and make my way to the door. I push up onto my toes and peek through the peephole. What I see there makes me do a double-take. I blink a few times and then slowly unlock and open the door.

  “Weston?”

  My boss is standing in my hallway in his beautiful, bearded glory, looking too big for the narrow corridor. It isn’t until his gaze falls to my chest that I remember what I look like. I’m normally the epitome of professional. Now, I’m half-naked and probably have purple wine stains on my teeth.

  I pull the robe tighter, hoping he can’t see the blush creep up my cheeks. Or anywhere else. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Now?”

  He looks confused, like he had never considered the fact that it might be a bad time.

  I sigh and step aside. “Come in.”

  As he walks past me, I catch a whiff of his spicy cologne. It’s familiar, but strange to smell it here, in my apartment. I wonder if it will linger after he leaves.

  Without waiting for me, he strides through my apartment like he owns it and slams his briefcase onto my kitchen table. He pulls out a manila envelope, withdraws a stack of papers, and puts them and a pen in front of a chair.

  “So, this is all pretty standard procedure,” he says.

  I feel like I’ve walked into the middle of a conversation that doesn’t involve me. It’s like that sometimes with Weston. He plows through life, expecting everyone else to keep up. But in case he hasn’t noticed—which he probably hasn’t—my legs are only about half as long as his. Sometimes, I need a minute to catch up.

  “What is?” I ask.

  “Oh. I forgot this part.” Next thing I know, Weston has dropped to one knee in front of me. He pulls a velvet box from his pocket and thrusts it at me. “Will you marry me?”

  Now I know I’ve missed something. I collapse into a dining chair, putting us at eye level. “What are you talking about?”

  “My father snuck a marriage clause into the contract. I have to be married by this weekend or I forfeit the company.”

  His father always was devious and cruel. Weston, like me, is perpetually single. He’s been single for as long as I’ve been working for him. “So, you’re asking me?”

  He shrugs. “Who else would I ask?”

  He really can be clueless. Smart, sexy, arrogant, and oblivious as hell.

  “It’s just temporary,” he continues, as if that helps his cause. “While my attorney contests the contract. There’s a prenup and everything.”

  Here’s the thing. I’ve never told Weston no in my life. But I’ve never needed to. He’s always been respectful of me, even kind. Sometimes, like when my mom died, he was more of a friend to me than a boss. He gave me the time off without asking any questions and even came to the funeral, holding me while I cried. It was then that he ruined all other men for me. That’s why I’ve imagined this moment for years, and to be honest, it never looked anything like this.

  “I can’t,” I say finally.

  He pushes himself up onto a chair. “Why not?” He pulls the prenup over to us. “It’s your name here, see? Please. You’ve always been there for me. I need this more than anything. This isn’t a love match. This is checkmate. This is me calling my father’s bluff. This is just until we figure out something better. Or he dies.”

  Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I say, “That is a shitty proposal.”

  His brow narrows over his chocolate eyes. “You want the real thing?”

  Leaning back, I fold my arms over my chest. When I cross my legs, my robe slips open and I feel his warm gaze on my bare skin. “Yes,” I say defiantly.

  “Fine.” He turns in his chair and drags my chair closer to him until I’m practically in his lap. He leans forward, one hand on my bare thigh, his eyes on mine. “Quinn Delaney, you’ve stood by me through the best of times and held me up during the worst of times. You’ve been more than an assistant; you’ve been a partner. You’re someone I’ve laughed with, someone who has carried the weight of my bad days and cheered me through it all. I can’t imagine my life without you. Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Then, he slowly opens the velvet box and I get my first glimpse of the ring. Instead of the traditional diamond ring, there’s a blood-red ruby surrounded by a halo of diamonds set in yellow gold.

  I nod, for a moment allowing myself to believe it’s real. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “It’s my grandmother’s ring,” he explains, sliding it onto my finger. It fits. “She passed it down to me when she died.” He reaches up and pinches a lock of my hair that escaped its bun. “I thought it matched you well.”

  He means my hair, which is a deep red that most people think is unnatural. The fact that he thought about me enough to give me a family heirloom is surprising. That’s how I’m going to think about it. Not as a ring of convenience.

  “Now.” He stands and taps the paperwork on the table, clearly done being sentimental. “Could you sign this?”

  I flip through the pages with shaking fingers. It’s pretty standard with the exception of a growing payout for the number of years we stay married. If I last a year, I’ll get a million dollars. Anything less than that and I’ll walk away with what I bring into the marriage. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  With a sigh, I pick up the pen and sign.

  Chapter Three

  Weston

&n
bsp; Quinn makes us an appointment with the magistrate for the very next day. I never imagined myself getting married, but if I have to do it, I can’t imagine anything better. She takes care of everything, just like always. Once all this is squared away, she’s definitely getting a raise.

  She tells me to meet her at the courthouse at eleven, but I’m already at the steps at five ‘til, waiting for her. That’s how I get to see her approach. While I’m in my regular suit from the day, she shows up in a white dress that flares around her hips and a white blazer buttoned at her chest. Her breasts—usually covered by a sweater—strain against the top, showing about a mile of cleavage. She’s carrying a small bouquet of pale pink roses. Her red hair is in gentle curls around her shoulders, and big, black sunglasses cover the top half of her face. She looks like a movie star. Last night, I’d been too distracted to really appreciate her, but I enjoy the view now.

  “Here’s the license application,” she says by way of greeting, pulling a paper from the folder she’s holding. “We need to run it to the registrar before going to the magistrate.”

  When I don’t take it from her, she goes still and looks up at me, sliding her glasses on top of her head.

  “What?”

  “You look beautiful.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Come on.”

  After filing the paperwork, we head to the magistrate’s office. Quinn apparently called in a favor to get us in with the magistrate so soon, so the wedding isn’t in a courtroom like I’d expected. Instead, she leads me to an office in some remote, back corner, a hole-in-the-wall with one dirty window and a cheap desk covered in stacks of paper and a computer as old as my dad. On the way, we pick up a clerk who is a friend of Quinn’s so they can act as witness.

  “Will you take pictures?” Quinn whispers to the clerk, handing over her phone.

  I smile at my bride. She thinks of everything. The pictures will be good proof to send to my dad.