by Lindsey Hart
I KISSED THE BOSS
Christmas Box Set
Lindsey Hart
CONTENTS
CLAIMED BY THE BOSS
KISSED BY THE BOSS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LIST OF BOOKS
COPYRIGHT
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email without permission in writing from the publisher. While all attempts and efforts have been made to verify the information held within this publication, neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for errors, omissions, or opposing interpretations of the content herein. The book is for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed are those of the author alone and should not be taken as expert instruction or commands.
Copyright © Passion House Publishing Ltd 2019
All rights reserved.
You can contact the team at [email protected].
CLAIMED BY THE BOSS
BOOK DESCRIPTION
My hot sexy EX is back and wants me to work for him.
The nerve he has to even show me his gorgeously annoying face after all these years.
He wants me to organize the most luxurious Christmas party for him.
And I just want to toss a big bag of poop at him.
If he thinks his big fat check is going to make me agree to stay in his close proximity for longer than needed to throw that sack of poop, he can dream again.
And his smoldering gaze as it roams over my body tells me he definitely has other plans on his agenda.
It probably includes melting back into his arms and bed.
Which is totally absolutely never ever going to happen again.
The only problem, he keeps kissing me “by mistake” at every turn.
CHAPTER 1
Amberina
No matter which way she looked at it, Trey Hartford would always have been her downfall.
Ambi’s hands shook as she held the black phone receiver away from her face. She closed her eyes and took a breath. One. Another. Two. A shaky third. Three. She kept going, all the way to ten. When she hit the magical marker that was supposed to calm everything down and make the world brand spanking new and sparkly, all her problems still remained. She knew she couldn’t put off the call any longer. It only takes so long to check if a date is open.
As much as she would like to say that November twenty-seventh was taken, it unfortunately, wasn’t. While she was busy with other parties leading up to it, it wasn’t wedding or grad season and while a few people hired an event planner to help with Christmas functions, it wasn’t exactly a hot time of year.
Not only was she free, she knew that no matter what, no matter how much she hated Hartford & Heatherford Assured Investment Group- their stupid name was reason enough to hate them- she knew she’d take the job. A high-profile client like that could really help her business and she’d work hard to get a good reference.
Ambi punched the red hold button and mustered up her sweetest, I don’t give a shit tone.
“Sorry for the hold. We’d be delighted to help you plan your event.” I’d rather die a slow, agonizing death choking on a party popper. “If you want to set up a time to meet, we can go over the details. I have an office, or I can come to you.” I’d rather munch on broken glass and rusty nails than ever go to H&H.
She was pretty sure their name shouldn’t have been Hartford and Heatherford. Those two H’s should have been dumbed down to Hell and Heller. Or double hell. Not that their name wasn’t shitty enough on its own. Dale Hartford had probably been searching for just the right business partner for years, one with a name so close to his that it would look resoundingly ridiculous on a sign or card and sound even worse, not to mention the assured part of the name, which was misleading, since investment was never a sure thing.
“Oh, well, I can give you some of the details now, as my schedule is quite full over the next little bit. That way we can just get started if that’s alright?”
Ambi closed her eyes. Normally, she loved keeners. People who had their shit together enough to avoid making her life a living hell. This girl though, Sarah, was grating on her already shredded nerves. Which wasn’t her fault. Sarah couldn’t help that she was probably blonde, beautiful and bubbly, the three B trifecta. It was that she worked at H&H that was the annoying part.
“Yeah. Sure.” She reached for her notepad, the one with lamas dancing at the top in various frilly outfits and polka dot dresses. “Shoot.” As in please shoot me now before I can ruin myself taking this job.
“Well, we wanted something that could include anyone, so please no references to ethnicity or religion. We want this to be as neutral as possible, so we would prefer no reference at all to Christmas. If it has to say something, happy holidays would be preferred.”
“Great. Not a problem.” You do realize you started this conversation telling me you wanted me to plan a Christmas party?
“The budget is pretty wide open. This is the first real office party we’ve had in ages and we want it to become an annual thing. Mr. Hartford Sr. has eighty thousand set aside for decorations, food, games, entertainment. You know. Basically, think of an upscale wedding. All the good stuff. What do you normally charge for your services of something of this magnitude?”
“How many people again?” Ambi choked out. She scrawled eighty thousand across the top of her notepad in huge, blocky numbers. Who the fuck spent eighty K on an office Christmas party? Oh, right. A happy holiday party. And double right. Dale Hartford, douchebag of the century.
“There are eighty in the office.”
How perfect. A grand for each of you. I’m sure no one could use that extra thousand on things that actually matter like food or paying down credit card debt. All employees want a freaking party they’re forced to go to instead of a well-deserved bonus.
Maybe they were getting that too. Ambi shook her head, trying not to be uncharitable. Maybe Dale Hartford didn’t run his business like he ran his life. And his son. Maybe he wasn’t such a dick when it came to his company and he actually treated his employees quite a bit better than he treated his son’s (at the time) girlfriend.
“Eighty. Right.” Ambi realized she had to say something. Awkward pauses on the phone didn’t make anyone comfortable.
“We were thinking of renting out a nice hall type place. Having a dinner, hopefully catered, some live entertainment during that, maybe a magic show or someone who plays piano, then having dessert and a live band. Drink tickets would be up to the hall pricing, as we don’t want people to get completely wasted on the company’s dollar if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. Yes. That all sounds very doable for your budget. I’d require a deposit of ten percent to get started, non-refundable. My services for something of this size, given that it’s only a month away and that’s kind of last-minute in the event world, would be around six thousand. Is that alright?” She winced after, wishing she would have quoted double the price, just to stick it to H&H. She was too honest.
“Yes. Perfect.” Sarah didn’t even miss a beat.
“Great. I’ll come down to your office for a cheque and I’ll have a couple of packages put together for you by then. Does tomorrow afternoon work?”
“That would be perfect. Thanks so much.”
“Thank you for calling. Can I ask how you heard about me?”
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“Oh.” Sarah giggled into the phone. She was probably twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger at the moment, leaning back in her desk chair, her pink sky-high heels perched on her appointment book. “I don’t know. Someone in the head office just gave me your name and asked me to call about planning this. I guess word of mouth? Or maybe they looked you up online?”
Right. Because her company was at the top of every search result in Minneapolis. Not. Ambi wasn’t starting out or anything, but it took years to build a successful business. She’d only been doing event planning for a few years. Not long enough that she’d be someone’s choice in a cold search. Maybe it was word of mouth. Maybe someone worked at H&H and she’d helped plan their wedding or their daughter’s or son’s wedding or grad or something. It sure as hell wasn’t Dale Hartford or his son. One hated her and the other she hated- okay, maybe hate was a strong word and maybe she disliked them both- so that was a big nope on their part.
“Yeah. Sounds good. Thank you. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
“Super.” Sarah drew out the s, making it sound really snake-like. “Do you know where we’re located?”
Unfortunately, yes. “I do. Thank you. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon, likely around three, if that’s alright?”
“That’s perfect. Thanks a bunch. Have a super day.” There was that snakey s again.
“You too.”
Ambi put the phone back down in the cradle on her desk and leaned back in her chair so far the thing nearly snapped. Yes, she was still one of those people who had an office phone. She wasn’t about to give her freaking cell number out to potential bridezillas and the like. She was perfectly capable of ducking into her office at all hours of the day and night to check her messages, seeing as she lived in a small apartment right above the even smaller retail space.
The shittier, evil, horrible parts of herself wanted to plan the worst, most bland, horrible office Christmas party in history, just to stick it to the Hartfords. For being such dicks. For treating her like she was garbage just because she didn’t come from a line of blue-blooded assholes. Pedigree. That was the problem. The whole reason Dale Hartford told his son that if he didn’t end things with her, it would be the end of him and his inheritance. Like she was a dog or something, which in Dale’s eyes, she likely was.
She was some poor college kid with student loans, working her way through a Business Degree, hoping to graduate and go into event planning, a humiliating career in which she worked for and served others menially for fairly low pay. It didn’t matter that she was good at it or that she loved it and always had. That she’d planned most of her high school fundraisers and was involved in a ton of different activities and groups in college.
No. To someone like Dale Hartford, she was trouble. Or troubled. Not that it mattered. She was beautiful enough to ensnare his son. Trey had to be pried from her claws before she brought them all to ruin. Imagine. Trey Hartford married to someone who was raised by a single mother after her alcoholic father ran out on them. She’d probably lift a finger to plan their wedding, which would be absolutely shameful. And she wasn’t a size zero, so while she was pretty enough, the whole trophy wife thing was off the table. She could do nothing to advance H&H. She wasn’t suitable. If she was a dog, she wasn’t the right breed.
So, Trey gave her the boot. He chose his family, his inheritance, and H&H over her.
Ambi slammed her open palm on top of her notepad so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. She was definitely producing that moisture because of the desk slap she’d just handed out and not because it hurt to think about Trey, even five years after the fact.
She’d stick it to H&H by doing an amazing job. By being the best event planner they ever freaking had. By doing her job so well that she’d prove them both wrong. She was a success in her own right. She might have worked for three years after college to save up and pay off her student loans before she could open her business, but she was rolling now. Plus, she’d be taking six grand of their money for doing pretty minimal work.
A huge bonus.
Another huge bonus was that people like Dale and Trey didn’t get their hands dirty. They sat up in their glass tower and watched while the rest of their menial little ants ran around all day, doing their bidding. She knew for a fact she wouldn’t see either of them. She’d just make sure that they knew that it was her who had planned the party everyone was raving about after. After. She’d send a thank you card with her signature on it and they’d know that not only had they given her company business, they’d also hired and paid her, the woman that Dale Hartford looked at as scum.
She’d make sure that everyone fell in love with her. That there was no chance she wouldn’t get a good reference or repeat business. She’d work her butt off for it and then, she’d have her revenge in the only way she could get it short of sending a steaming bag of shit to Trey’s doorstep. She hadn’t exactly ruled that one out, even half a decade later.
She just needed to find an anonymous pooper and an anonymous delivery guy willing to drop off a sketchy package. Maybe she’d use the six grand from planning the happy holiday party to do just that.
Ambi grinned as she picked up her pen and scrawled the happiest thought she’d had in a long time along the bottom of the notepad’s page.
Steaming hot pile of dung. Dubious package. Clueless delivery guy.
She underlined it after. Twice.
Revenge was a dish served piping hot. Piping hot and smelly.
CHAPTER 2
Trey
There were a few things in life that he regretted. Amberina Danby was one of them. His father threw down an ultimatum. He’d taken the bait. He had money now. He was VP right under his father, who was President, of a very wealthy, healthy, thriving company. He had a sprawling house in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Minneapolis. He had a collection of antique cars that would make most museums salivate. Sometimes, he even drove them.
In short, life was good. Life was really, really good, and Trey enjoyed the hell out of it. He believed in living.
He also had a shithead side that believed in sticking it to his father.
Daddy dearest told him to get rid of Amberina or lose his inheritance and spend his days penniless. Not that it would have happened. He was smart and he could have made his own money. Because he was stupid and young and a little afraid of a man who’d always been more like a dictator than a father, and because Dale had always played the mother card, invoking how disappointed Violet would be if he walked away from his duties and his family over a pretty face. Trey had loved his mother just about more than anything in the world, so he finally caved.
He’d also made just about every eligible bachelor list, magazines, and even a few billboards in the past five years. It was a big flip off to his father when that shit came out.
Dale Hartford had made stipulations about Ambi. But he hadn’t made stipulations about marriage, and sadly enough for him, that’s where he’d gone wrong.
To add fuel to the fire, when his father announced his intentions to throw a big office Christmas party to show just how well H&H treated their employees, he’d gone right along with it, knowing full well exactly who he’d get to plan that party.
He may have also done a little creeping- er- digging, in which he paid some very unsavory character to find out the finer details of Amberina’s life. She was still single. She owned her own business, Ingenuity & Imagination Event Planning. She was the sole employee as far as he knew.
Trey told himself this was just a nice way to make his father pay. He also wanted to see Ambi and apologize. He’d never been able to properly tell her how sorry he was. For everything.
He knew she wouldn’t listen. Ambi was Ambi. She was gorgeous, compassionate, kind, and also, tough as nails. He figured she’d rather kick him in the balls by way of an apology than listen to anything he had to say. Hell, he might just let her try.
Trey adjusted his tie for the millionth time. He had a
cheque in his hand, compliments of Sandy in accounting. Ten percent and the six grand Ambi demanded for her services. Sarah was more than a little shocked when he’d breezed by her desk that morning and told her he’d be handling the event planning from here on out. She’d gladly passed over a yellow lined page with the few details she scrawled down and told him the event planner, someone named Annie, was going to be dropping by at three for the deposit.
He’d told her to show Ambi to their board room, stressing that her name wasn’t Annie, even if it was a dick move.
It was ten after three and Sarah had just called his office to inform him that his appointment, Ambi, was there. At least she’d got her name right. He’d thanked her and hung up while she was still talking. He then proceeded to pace the hallway outside the board room for a good five minutes, the check growing sweaty and clammy in his palm.
He could practically smell Ambi’s scent lingering in the hall. She hated perfume and only wore natural products. She disliked deodorant and chose instead to use lemons- yes, real lemons. It was crazy, but it worked for her and she always smelled delicious. Clean and fresh with the underlying scent of lemon and the floral tang of her natural shampoo. Mixed with her own special blend of pheromones and whatever else she was putting out there, she was always this heady, intoxicating mix of perfection.
Finally, he took a deep breath, one he swore was lemon tinged, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the solid door to one of their larger meeting rooms.
The thing was fully stocked with its own coffee bar, large screen TV mounted on the wall, projector, a massive table surrounded by at least twenty expensive leather office chairs, and a myriad of abstract art purchased straight from some gallery in New York that neither he nor his father gave a shit about.