by Mia Madison
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Nikki
Ian
About the Author
Bossed by the Single Dad
A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance
Mia Madison
Contents
1. Nikki
2. Nikki
3. Ian
4. Nikki
5. Ian
6. Nikki
7. Nikki
8. Nikki
9. Ian
10. Nikki
11. Ian
12. Nikki
13. Nikki
14. Ian
15. Nikki
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Mia Madison
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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, locations, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Nikki
Oh. My. God.
I placed my palms on the counter in front of me and stood on my tip toes, trying to get a better view of the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on.
He was jogging on the path outside the dingy office, and my jaw dropped as came closer. From a distance, the sight of him had been enough to make my mouth water. But now that I could see him better? If I hadn’t been holding onto the counter, I might have fallen over.
He was a 6’ 2” wall of muscle. Literally. I could see the contour of every muscle on his bare chest, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat. Not there—and not anywhere, as far as I could tell.
My heartbeat sped up as my eyes combed down his body. He wore only dark shorts and tennis shoes. That left a great deal of skin bare including bronze forearms and bulging biceps. Corded muscles in his shoulders and neck. Perfect pecs and—I squinted through the gloomy office, trying to see in the bright light outside. Good God, were those eight pack abs? I’d thought those didn’t exist outside of movies.
His strong legs covered the ground quickly as he followed the path around the lake. Each stride was a perfect combination of moves. One bent arm came up. The opposite foot set down. He moved with precision. With confidence. With power.
Had I ever looked like that when I ran? Most definitely not. I couldn’t even remember the last time I ran or jogged. Probably high school gym class. That was over four years ago. I’d just gotten my degree at a university where physical education was not required. Thankfully.
I shrank back as the amazingly fit man approached the window of the leasing office where I worked. I didn’t want to be caught staring, but it was really hard not to. The jogger finally broke his stride and settled into a brisk walk, making wide circles on the lawn, shaking out his arms and stretching his neck.
From a back pocket, he produced a small white towel, and I was mesmerized as he whipped off his sunglasses and wiped his forehead. If this were a movie, this would be the time they’d use slow motion to showcase every second of his magnificence.
He hooked the sunglasses into the waistband of his shorts—shorts that sat low on his hips. A light dusting of tan hair created a trail that led downward, but I forced my eyes to rise upward. I was at work after all. But no matter what part of him I ogled, he was perfection. Even from this distance, I could see his piercing blue eyes, set in a tan face with a strong jaw lined with sexy stubble. He had his mouth slightly open and seemed to be breathing hard, but nowhere near as hard as I would if I’d been running. Hell, I probably panted more than that carrying the groceries up two flights of stairs at my new apartment.
All in all, he was in amazing physical shape. Especially for his age, which looked to be somewhere in his late thirties. An older man. My pulse increased at the thought.
Not that he’d ever be interested in me. Not a guy like that. He was so damn good-looking that it almost felt like he wasn’t even real—like he’d escaped from one of my daydreams. Yeah, that might be it. Maybe I’d dreamed him up.
Which was okay… because if this were a dream, then he’d stride over to the front door, that toned body moving purposefully. He’d pull open the door, and quickly close the distance between us.
His blue eyes would light up as he gazed down at me, his large hands reaching out to encircle my own. The corners of his mouth would lift into a smile. He’d lean across the counter, tugging on my hands until I did the same. As our heads came together, he’d say, “Nikki.”
God, I could almost imagine the way he’d say my name. Surely a man who looked like that would have a deep, rich, rumbly voice. That broad expanse of his chest must give his voice resonance.
And just before our lips met, he’d look into my eyes and say, “Nikki?”
But I wouldn’t answer, I’d snake my hand out of his and sink my fingers into his wavy dark hair, pulling him closer.
“Nikki!”
“Yes…” I moaned, eager to feel his lips on mine.
“Are you okay?”
Of all the things he could have said, that was what he chose? But it didn’t matter, just as long as he took me into his arms and never let me go. “I’m great.”
“Good. Here you go.” Something light touched my hand, and I jumped back, startled. Blinking rapidly, the dream dissolved. The gorgeous man was still out front stretching. My new neighbor, Mrs. Danvers, was staring at me with concern and waving a small white paper in my direction.
“What?” God, what had I been doing? Fantasizing about a strange man during my first week on the job! My face flushed as I stared at Mrs. D. Had I moaned? Had I drooled?
The older woman was looking at me quizzically. “Will you take a check?”
“For what?” I said without thinking. Crap. I needed to make my brain—and my hormones—focus on the present and not the seductive fantasy. Which was difficult since the incredibly sexy man of my dreams was flexing his muscles twenty feet beyond Mrs. D.
“For my rent. It’s due tomorrow, you know.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” I took the check from her and gave it a quick look. Wait, was that right? I glanced back up at the woman in front of me and was momentarily distracted. The jogger was doing push-ups now, right there in front of the building. Wasn’t he exhausted from his run? Yet he seemed to have perfect form.
With effort, I tore myself away from the sight of his bulging biceps working overtime. “I think you accidentally wrote this for more than your monthly rent, Mrs. Danvers.”
“Yes.” She smiled at me, her eyes kind behind her half-moon glasses. “I do every month. I can’t drive, so I don’t get to the ATM very much. The girl who worked here before never had a problem giving me cash back. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” But actually, I wasn’t sure it was. Frowning, I looked around the shelves under the counter. There didn’t seem to be any kind of cash drawer. Just a locked box with a slit at the top for checks. This was only my third evening here at the leasing office, and I needed to get my act together. I’d never be able to afford the rent at Horseshoe Lake Apartments just from the retail job I worked during the day.
Luckily, my manager appeared at that moment. Barb was in her late forties and had been very kind to me so far. She assured me that it was okay to give Mrs. D. cash back and showed me how to do that.
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When Mrs. D. was happily holding five crisp twenty-dollar bills, she and Barb talked for a bit. I stood nearby, looking over the computer system I was supposed to be learning, but listening as well.
“And did you see that crabby woman from Building 4 earlier? Damn near fell in the lake this morning,” Mrs. D was saying. “Serves her right for trying to chase those geese away.”
Barb gave a bark of laughter. “Talk about a wild goose chase.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. D. said, her brown eyes twinkling. “Oh, before I forget, do you think you could have someone come look at my air-conditioning? It’s making a funny noise again.”
“Sure. Nikki, can you log that under maintenance requests?”
I nodded. That was actually something I knew how to do.
“Great. Flag it for Mr. Hayes,” Barb told me.
“Mr. Hayes?” Mrs. D. echoed. “I don’t want to bother him about this. This is a job for maintenance, not the landlord.”
“He’s pretty good with that kind of thing. Besides, it’s not like he’s busy.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. D. said with a nod. “Man’s definitely got too much time on his hands.” She turned to look at me. “It might seem strange to a young woman like yourself, but some people—men in particular—just don’t know what to do with themselves when they retire. They just tinker around the house and drive us womenfolk crazy. My Edward was like that the first few years of his retirement. Of course, now I’d give anything if he were still here, puttering around and getting underfoot.”
Not sure what to say, I smiled at her. She looked a little wistful for a moment, but then her eyes brightened. “Have you met Mr. Hayes yet?”
“Not yet. Barb conducted my interview last week because Mr. Hayes wasn’t around.”
Barb snorted. “Like he’d do an interview. He considers the business side of things to be boring as hell.”
“And fixing an air conditioner isn’t?” Mrs. D. asked.
“Eh, he’ll live. Like I said, he needs something to keep him busy.” She turned to me. “Anyway, you’ll meet him soon enough. He hangs out here a lot.”
“His son, too,” Mrs. D. added. “Now there’s a cutie. Always doing handstands and backflips and stuff. It’s amazing he doesn’t break his neck.” Mrs. D. shook her head for a moment and then launched into a story about another tenant. I listened politely for a while, but when I got the chance, I went back to working with the computer screens. They weren’t hard. I was good with computers though my degree was in business. But any kind of new system required practice, and I was determined to do a good job here.
As the evening wore on, I talked with other tenants and learned some new procedures. But the owner of the complex, the man who supposedly had too much time on his hands, kept returning to my mind. I worked from 9 to 5, five days a week, and then came here and worked three-hour evening shifts. Most nights I fell into bed exhausted. Having a lot of time to kill was a foreign concept to me. I wondered if old Mr. Hayes appreciated what he had?
“Hello.”
The voice came from out of the twilight as I walked home after my front desk shift. The sun had already set, but it was not yet fully dark. Still, I couldn't quite tell where the voice had come from.
Scanning my surroundings, I saw a pavilion with picnic tables, some benches by the lake, and the pool off to the side. I still didn't see anyone, so I moved on.
“Up here.” This time, I heard it better. A deep, masculine voice was coming from the pavilion. Hesitantly, I walked toward it. It was an open wooden structure with a half dozen picnic table underneath. Squinting, I looked at the beams of the roof of the shelter. Something moved.
“You're the new girl at the front desk, right?”
Now I could see him, and I took a step back in shock. Not just because of his position. The man had his elbows on top of one sturdy beam and his feet balanced on another. He was maintaining a plank position twelve feet off the ground. That should've been the surprising part, but it wasn't.
The real shock was that it was him. The jogger from before. The one with the perfect body—a body I could see a great deal of right now. His eight-pack abs were rigid as he held himself parallel to the ground. I couldn't even begin to fathom the strength that must've taken.
There was a blur of movement, and I gasped. For a moment, I thought he had fallen, but then I saw that it was just his feet and legs swinging down. His hands were still hanging onto a beam—at least until he brought his knees up to his chest, flipped over backwards, dropped to the ground, and landed lightly on the concrete.
Who was this guy, Batman? Whoever he was, he looked better than any actor who had ever played the caped crusader. He moved toward me, his hand outstretched. “I’m Ian Hayes.”
Oh! Suddenly it all made sense. This was the landlord’s son, the one that Mrs. D. had said was always doing handstands and backflips. Mutely, I shook his hand, trying not to stare at the broad expanse of his chest. Mrs. D.’s words floated back to me. She’d called him a cutie. That was the understatement of the millennium. This man had blown right past cute, handsome, gorgeous, and any other word I knew of.
He stared at me for a long moment while he shook his hand. I get why I was staring at him, but I couldn’t figure out why he was staring at me. As if he expected something of me.
“And you are…?”
Crap, how stupid was I? “I’m Nikki. Nikki Foster.”
“Nice to meet you, Nikki.”
“You too.” He pulled his fingers back, and I realized I’d been clinging to his hand, enjoying the feeling of his large hand encircling mine. His fingers were a little rough. Perhaps callused. Which made sense if he routinely hung from beams and did handstands on the rough concrete. “So how do you like working here so far?”
I thought about it for a minute. It should have been an easy question, but gathering my thoughts when he was standing so close was not a simple task. “It’s good. I like talking to the tenants when they come in. And Barb is training me to show the various model units.”
“That’s good,” he said with a nod, his blue eyes firmly on me. “She’s been here a long time. She’s a gem.”
My eyes fell to his lips while he spoke, and I wondered what they felt like. If they were smooth and soft—or firm and a bit rough like his fingers. The corner of one side of his mouth jerked upward, and I realized that he’d caught me staring. Flushed, I looked down, trying to think of something to say. What had we been talking about? Oh yeah, Barb. “Yeah, she’s great. Your father was smart to keep her on.”
Ian’s eyebrow quirked upward. “My father?”
“Barb told me how she was one of the few staff members he kept when he bought the property. I’ve never met him, but he must be smart if he recognized how competent she is.”
“He has his moments,” Ian said dryly. “What else have you heard about my old man?”
“Only that he’s retired and has too much time on his hands.”
“Is that so?” Ian looked away for a moment, off toward the lake. “I guess that’s fair.”
For some reason, I felt I’d said something wrong. “I mean, I don’t know, I’ve never met him. That’s just what I’ve heard. But is it so bad that someone who’s worked hard all his life takes it a bit easy during his retirement? At least he’s got this place to give him something to do during his senior years.”
“Yep. I suppose it’s better for pop to spend his declining years that way rather than fishing all day. Or hitting on the ladies at the senior center on bingo night.” Ian was staring at me again, and there was a note of amusement in his voice.
“Exactly,” I said, unsure of why he had a gleam in his eye. “It’s good to keep busy, right?”
“So they tell me.” Ian walked over to the far picnic table and picked up a navy sweatshirt. I followed tentatively a few steps behind him, not sure if he was done talking to me or not. Stopping a few feet away, I watched in awe as he raised his arms to slide the sweatshirt on. I�
��d never seen that many muscles ripple as he stretched his hands over his head. Only after his shirt had settled into place did I realize I’d been staring.
Ian started down the path and then glanced back at me. “Come on, I’ll walk you over to Building 7.”
Pleased, I rushed after him. He was walking me home. Guys didn’t usually do things like that for me. I was 5’ 6” and definitely carrying a little extra weight. In college, most guys considered me to be friend material, nothing more. I couldn’t remember the last time one had volunteered to walk me back to my place.
Trying to keep up my side of the conversation, I said, “How’d you know what building I moved into? Do you help out around here, too?”
“Sometimes,” he said. His voice was every bit as low and rumbly as I’d imagined in my fantasies before. “Ya know, when pop’s off whittling or taking his afternoon nap.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy.” He turned back to me and winked, and my heart skipped a beat. How could closing one eye look that sexy? I took another step toward him and my foot landed on the edge of the path. I stumbled forward and Ian caught me by the arm, steadying me.
“Thanks,” I said, very conscious of the warmth of his large hand on my forearm.
“Any time.”
We were almost to my building, and a familiar voice called out from a first floor window. “Careful there, Nikki. You almost landed in his arms. Wouldn’t want to give the neighbors something to gossip about.” Mrs. D. leaned out of her window and winked at me as we approached. Her wink was nowhere near as electrifying as Ian’s had been.
“I’m being a gentleman, Mrs. Danvers.”
“There’s such a thing as being too much of a gentleman,” Mrs. D. retorted. “Did Barb tell you about my air conditioner? She said you could come look at it tomorrow.”
“No problem. I’ll stop by around eleven.”
My breath caught in my throat as I looked at him. Barb had said old Mr. Hayes would look at the air conditioner. Not his son. “You’ll look at it?”