by Rosie Praks
“How’s family life?” Whitney asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Very busy,” she said. Yes, very busy making babies, a little voice said inside her head. Oh, shut up, internal voice.
“Hunter doing well?” Elise asked.
“Yes, he’s doing great. He’s working with Anton to create another hotel on the Gold Coast.”
“Oh, he would be going far away from you, then. What with the Gold Coast being in Australia,” Whitney added.
“And little Conrad?” Elise asked.
“Still as mischievous as ever. He even charmed Betty and all the other maids at Clinton’s home.
“He’s turning out to be a Casanova like his dad. I wonder what’s going to happen when he grows up,” Whitney said.
Clarice turned to her friend so fast she almost cracked her own neck. “If he starts behaving like a Casanova, I’m locking him away. He’s not going to cause a girl to fall pregnant like his father did.”
“Wow, Clarice, calm down.” Whitney came to sit beside her friend. “I’m only just saying.”
“You know, guys. Technically speaking, it’s actually Max who planned everything,” Elise said.
“Still, if Hunter didn’t behave like a Casanova, he would have excused himself from the room.” But actually, she was glad the event took place, because now she not only had one person she loved, but she had two, and that other person had promised to grow old with her and live with her throughout eternity.
Elise laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Clarice asked.
“You seem to be quite spicy since meeting Hunter.”
“I have to. Otherwise, there’s no way to keep him grounded.”
Yeah right, look at what happened this afternoon with your so-called spicy attitude. Hunter still managed to reduce you to a lewd woman.
Oh please, internal voice, please stop talking.
“Anyway, I have news to tell you.” Clarice cleared her throat.
“What is it? Are you giving Conrad another sibling?” Whitney asked.
“Whitney! Of course not. I’m not ready for another one yet,” Clarice shouted at her friend.
“It looks like Hunter wants one, though.” Whitney gave her opinion.
“Whitney, why don’t you let Clarice tell us the good news first?” Elise said.
“All right,” Whitney said, then turned to Clarice. “And your good news is…?”
“Before I tell you both, could you promise to do me a favor first?”
“Sure, anything,” both Elise and Whitney chorused simultaneously.
“Would you both be my bridesmaids?”
“What?” Whitney couldn’t register what her friend meant.
“Clarice, could you repeat that again?” Elise asked calmly, but inside, she was starting to feel a little giddy, her heart beating wildly for her best friend.
“I want you both to be my bridesmaids for my wedding… with Hunter.”
“Buttercups,” Whitney screamed, alerting both her friends. “Oh, Clarice, I’m so happy for you.” She came to hug her friend.
She knew it. She knew it. Elise was so happy for her friend that she cried.
“Elise, it’s going to be my wedding. Why are you crying?” Clarice asked.
“Because I’m so happy for you. To see two people who are so in love tie the knot, that’s just magical.”
“Oh, Elise, thank you so much. I love Hunter so much. I’m very happy with him,” Clarice said.
“Tell us how he proposed. I want to hear it,” Whitney asked.
“Oh, he dressed up in a teddy bear suit and proposed to me by pretending to be the delivery boy, bringing a bouquet of orange blossoms and a balloon that said, ‘Love you for eternity.’”
“He proposed to you in a bear suit?” Elise asked. “How romantic.”
“Romantic?” Whitney scolded. “Elise, have you lost your mind? What’s romantic about that?”
“Well, I kind of found it cute. I liked it.”
“Well, the most important thing is you’re getting married. We have so much to do. The Silverton Family is a world-renowned name, so I want to be the first magazine that publicizes it. Would you let me, Clarice? Please, please, please,” Whitney begged.
“Yes, Clarice, and I want to be the one who’s responsible for all of the decorations. I’m sure my flowers will be suited for your wedding,” Elise suggested.
“Of course, my silly friends. I have one friend who’s the president of E Magazine. Why would I give this great goss to any other company?” Clarice said to Whitney. “And you, Elise, my florist friend…” Clarice turned to Elise then. “You’re responsible for all the flowers arrangements. If I’m not happy, I might fire you,” she said cheekily.
“Oh, Clarice, thank you, thank you. I’m so happy for you,” Elise said, hugging her friend. Then Whitney, who was feeling left out, came to hug them too. Before she knew it, both her friends were bear hugging her from both sides.
After the exhaustive embrace, they all sat down to discuss the wedding, which included the venue, reception, and the most important topic of all, wedding dresses and bridesmaid gowns, until Clarice couldn’t bear to hear one more word relating to a wedding.
“Enough about me,” Clarice said. “So I’m off the shelf. When are you two going to find someone?”
Silence filled the space among both her friends, until Whitney said. “Not interested.” She then nudged her coke-bottle glasses back onto the bridge of her nose, which once again hid her beautiful green eyes.
When would her friend stop acting like an old hag and start dressing up like the beautiful woman she was hiding underneath? No matter how many times Elise and she had told Whitney about it, she would always say she’s more comfortable in this “witch” persona of hers. She said it made all her work run smoothly. If she were to act like her true self, which was like a little porcelain doll that could easily be broken, then no work would get done.
Clarice knew better. She didn’t believe that excuse. There must be something Whitney was hiding from them. Otherwise, she wouldn’t go all out switching personas. But whatever it was, she would support her friend. And she would make sure on her wedding day, Whitney would be one of the most beautiful girls. Every guy would look at her in a different way.
Now, as for Elise, Clarice eyed her other friend sitting quietly, nursing her mug of hot cocoa. She knew something was definitely not right. One didn’t need a scientific brain to deduce Elise was hiding something. And that something had something to do with her past. Clarice promised herself that throughout the course of her wedding, she would wring the answers out of both of them.
“You don’t have anyone hiding somewhere, Whitney?” Clarice asked casually, testing the waters, but it was Elise who reacted to this question as she dropped her cup of hot chocolate.
She knew it. Something was definitely wrong with Elise.
“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry, Whitney. I’ve stained your carpet.” Elise apologized, looking flustered.
“Don’t worry about the carpet. What about you?” Whitney came to Elise to inspect any damage to her friend.
Clarice came running over too. “You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Elise said, not making eye contact with her friends. Suddenly, Elise was thrust back into the past. She was once again in the spotlight. And she hated it. This feeling of being embarrassed, humiliated still haunted her until this day. She tried to push away the image and pasted on a smile so her friends wouldn’t know. “I’m really fine. You guys don’t have to fuss over me like this.”
“We’re just worried,” Clarice said, looking at Elise’s hands. It doesn’t look like you’ve burnt your hands. You should be fine.”
“I told you, didn’t I, Clarice?” Elise reassured her friend.
Clarice wanted to ask her friend what was wrong, but she knew Elise all too well. That girl clamped up like an oyster. If she didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t. So she decid
ed to let it slide for now.
“Just double-checking,” she muttered.
“I’ll just grab someone to clean this up,” Whitney finally said and picked up the phone to call her PA. Immediately, a young man with mousy brown hair walked in.
“Darcy! Grab some paper towels and clean up this mess,” her friend demanded of the young man who’d just walked in. And without battling an eyelid, her friend simply dismissed him and went back to help Elise.
“Yes, Miss Madigan,” the young man said obediently, although there was a look of hatred on his face.
This man looks familiar, Clarice thought. As if she’d seen him somewhere before. And that was when it came to her. He was the one that ditched her on her first dating experience. He was the one that said he would never date a woman older than him.
Clarice couldn’t help but smile mischievously. Oh how she was looking forward to hearing more about this PA of Whitney’s.
You sure met your match, all right. You haven’t gotten a taste of your own medicine until you’ve crossed paths with Whitney. Be prepared for payback, Darcy. Be prepared for the witch.
THE END
Thank you for following Clarice and Hunter’s love story until the end. Continue reading the Spinsters & Casanovas Series in Falling for His Boss, now featuring Whitney and Darcy.
* * *
FALLING FOR HIS BOSS
Whitney, the so-called tyrant boss of E Magazine, is in trouble. Her best friend Clarice is getting married and has asked her to be one of her bridesmaids, which requires wearing beautiful feminine gowns. That's fine by her, but how is she to keep up her persona of the militant boss when Darcy, her submissive personal assistant, will be tagging along too? What makes everything worse is the more she knows Darcy outside of work, the more she realizes that distinct black and white guise of hers is starting to become a blurry grey line.
* * *
Darcy is also in trouble. After tasting the forbidden fruit, the hatred he feels for his boss has now somehow turned to heated desire. Now he can’t stop thinking about her. But Darcy knows one thing for sure. When it comes to matters of the heart, Whitney may be the dictator in their office, but only he will come out on top in the bedroom.
* * *
This story of a tyrant boss and her submissive personal assistant is about to get interesting when mistaken identity and convoluted circumstances take place. In the end, they are left with the question: Who’s the master and who’s the submissive in this relationship, especially since Darcy has fallen for his boss?
Falling for His Boss Excerpt
Six months later…
Beep. Beep.
Darcy opened his eyes slowly, his mind a little hazy as he searched for the source of the sound.
Beep. Beep.
There it goes again, he thought. Bastard annoying ringtone.
He rubbed his eyes to fend off the sleep. As reality finally sank in, his eyes landed on the screen of his cell. The light was flashing, indicating a text message waited in his inbox. He groggily flicked through the menu and lazily gazed over the message. His body still slouched in its sleeping position until he reached the end of the message.
On the second floor. The WITCH is heading your way.
“Holy shiittt!” Darcy swore and leapt out of his chair, almost toppling over backward in his sheer moment of panic, his heart racing a million miles a minute.
He combed his fingers through his hair, taming it as much as possible to remove evidence of the sleep-tousled strands. When it refused to obey, he swore again, hoping for the witch to believe the electric hairstyle he sported today was just the result of the massive amounts of hair gel he used this morning. He ran his hands over his shirt and pants to smooth out any wrinkles created while he was napping.
“Ah, dammit,” he swore again.
Darcy closed his eyes and took one deep breath, then two, hoping to calm his nerves.
Once he was convinced his heartbeat had returned to its normal pace, he strode toward the door in a manly, composed fashion, chest puffed out and back straight. But there was no denying his legs were shaking like he was on jelly land, and by the time he’d reached the door to open it, he almost collapsed from fright when it miraculously opened by itself to reveal Whitney Madigan—to him, the witch, to his colleagues, his boss, and to the outside world, the editor-in-chief of E Magazine.
“Hello, Darcy,” she enunciated his name slowly, her eyes scanning up and down his body, possibly looking for any faults, per usual.
This action only served to remind him of the first time she laid eyes on him during that interview six months back. That whole experience was still traumatizing to this day. And back then, he thought he could play the dominant role, taming her with his whip and handcuffs. But now look who was playing the submissive role.
“Miss…Miss Madigan?” Shit! He whimpered.
Darcy kicked himself mentally, a firm reminder that he shouldn’t be a weakling in front of this woman.
Show some power, Darcy.
“Has the meeting finished?” he asked with more strength in his voice.
No reply. Instead, the witch asked, “Did you get all your work done?”
“Yes, Miss Madigan,” he answered immediately. “Almost there.”
Darcy even faked a smile to go along with his answer, hoping to please her in some way. But clearly, the witch had no human emotion. There wasn’t even a single twitch of her facial muscles.
She must’ve had Botox, he thought.
There was no smile. Her lips were grim and her eyes glared at him. Straight into his. And Jesus, did it made his heart thump like there was no tomorrow. And if he didn’t blink a few times to stop his thundering heartbeat, he wouldn’t know where his soul would escape to.
“I’m so sorry about that.” He tried to redirect their sour situation.
He clamped his hands together, his head bent forward. The posture looked like he was begging for her forgiveness.
Damn submission again. I am a Dominant! He cursed himself when he realized he was in this position and straightened his back once more.
“You do know if this happens all too often, something will need to be done,” she threatened before handing him a clear file with more documents for him to go through.
Jesus Christ, when will I be able to complete all this work? It’s an ongoing concern here.
“Yes, Miss Madigan,” he answered anyway, eyeing her with pure hatred. And when she walked farther into his office, he could only scream out his objection in his mind.
You evil witch! If we were in the eighteenth century, I’d burn you on a stake already. Blast you to hell, you evil—
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t attend the meeting.” Darcy ran right in front of her, blocking her passage, as she was about to go to his desk. “If… if only Peter hadn’t taken leave so suddenly, I would have been able to.”
“Mmm,” was all she uttered, then looked up as if searching for something, until finally her eyes landed on his desk.
Darcy cringed. All the important documents were scattered about on the table, probably a result of being pushed around by his big head during sleep.
He moved a lot when he slept; that was what his mother had always told him.
“If you move around like this, who’s going to sleep with you?” she would often say. “And how are you going to produce any children if no one wants to sleep with you?”
Yeah right, like I have time to think about that right now. Once again, he’d hit a sexual dry spell, not because there was no woman around. It was because of this witch. Stress, frustration, and tiredness. She bestowed all three gifts upon him, wrapped in a sarcastic bow of instructions.
“Is that all you need?” he asked, hoping she would get the hint and leave him in peace before his heart did another stressful spin around the racetrack.
“No, Darcy. Follow me. I need to talk to you.”
Shit, now I’m in trouble for sure.
Darcy followed her into h
er office, which was adjacent to his own, except his was like a little storeroom compared to her gigantic immaculate suite.
The witch went to sit on her throne, then turned to face him coldly, gesturing for him to step forward until he stood right in front of her desk.
Darcy did as he was told without even thinking.
“Your tie is wrinkled. Did you iron it this morning?” she asked coldly, her voice as frozen as dry ice, her usual tone with him.
“I did.” He subconsciously went to smooth his tie.
“Then why is it wrinkled?” she asked sharply, her eyes boring into his own.
Darcy knew he was in serious trouble. He’d been working for the witch for a full six months now, and he knew when she started using this tone, he was in deep shit.
Dear God, why does she have to be this cold? And scary?
Darcy eyed his boss. There she sat on her throne, her hands one on top of the other, staring at him like she was about to cast an evil spell upon him. Her black hair, which she usually tied up in a bun, was just like that again today. She was so pale, as if she were lacking in iron or something.
God, she’s ugly, he couldn’t help thinking. Those coke-bottle lenses were like magnify glasses that made her eyes look like a goldfish’s underwater, like they were about to burst off her skull. And she had her usual black suit on again today, a two-piece that reached just past her knees.
What woman these days wears that length skirt anyway? Not that he was an expert in skirts, but he dated so many women in the past to know what was in fashion and what was not. The witch looked like she was out of fashion by decades.
How could they make her the editor-in-chief of E Magazine when she dresses like that?
“Dar-cy,” she said again, her pronunciation of his name grating in his ears. He knew she must have done it on purpose. He hated the way she pronounced his name. It was like she was his mother, reprimanding him for doing something wrong. “Were you listening to me?” she asked again, breaking into his line of thoughts.