by Lily Kate
Boss Girl
Minnesota Ice, Volume 2
Lily Kate
Published by Lily Kate, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BOSS GIRL
First edition. August 29, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Lily Kate.
ISBN: 978-1635761283
Written by Lily Kate.
Also by Lily Kate
Minnesota Ice
Boss Girl (Coming Soon)
Birthday Girl (Coming Soon)
The Girls
Hangry Girl (Coming Soon)
To my other half.
Boss Girl
Lily Kate
Boss Girl
Copyright: Lily Kate
ISBN: 978-1635761283
Published: July 24th, 2017
Kindle Edition
The right of Lily Kate to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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Acknowledgments
W.A. for being the other half of my brain.
Virginia for your sharp proofreading eyes.
Scarlett Rugers for the fabulous cover design.
All of you, readers—beta readers, ARC readers, bloggers, and the entire book community—each and every one of you are fabulous!
And, of course, to the very best of friends... you know who you are!
Contents
Boss Girl
Acknowledgments
Table of Contents
Boss Girl
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
The End
Author’s Note
Boss Girl
Good things come in extra-tall, smoking hot stilettos.
Things like Jocelyn Jones.
Jocelyn “Ice Queen” Jones is the hottest agent in town, and I’m determined to make her mine. My agent, that is. She’s the best at what she does, which is why I’m intent on keeping our relationship strictly platonic, even if the sexual tension between us is thick enough to slice with a skate. After all, I already have a woman in my life. My daughter, Charli, and we’re not sure if there’s room for someone else.
Until Jocelyn Jones breaks all the rules. She lets her icy exterior begin to melt, treating me to a view no man has ever seen before. Suddenly, I’m no longer certain if I want to be on her roster, or in her bed—for good.
Tangling business with pleasure has never been on the agenda. Then again, neither has falling in love.
They say it’s bad business to sleep with the boss.
But they haven’t met Jocelyn Jones.
Chapter 1
Jocelyn
“I want you, Boxer.”
The silence in the room is palpable, edgy even, as I wait for the man seated across from me to respond. I’m the one who called this meeting, and now—in the wake of my brutal honesty—I’m afraid I’ve pushed him too far.
Sucking in a breath, I survey Landon “Danny” Boxer’s every twitch, every flicker of movement around his lips, every glint in those blue gemstone eyes—but it’s impossible to read him.
I’ve finally met a man whose thoughts are a mystery to me, and I don’t like it.
I clear my throat and try again, slower this time, a hint of gentle. “Did you hear me?”
“You want me?” Eyes the color of worn blue jeans rove across my face. Leaning back in his seat, Boxer stretches his huge form across the chair, dwarfing it with his size. “That’s forward of you, Miss Jones.”
“I want to work with you.” I fight off the heat inching onto my cheeks. “Sign with me, and we can do great things together.”
To my chagrin, he gives an unimpressed shrug. “I’m doing plenty of things already, and they all feel great.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding, and then attempt a few of the moves they teach us in my overpriced yoga class. I’m not cut out for this deep breathing crap, mostly because it makes me hyperventilate. “We have a great agency here, and I have a number of clients who’ve—”
“I know who you are.” Landon Boxer flashes a big, toothy grin. One of his front teeth is significantly chipped—from a distance, it looks like he’s missing it completely. His nose is a little crooked. His mouth a little too wide. His eyes a little too shiny. Yet despite all of this, he’s attractive in an odd, quirky way. “Thanks for your offer, but I’m not interested, Miss Jones.”
“Just Jocelyn. We’re friends.”
“Friends? I hardly know you.”
“Well, we can definitely fix that,” I tell him. “What do you want to know?”
“That’s not how you become friends.”
“Okay, then.” I try for patience, but this deep breathing business is driving my blood pressure through the roof. “What should I be doing differently?”
He shakes his head. With the toothy smile gone, the pale blue of his eyes more serious, he’s almost handsome in a gruff, Neanderthal sort of way. He’s not my type, but I can appreciate the raw maleness about him.
I can also appreciate his career, which is why we’re here. Boxer may never know the difference between cufflinks and paperclips, but he has one of the most promising careers with the LA Lightning before him. With any luck, he’ll be my next client.
As a bonus, Boxer has the potential to score endorsement deals out of the wazoo if the Lightning does well this year—and I suspect they will blow through regular season at the top of their league.
With the right guiding hand—a bit of a haircut, a trim of the nails, maybe the waxing of a few stray hairs—Boxer will be raking in the advertising dough by letting huge corporations slap his face on the side of cereal boxes.
See, I haven’t become the best agent in the business by slacking off. I work my ass into the ground. It’s earned me a few nicknames along the way, many of them unpleasant, but I look past all that—keep my eye on the prize.
This is a male dominated industry, and if I show any sign of weakness, it’s the end of the game for me. The respect I’ve worked years to achieve will be gone. So unfortunately, if that means people call me the Ice Queen—or worse—behind my back, I have to deal with it.
The only thing worse than being called the Blonde Bitch would be to have earned the nickname for nothing.
Boxer, however... he’s different. He talks to me like a normal person and, I must admit, it’s refreshing. I can’t help but wonder if this is part of the reason I’m attracted to him. As a client. A potential client.
“Duke’s retiring, Boxer. I know you’re loyal to your current agent, but he won’t be sticking around another year.” I hand him a sheet of paper with a list of endorsements for which he’d be perfect. “Let’s work together.”
Boxer scans the list, an eyebrow raising. “This is a lot of endorsements.”
“I have contacts at all of them. These are warm leads, and I’ve already pitched you to a few. This one, I think, is perfect.” I point to a company that sells men’s undergarments. “They love you. Big payday, here.”
He frowns, thinking on it for a long moment.
“Look, I’m not trying to steal you away from Duke,” I tell him. “I just want you to consider a deal with me. Will you think about it?”
“I still don’t know anything about you, Miss Jones, and you don’t know me. Duke isn’t just an agent, he’s been a friend to me. I need to know that the person I sign with is looking out for my best interest, not just the bottom line.”
“Okay, well, we can fix that.” I take a deep breath and exhale. I’ve been known to do a lot of things to secure a client for my roster... but becoming BFFs is a new one. If this were anyone else, I would’ve sent them packing by now because I don’t have time for friendships. However, something in his eyes, the way he speaks so earnestly, as if every word comes from his very core, holds me attentive. “Tell me what to do.”
“You want to get to know me?” Boxer stands and extends one massive hand. He’s got tattoos winding up both arms, adding to his brawny appearance. “Let me buy you an ice cream cone.”
“An ice cream cone? How about I buy you a drink? There’s a bar just downstairs.”
“I don’t drink,” he says. “But I do love sprinkles.”
“Sprinkles,” I say, mystified. “Well, then, let’s get ourselves an ice cream.”
“Great.” To my surprise, he covers my hand with his, pulling me toward the door with a grin. “I know just the place.”
Chapter 2
Boxer
I do love sprinkles. And I’m more than happy to share my favorite ice cream joint with the notorious Jocelyn Jones.
See, I am well aware she’s one of the best agents in the business. Hard-working and tough-as-nails, the woman knows how to make things happen for her clients. However, if she thinks I can be wooed over endorsement promises, she’s got me pegged all wrong. I don’t deal in cold contracts, bleeding my signature onto their pages. I deal in handshakes, loyalty, and trust.
I’m aware of her reputation. Around town, people call her the Ice Queen. I’ve heard her called worse, but I don’t care to repeat that sort of language around a woman, especially when it’s not true. Anyone who thinks Jocelyn Jones is made of ice simply isn’t looking hard enough. There’s more to her than meets the eye, that’s for sure, and I want to find out what.
But if Miss Jones thinks she can win my business without taking the time to know me, she’s not understanding my game. I don’t want the polished exterior she shows to the world—I want more than that. I need to know she trusts me, and I need to trust her.
If Jocelyn Jones lets the ice around her heart melt, we could make an excellent team.
See, there might be more to Jocelyn Jones than meets the eye, but there’s a side of me she hasn’t seen yet, either. And if I’m going to trust her with my career, she’s going to have to trust me, too.
Chapter 3
Jocelyn
“This looks...great!” I try to give a cheery smile, even though nothing could be further from the truth.
He’s taken me to a complete and utter dump. I have to step over a pile of melted green goo on the sidewalk.
Boxer gives an enthusiastic nod, and I try not to wonder whether this place has ever received an A-rating from the FDA. The ice cream shop is hardly more than a hut built into a truck and parked along the road near my office in Century City. I thought it was a mistake when Boxer stopped his car in front of it. We could’ve walked, but thanks to my high heels, he offered to drive.
I keep that smile on my face, following Boxer to the window, watching as he gives a complicated handshake to the man behind the window.
“Gabe, you know what I’ll have,” he says. “The lady will have...”
I give a stupefied shake of my head as he looks to me. “Boy,” I say, scanning a peeling menu that looks thoroughly unappetizing. “Where do I even start?”
“Dip cone, extra crunch on the outside,” Boxer says smoothly, half to me, half to Gabe. “Yeah?”
“Crunch is the best,” Gabe agrees. “Sweet treat for the sweet lady.”
I laugh at this; the thought of anyone calling me sweet is a little bit funny. My cheeks turn red and I look away, however, when Boxer nods in agreement.
I reach for my wallet, but Boxer rests a hand on my arm, halting me in the process.
“Let me pay,” I say. “It’s business. I can expense it.”
“No, this is personal.” With an amused shake of his head, he moves my hand away. “We left business back at the office.”
“Well, then, thank you.”
Boxer hands over a twenty, waving away the change. On the ice, this man looks intimidating. He’s big—his sheer size a presence in itself. The features on his face are a little too dramatic, the chip in his tooth a testament to his many battles on skates.
However, when he smiles, his eyes brighten into pools of crystal blue under a slightly-too-long mane of dirty blond hair. My eyes wander toward the bulge of arm muscles as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.
“Here you are,” he says, handing one cone to me and holding onto the other. “I guarantee you’ve never had anything better.”
I take the dessert, calculating just how long it’s been since I’ve had any of it: the waffle cone, the crunch, the full fat ice cream. I don’t diet, but I do stick to a regimented meal plan of coffee for breakfast, salad for lunch, and a Lean Cuisine for dinner. I just don’t have the time to really enjoy food. For me, it’s a tool to keep energized and nothing more.
Boxer watches me carefully. “What do you think?”
I make a show of my first lick from the top of the cone, raising my eyebrows in pleasant surprise. I’m shocked that I don’t have to fake my amazement. The ice cream is delicious.
“It’s wonderful,” I tell both men as they watch me like hawks. “Best I’ve ever had.”
Both break into smiles at my words.
“Great,” Gabe says. “I love to hear it. Any friend of Boxer’s is a friend of mine. Come back soon and bring Charli.”
“Charli?” I look to Boxer.
“Let’s walk,” he says.
It’s a surprisingly warm January day in Los Angeles, and the burst of cool treat sends tingles across my flesh. The sweet crunch of sprinkles against a backdrop of vanilla and chocolate twist brings back the sensations of summer that I haven’t felt since childhood.
When Boxer rests his hand on my elbow and turns me down a side street, it’s comfortable, as if we’ve been he
re before, danced to this tune. We stay quiet for some time, and the peaceful hum of midday sounds is a nice change of pace.
We walk until Boxer finds what he’s looking for—a bench tucked into the high-rise buildings of Century City. Despite the corporate feel, he’s managed to find a small section that feels like a park. I’d never noticed it existed.
Only once he’s gotten me seated does he remove his hand from my arm and sit next to me, perching lazily across the space. He owns the air around him with quiet confidence, how a cat might lounge in a windowsill.
“Tell me about yourself, Miss Jones.”
I run a hand over my pencil skirt. “I thought we left business at the office. Call me Jocelyn.”
“Jocelyn,” he tries the name out. “Okay, then. Where’d you get that name? It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. It was my grandmother’s.”
“Were you close?”
“Oh, I never... never met her.”
He glances toward me, swift and curious. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure she would’ve loved you.”
His choice of sympathy surprises me. He doesn’t even know me, yet he sounds sincere. It’s odd. Because I don’t have a good answer for him, I take another lick of my cone. I don’t talk about my family much because there’s no point. They’re not here anymore, so there’s no sense bringing up an age-old ache in my gut.
“Tell me something else about yourself,” he says. “Something happy.”
“Something happy?”
Another lick of my ice cream cone. Boxer is an anomaly, all right. I showed him the money already—most clients would’ve signed on the line and popped the bubbly. Not him.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize that Boxer’s staring at me. I’ve completely forgotten the question.
“Miss Jones...” Boxer gives me a thoughtful expression over his own ice cream. “It shouldn’t be so hard to come up with something that makes you happy.”