Crazy In Love (South Bay Soundtracks)

by Amelia Stone

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Opening Act

  Track One

  Track Two

  Track Three

  Track Four

  Track Five

  Track Six

  Track Seven

  Track Eight

  Encore

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Social Media Links

  Also by Amelia Stone

  CRAZY IN LOVE

  Copyright © 2018 Amelia Stone

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design: Amy Hoye

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or advertisement.

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

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Opening Act

  Track One

  Track Two

  Track Three

  Track Four

  Track Five

  Track Six

  Track Seven

  Track Eight

  Encore

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Social Media Links

  Also by Amelia Stone

  For Alicia, who sent me down the Kylie spiral. Thanks, I guess?

  The events in this book run parallel to book one in the South Bay Soundtracks series, Desire. Go here to check out Larkin and Graham’s story!

  And if you’d like to listen along with the book, check out this playlist on Spotify!

  My good hair day was completely wasted on the man in front of me.

  “I said to get me someone with a college degree,” Julian Morgan growled in a velvety voice that surprised me, given his scruffy appearance. I would have expected him to sound much rougher. Intrigued, I looked at him with renewed interest.

  And he was certainly looking back. Hazel eyes framed by criminally long lashes surveyed me with distaste, and I was pretty sure he was frowning. It was hard to tell, though, because his beard was a bit unkempt. All right, that was putting it nicely. He looked like a homeless person. A very handsome homeless person, with a thick, luscious head of dark hair and freckles that were oddly appealing, given that I normally didn’t like freckles. But a homeless person nonetheless.

  I’d read quite a bit about Julian Morgan in preparation for this interview. Chief technology officer of a Fortune 100 company at only thirty-four years old, he held twenty-eight individual patents for computer hardware innovations, and his net worth was nearly four hundred million dollars. He’d taken the company his father founded nearly forty years ago and made it the leader in computer processor manufacturing. He was a very impressive man. On paper, anyway. In real life, the exterior definitely did not live up to the interior. He looked more like a maintenance worker than the man in charge.

  He also seemed annoyed, as though he didn’t like me or didn’t appreciate my presence in his office. But that was ridiculous – everyone liked me. Besides, I’d just been hired as his executive assistant. I was here to make his life easier, so there was no reason he should be annoyed with me. No, he was probably just hungover, or possibly hangry. I got that way sometimes, too, when I skipped breakfast.

  “Uh.” The HR representative, a nice lady named Teri who was wearing completely the wrong shade of foundation for her skin tone, stammered as she flipped through a manila folder. “Oh, yes. Ms., uh.” She frowned, and I knew what that was about. No one could pronounce my last name correctly.

  “Kusmierski,” I supplied, giving them both my most helpful smile. Mr. Morgan looked unimpressed.

  Teri, at least, smiled back. “Yes, of course. Kissmeer-”

  “Oh, no.” I laughed, trying to smooth over the awkward moment. “It’s pronounced Kuhz-myrrh-ski.”

  Teri’s eyes widened. “Oh, I am so sorry. Let me make a note of that. We call everyone by their last name here. It’s Morgan’s rule.” She gestured to the man who was still glaring at me.

  “Oh. I see.” My smile froze in place, like it always did when I was unsure. This was going to be awkward. I liked calling people by their first name. Calling someone Susan, instead of Mrs. Smith or even just Smith, made them feel like I recognized their individuality, that I saw them as their own person. And that made them feel valued.

  But you know what? That was okay. I would just have to adjust to it. If it meant that I would fit in at MorTech Industries, that I would be popular here, then I could adjust to most anything.

  “Well, I can do that. But I didn’t catch your last name.” I smiled at her expectantly.

  She blinked. “It’s Terry. I’m Linda Terry.”

  Oh. Okay.

  “Anyway,” Teri – no, Terry – continued. “Kusmierski has done some coursework at Syracuse.”

  “Some coursework?” Mr. Morgan frowned at his secretary. “I said college degree. As in, actually graduated. Preferably a B.S. in a related field.” He huffed, running a hand through his messy hair.

  Wait, what? He wanted a college graduate with a degree in computer science to maintain his schedule and make coffee? That was just overkill.

  Before I could respond to that, he raised an eyebrow at me. “What kind of courses did you even take? Rushing 101?”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no, I didn’t have to rush. I’m a legacy. My sisters at Chi Omega were thrilled to have me.”

  As he opened his mouth to reply, he rolled his eyes, which I couldn’t help but notice were a true hazel. That was such a rare eye color. Most people who allegedly had hazel eyes were really just kind of a muddy green, or a light brown. But his were the real deal.

  I gave him another appraising look as he continued speaking. His potential really was wasted under all that hair. With the right grooming, he could look less like a mad scientist and more like a distinguished professor. Yes, I could just see him with a nice, close-trimmed beard, a tailored shirt and some nice slacks, maybe a brown leather bomber instead of the black motorcycle jacket hanging haphazardly over the back of his chair. That thing had far too many zippers. How were you even supposed to find your keys, with all those pockets?

  “Hello?” My gaze snapped back to his, and he was glaring at me, tapping his fingers on his desk impatiently. “Did you even hear me?” He looked at Terry. “Look at this, she can’t even pay attention to me when I speak. Terry, I told you not to bring in another vapid party girl.”

  “Uh, well, Hobson recruited her. She has excellent references.” Terry handed our boss the manila folder, which he slapped down on his desk without even a glance at its contents. “And Hobson says she gave a great interview.”

  Of course I’d given a great interview. I always made a good first impression. Ron Hobson in HR had loved me. Everyone loved me. Everyone except Julian Morgan, apparently.

  “I don’t care what Hobson said. I don’t want her. Get her out of here.”

  Well. His rudeness was going to make my employme
nt here considerably harder. But I could put up with it for now. So we got off on the wrong foot. He’d appreciate me soon enough.

  Terry looked back and forth from me to Mr. Morgan – no, just Morgan. Eventually, she sighed.

  “Okay, Kusmierski.” She enunciated carefully, and I rewarded her with a smile when she got it correct. “I’ll just show you the way out.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I replied, smiling brightly.

  “Jesus, she’s stupid and stubborn,” Morgan muttered, almost too softly to be heard.

  Despite his insult, my smile widened. I wasn’t sure what my new boss found quite so offensive about me, but he was mistaken, and he needed to know it.

  “You didn’t give me a chance to answer a moment ago, so allow me to clear some things up. You asked me again what I studied at Syracuse. I majored in chemistry, and I completed five semesters, including thirty-two credit hours in my major and three labs. My cumulative GPA was a 3.95. Unfortunately, the funding for my scholarship fell through.” That was not true, strictly speaking, but I didn’t feel the need to go into all kinds of personal details just then. “Since I wasn’t willing to incur a huge amount of debt in order to complete my education, I decided to put my degree on hold for the time being.”

  He raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to speak, but I cut him off with a polite smile.

  “You also asked, and allow me to quote you here, ‘what possible experience could a sorority twit have that would be at all relevant to helping me run the technical division of the leading manufacturer of microchip processors in the Western Hemisphere?’” I pointed to the manila folder he hadn’t bothered to open, my smile widening. “As you would see if you opened my file, after I left Syracuse, I worked for Golden Goddess Creative for three years as the executive assistant to co-founder and CEO Michael Weston. Golden Goddess, as you may know, just went public last year, after four consecutive years as the most profitable design studio in the gaming industry.”

  Terry gasped softly, no doubt impressed, and I nodded in agreement, because while my current employer might be the best in its industry, my former employer was the best in an industry with infinitely more cool factor.

  “During my tenure there,” I continued, “I handled everything from coffee runs, to facilitating the creation of code databases, to liaising with Mr. Weston’s accounting team to prepare the financials for the IPO. I also redesigned his apartment in Chelsea and overhauled his wardrobe. He was featured as one of New York’s most eligible bachelors in Manhattan Life magazine two years in a row. I like to think that’s a direct result of my efforts.”

  My new boss frowned, but said nothing.

  “So all in all, I am confident that I’m sufficiently experienced in the role for which I was hired. Mr. Weston has provided me with a glowing recommendation. It’s in the file.”

  He was silent for a moment after my speech. His beard twitched, and I suspected he was trying not to smile. Either that, or he was grinding his teeth. He locked eyes with me, and this time he was actually looking at me, not the admittedly flawless makeup and professional – yet still feminine and flirty – outfit. And have I mentioned I was having a spectacular hair day? The curling iron gods had truly smiled upon me that morning.

  But none of that seemed to matter to Julian Morgan. He stared at me for another moment, like he was still trying to gauge my worth to him. And then, I could see it in his eyes – the moment he dismissed me. His gaze dropped to the file, and he flipped through it lazily, like he still couldn’t be bothered. But I kept my smile up, because he would not know he’d shaken me.

  “Why did you leave Golden Goddess?” he asked, his tone almost bored.

  My smile truly faltered for the first time that day. I loved that job so much, and I’d been absolutely wrecked when I had to quit. But I would do it all over again, in a heartbeat, if it meant being there for my best friend when she really needed me.

  “I needed to be closer to home,” I explained. “There was a personal matter I needed to take care of.”

  “Where is home?”

  “South Bay Island. It’s about halfway between the south shore of Long Island, near the Nassau/Suffolk border, and Fire Island. It’s only a forty-minute commute to Bethpage.”

  “I know where it is,” he said dismissively. “What was the personal matter?”

  His rapid-fire questions and demanding tone were starting to get to me, and I found myself feeling uncharacteristically snippy.

  “With all due respect, that’s none of your business. In fact, it’s actually illegal to ask me what happened with my previous employer,” I informed him. “You’re only entitled to know the dates I worked there and a general accounting of my duties.”

  He looked up from the file, finally, and crossed his arms over his chest. And I did my best not to notice how beefy his forearms were. I really did. But they were pretty much the definition of #forearmporn! It was totally unfair that a man who so obviously didn’t care what he looked like also happened to be so attractive. Well, attractive in a homeless person sort of way. An unpleasant, unconventionally handsome homeless person who was worth almost half a billion dollars.

  Gah!

  “If I’m going to hire you,” he argued, “I need to know that you aren’t going to quit on me before the end of the month because your boyfriend broke up with you.”

  I gave him the politest smile I could muster. I was getting more and more annoyed, which was unusual for me. Normally I got upset about something for no more than a moment or two before I let it go. But now, for the first time in forever, my anger was actually building. And I did not like it. Not one bit.

  “I can assure you, Mr. Morgan, I’m not going to quit. I need this job. Besides, you’ve already hired me,” I pointed out. “And I discussed my work history with Ron – er, Hobson – in HR when I interviewed. Clearly he thought I was qualified, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Well, clearly he didn’t do a good enough job vetting you.” His eyes burned as he looked at me, and a shiver ran up my spine. He was angry. “And you’re not hired, not until I say so.”

  Weirdly, my legs felt shaky, and my heart rate quickened the way it did when I ran up a flight of stairs in stilettos, or ate a really good burger, or even saw a photo of Chris Hemsworth. Casually, I rested my hands on the arms of my chair, trying to steady myself. I crossed my legs this way, then the other. To my surprise, I found I was angry with him, too. Angry, and aroused. And that was not okay.

  I took a deep, calming breath, closing my eyes for a moment. I was skirting the line of unprofessional behavior here. I simply could not be attracted to my boss. But his inexplicably combative behavior was getting under my skin. He was being downright rude. And for some reason I didn’t fully understand, it was kind of turning me on.

  “Now then. Why were you studying chemistry?” The lazy tone was back, and I opened my eyes to see him once again looking at my HR file, flipping through it with all the interest of someone reading a year-old People magazine at the dentist’s office.

  I unclenched my jaw, relaxing into a smile. “It’s always been my dream to start my own cosmetics line,” I replied.

  He chuckled, the sound rich and smooth, but it felt like he was mocking me – something he confirmed with his next words.

  “Of course it is.” He looked up again, his eyes once again making his dislike obvious. “Why solve serious problems, or develop products that will actually do some good in the world, when you can make a new shade of lip gloss?”

  I breathed deeply, the oxygen burning my nostrils. So he was one of those people, then – the ones who thought my dream was frivolous, who thought I was frivolous. That was fine. He’d learn soon enough that I was the best thing to ever happen to him.

  I mentally shook myself. As his assistant. His employee. Nothing more than that.

  I squared my shoulders, preparing to set him straight. “Lip gloss is a product that does good in the world. A woman who feels comfortable
in her own skin, who is at her most beautiful, is a confident woman who can take on anything thrown at her. She’s a woman who gets things done, a woman who improves herself and her community. A woman wearing the right makeup can rule the world.”

  He sat back in his chair, staring at me with an almost curious light in his eyes. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just when I started to feel fidgety, he cleared his throat.

  “I have a meeting with Engineering in-” he checked the time on one of his four computer monitors. “Ten minutes,” he continued. “You will take notes, which you will then upload to a drive that you and I will share. Terry will give you your tablet and login information.”

  He handed the file back to Terry, then turned back toward his monitors. His hands flew over the keyboard, and I stifled a sigh. Apparently we were done. Terry gave me a tentative smile as we both stood. We were almost out of the room when his voice stopped me.

  “Welcome aboard, Kus…” He huffed, looking at Terry.

  “Kusmierski,” she supplied, once again getting it right.

  He frowned. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work.” His hazel eyes flicked to me. “Do you have a first name?”

  “It’s Taylor.” I tried to keep the ‘duh’ out of my voice. Everyone had a first name. Some people, like Cher and Madonna and Our Lady Beyoncé, had only a first name. Also, how was it that he’d just been leafing through my HR file for the last ten minutes, and he still hadn’t managed to learn my name? Ugh, this man was seriously working my nerves.

  “Fine. I’ll call you Taylor.” His bored gaze turned back to his computer, dismissing me once more, and my irritation boiled up to the surface again.

  No. No, no, no. It was not okay that I was so riled up, and he was completely unaffected. I narrowed my eyes. Yes, he was annoying. He was rude, and dismissive, and inconsiderate. That was fine. He could throw whatever he wanted at me. I would not stoop to his level.