by Jamie Knight
Under My Boss’s Rules
Office Romance Collection
Under Him 6
Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.
Jamie Knight –
Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author
All rights reserved.
This collection contains Under the Rancher’s Firm Hand and two brand new never before published books, Under His Discipline and Under the Want Ads .
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Table of Contents
Under the Rancher’s Firm Hand
Chapter 1 - Harlee
Chapter 2 - Harlee
Chapter 3 - Caleb
Chapter 4 - Harlee
Chapter 5 - Harlee
Chapter 6 - Caleb
Chapter 7 - Harlee
Chapter 8 - Harlee
Chapter 9 - Harlee
Chapter 10 - Caleb
Chapter 11 - Harlee
Epilogue - Harlee
Under His Discipline
Chapter 1 - Charli
Chapter 2 - Max
Chapter 3 - Charli
Chapter 4 - Max
Chapter 5 - Charli
Chapter 6 - Max
Chapter 7 - Charli
Chapter 8 - Max
Chapter 9 - Charli
Chapter 10 - Max
Chapter 11 - Charli
Chapter 12 - Max
Chapter 13 - Charli
Chapter 14 - Max
Chapter 15 - Charli
Chapter 16 - Max
Epilogue - Charli
Under the Want Ads
Chapter 1 – Brody
Chapter 2 – Candace
Chapter 3 – Brody
Chapter 4 – Candace
Chapter 5 – Candace
Chapter 6 – Candace
Chapter 7 – Brody
Chapter 8 – Candace
Chapter 9 – Brody
Chapter 10 – Candace
Epilogue – Brody
Sneak Peek of Under the Billionaire’s Shelter
Free Book and Newsletter Subscription
Under the Rancher’s Firm Hand
Locked Down with My Boss on his Ranch
Love Under Lockdown, Book 15
A series of standalone quarantine romance books.
Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.
All rights reserved.
Jamie Knight –
Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author
Chapter 1 - Harlee
The day I got the job, I’d been pacing all morning, since the early morning birds started their songs and the early bird mowers set to work on their lawns. Fortunately, my mail comes early. I’m one of the first on the route, so on days like that, I didn’t have to wait in agony.
And when I heard that engine roar outside, I raced down like there were hellhounds at my heels.
But there it had been. The letter I’d been waiting for, hoping for.
It was not easy, though. The first day I set foot in the office, I found myself feeling extremely self-conscious of my outfit. The skirt was a more-than-appropriate knee length, but I’d gained a little weight since I’d gone clothes-shopping and everything fit a little more snugly than it had when I bought it. I needed to impress my boss and his associates, since I was to be his new assistant. I was hyperaware of my every move.
I walked up the steps trying to project an air of confidence, trying to “fake it till I make it.”
My perfume was new, and it had been a hit with every male I’d passed on my way here. I’d gotten a number of turned heads and double-takes, and while it had been an ego boost, it didn’t necessarily speak to the professionalism of either the outfit or the fragrance.
There were faces both old and young, all carefully curated as I walked up the steps, into one elevator and the next escalator. I got the distinct, immediate impression that The Foundry was no place to mess around. I felt a little out of my depth, this was far different than the odd handful of jobs I’d had.
I tried not to fidget in my seat by the secretary’s desk, which was a deep matte black with small, bead-like lights casing the center logo. I admired the elegance of it, as well as the rest of the lobby. The wood floors clicked sharply under the sounds of heels and dress shoes.
I was sitting directly under the blast of an AC unit, and my fingers soon went numb. My nipples were hard as rocks inside my bra and I prayed they weren’t jabbing through the padding of my bra.
I tried to glance down subtly, but to no avail, I couldn’t quite tell.
Finally, I was called up by the secretary, Marge, a shrewd blonde woman with sharp red cats’ eye glasses. Immediately, I could tell she did not like me, but I didn’t care. She wasn’t the one I had to impress, she was just the one opening the door.
I just didn’t know that on the other end of said doors would be a glaring treat neatly wrapped in a tailored navy blue three piece suit, Italian moccasins and the strongest chin describable in my wildest fantasy. Caleb Johnson was his name, and immediately I was weak in the knees.
Uh-oh.
“Sit.”
That single word sent a bolt of heat right to my core, and I obeyed without question, though I felt a bit like a dog.
The man just oozed of sexual charisma and charm before he even spoke. Maybe it was the lighting that gave him that godly. Maybe it was that sharply tailored suit. Maybe it was those gray eyes, roaming my body.
He looked me up and down as I sat, and those steely eyes were so intense I could almost feel them on my skin.
Once again, I sat still and tried not to fidget while I watched him thumb through my resume. While the AC wasn’t as intense in here, it was still cool enough that my nipples were most definitely standing proudly at attention.
His eyes roamed the page and I mentally listed the experience he was taking in. Waiting tables at the local barbecue joint, assisting with tows in my uncle’s towing company down by the Ozarks and working as an assistant DJ at the Royal School for the Blind middle school over spring break did not really spell out excellence. He was done in less than a minute.
“Impressive stuff, Harlee. So, tell me. Why do you need this job?”
That fucking voice. For a moment I was almost worried that steam was going to start to rise from between my legs.
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand, I was under the impression that I had already gotten past the interview portion and that I had gotten the job.”
“You assumed wrong Miss Sawyer,” he said coolly, and swiveled slightly in his almighty chair.
My stomach dropped. All of my savings had gone toward this move. I thought about the letter again, and it had made it clear in no uncertain terms that I had a position here. Caleb’s lips turned up a little, and in that moment, all that heat that had been simmering in my veins went from a pleasant warmth to a hot rage. In that moment, I hated him. I hated that smug smirk on his face.
“So, why do you need this job?”
I sighed silently, hoping he couldn’t see the emotions roiling in me, and replied,
“Ever since they said this virus thing is growing and headed to be global, my freelancing gigs have all dried up. I have been working on getting more steadily employed for the last few months, and now here I am,” the emotions bubble over and I find myself babbling a little.
“I knew of your company online, and even that was a passing screenshot on Twitter. I applied fo
r the assistant job since it seemed like maybe something even I could qualify for. And now I got it, and I flew all the way from Missouri one week ago, settled in, and am now in this chair opposite you trying my very very best to really get this job for real and work. I need to work, Mister Johnson. I need to work.”
By the time I finished my rant, I was a little breathless. And honestly, I was just as surprised as he was by my answer. He chuckled at long last and rose to his feet, outstretching a hand for me to take.
When I clasped it, electricity shot through me. His palm was huge, dwarfing mine, his long fingers warm and thick and strong.
“Better not get used to that,” he said, eyeing the joining of our hands and slowly pulling away, to my reluctance, “But let me take the chance to welcome you to The Foundry, Miss Sawyer. I like my team full of courage. You have it in abundance and I love it. You have three days to get acquainted with Marge on how I get things done. Three days to study me entirely and get to know me better than my own mother. Can you do that?’
It sounded daunting, but I tried not to let myself be intimidated. Gathering my nerve, I nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Consider it done.”
He chuckled again, then pushed his chair back and strode to the side briskly. I watched him move with ease and haste towards the door, and then his back turned to me right before he opened the door, perhaps to another meeting.
“Don’t call me sir. Not yet, anyway.”
The last part clearly wasn’t for my benefit, almost too soft for me to hear, but I caught it all the same.
And he left me there to my own thoughts, stewing and boiling between my legs, itching for a feel of those long, strong fingers elsewhere.
Chapter 2 - Harlee
In three days I had mastered Caleb’s Wikipedia page, all of his tweets in the past five years, both as CEO and avid soccer enthusiast, his contact list, his business rivals, his dietary needs, his fitness routine, his clothes, his scents, I learned everything down to the brand and style of underwear he prefers to wear before his board meetings.
But the thing about Caleb Johnson was that he was just that; a man with a company but no real life. I combed through everything and found no traces of women or escapades in the wild with old flames.
I wondered at one point if he was interested in women at all, but then I thought of the way he’d stared at me. And it wasn’t like there was any indication that he had a secret boyfriend instead of a girlfriend or something.
His office was strictly business. There wasn’t a box of condoms hidden in his desk drawer, no phone calls that seemed anything but pure professionalism.
It was on the morning of the fourth day when he called me up to his office. I came ready with a mug of his favorite mocha and mildly browned banana. He was at his window, staring at the soft shadows cast across the city in the early morning sun.
“I am going to need you for a project, Miss Sawyer.”
I thought the lure of his voice would wear off after a little while, but so far, it still made me weak in the knees. “What kind of project?”
It felt strange, not addressing him, but he didn’t seem to enjoy me calling him by his last name, I couldn’t quite bring myself to use his first name, and he had requested that I not call him “sir.”
I hadn’t stopped thinking about that remark. What did that mean, not yet?
He turned and faced me. “There is an out of town trip that I need you to organize. You will work on a business proposal that I will supervise.”
I placed his breakfast on his desk and took a hesitant step back.
“Where will you be going?”
“You mean ‘we’. You and I will be going to New York for three days. That is how long I expect this to last.” He held his gaze on me. “That’s alright with your schedule, I believe?”
For just a moment, I was a little miffed. It seemed like he was insinuating I had no life, and honestly, he was one to talk. But I pushed that aside and nodded. “Yes, it is,” I said quietly.
Just us, the boss and his assistant, in New York, for three days; It was Caleb Johnson. It was me. The two of us. Alone.
As if he wasn’t tempting enough when I didn’t have him all to myself.
He nodded. “Excellent.”
With that, the two of us launched into plans for the trip, ironing out travel details. Even so, I realized when we were finished that I still don’t totally know exactly where in New York we’re headed.
I gave him a long look before I headed back to my desk, deep in thought. I was not going to let my out-of-control hormones ruin my chance to actually see the side of him that no one else ever saw.
With my tasks for the day laid out, I slipped out of his office, but before I headed back to my own place to start working, I slipped into the ladies’ room. I splashed a little cool water on my face, the frigid shock cooling some of the crazy swirling in my head.
One way or another, I knew that this was going to be a hell of an interesting trip.
Chapter 3 - Caleb
Fucking virus.
I have read reports and seen the videos, and know it is just a matter of time before it gets to the States. The way those guys are handling it over there, and the way we are handling it over here, all of it is a fucking nightmare. But whining about it will not help. Action will.
And so I acted.
In six months I know for a fact that everything on the ground will be different. The way I did business will not be the same as I currently did, and I needed to adapt. It would be painful, and I needed the right kind of people to work with me to gear up for the coming storm. With that in mind, I had asked Marge, my soon-to-retire secretary, to pull up a random position for an assistant. It would be a journey I knew for a fact she could not handle, and even though we had worked together for over five years, I felt it best to give her the golden handshake and let her go back to her grand kids in Yorkshire.
And so the ad went up. I did not realize how fast the responses would come. Over four hundred, to be precise. But only one could win. And one did.
Her profile was simplistic. I was surprised that she would even consider applying, given the lack of experience in my field of entrepreneurial expertise. She’d hopped from job to job, but every single one contacted had raved about her performance. One thing was clear, she had grit. I live on grit. I eat grit for breakfast.
Then again, I had not seen her in person.
When Harlee Sawyer had walked through my doors at 8 AM on the sunniest day of the month, she was just about to find me explode from the temples. The business deal with the farmers was sinking and there was no way to salvage it through proxy.
I did not need to interview. I did not need a fresh face to judge my own. But when I asked her questions with my shitty Thursday morning mood, and she responded with what I needed.
What Harlee could not see, what she is yet to figure out, was how hard her presence made me. Her tight skirt and fluffy sweater. Her long legs and sweet-smelling wrists. The glimpse of her thighs, tight, creamy thighs that were made for thick hands, hands like my own.
I asked her questions. She answered them with pride. Her voice was silky, and it was just as I imagined her soft skin.
Under the table it took all my will not to take her, walk to the other side of this fucking desk, pluck her from her chair and bend her over the edge of it. I desperately wanted to strip her bare and plunge into her mysterious depths. I wanted to know her like a panther would its prey; intimately.
But I left myself wanting. I watched how she looked down at her thighs whenever I spoke, how she touched the top of her right knee when responding, and how she licked her bottom lip so quickly I would have missed it if I blinked. I observed how gracefully she stood up and shook my hand, and how she either didn’t notice or didn’t judge me for pushing my left hand deep into my pockets to secretly restrain the throbbing beast begging for a taste of her.
I was a little forthcoming with the whole ‘sir’ thing, admittedly. It was blu
nt, and maybe a step too far, but I couldn’t resist. Honestly, that was the most truth I have told anyone in months.
Time would tell where this thing with this girl would lead, and all I could hope was that I didn’t have to wait long.
I was sitting in the back of my car, remembering something from her application. I’d tasked her with an essay question, a simple enough one-page thesis on what she wants to accomplish in the middle of a pandemic. And while everyone else had bored me with predictable wordy crap, kissing my ass, Harlee had delivered a response that startled me.
She was sarcastic, and I laughed out loud reading it. When I’d decided to hire her, part of me was expecting a punk wild-child with piercings and leather. Never would I have figured her, this girl who wears fluffy sweaters and thin pink scarves and red-nosed heels and really form-hugging skirts.
The trip would be an opportunity for me to get a little closer to my trusty new assistant. And I was hoping to get very close.
This need, this heat, couldn’t seem to be sated. Long hours at the gym or quick rubs off my dripping cock in the bathroom, or living room or kitchen, or back of the car, fuck, I just couldn’t get her out of my head and I couldn’t get enough. I needed a solution, and deep down, there was only one that I could think of to solve this ache.
One that involves her bent over my desk in one of those short, tight skirts.
Chapter 4 - Harlee
I found it easier to drop the lingerie idea than to entertain it. I mean, it was cute, considering the red and black soft panties, but even for a dream that would have been extreme. No one ever thought of me that way, and my boss was not going to be the first of none.
I was in my apartment and had my black and brown traveling bag on the bed, and it was wide open and waiting while I collected the contents to go inside it. I’d already gathered the essentials; toiletries like lotion and my own shampoo, a rather torn up smutty novel, three differently colored pens and pencils, a notebook, and meticulously folded up clothes. I chose not to go with the obvious choices the old me would have gone with; pantsuits for the work week or jeans and t-shirts if the weekend was upon me. Times had changed, and I needed to do the same.