Bossed By the Billionaire

By Cynthia Dane

A FIVE-PART NOVEL IN ONE COMPILATION. INCLUDES A FOUR CHAPTER SAMPLE OF CYNTHIA'S OTHER PORTLAND-BASED ROMANCE NOVEL, DAMAGED GOODS.

ALYSSA

A call on a Friday evening. My handsome boss, Julian Marcus, wants me in the office. 

Something like this has never happened before. I should see it for what it is.

Mr. Marcus wants to seduce me. Me. Alyssa. A twenty-one-year-old woman who has never been touched before.

But he doesn't know that. Nor do I know how to handle a standoffish man like him - in the office, or in the bedroom.

JULIAN

Alyssa was supposed to be a nameless girl in a city full of nobodies.

But I’m the boss. What I want, I get. And if I want her to be my girlfriend, the sweet, untouched woman I mold into my perfect lover?

I get that.

If I order her to give me every part of her, she will. I dare her to disobey.

I don’t think she will.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barachou Press
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386254669

Book preview

BOSSED

By the Billionaire

AN ALPHA BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

Cynthia Dane

BARACHOU PRESS

BOSSED:

BY THE BILLIONAIRE

Copyright: Cynthia Dane

Published: July 1st, 2017

Publisher: Barachou Press

This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.

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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PART 1: ORDERED BY THE BILLIONAIRE

—

The cold, smooth touch of his watch on my inner thigh sends chills up and down my spine, like a train daring to run off the rails. Lightning strikes me, raising goosebumps on my breasts and hardening my nipples. I can’t see him. Yet knowing he is there, fingers deep inside of me, pleasing me, sends me into a rhythm that makes my heart beat harder than the raindrops hitting the glass outside.

Open your legs, he orders, tone making me wetter.

Sir, I groan, slowly doing as told. It’s so difficult. My legs are trembling from the pleasure about to be unleashed.

I’ve never been touched like this before.

If I open my legs, I’m sure my life will change forever. Even with how hot my boss makes me, I’m scared to charge into the unknown like this. I’ve had no forewarning. No sweet dates leading up to this moment. I don’t know what to expect – besides my life changing.

Am I ready?

Chapter 1

Alyssa

Finally. The weekend. No classes. No intern errands that make my calves swell in muscular size but break my ankles in the heels I force myself to wear every time I enter the offices of Bradley & Marcus. No late dinners of leftover Chinese and cold pizza my roommate’s left out for two days straight. It might only be Friday evening, but as far as I’m concerned, this is when the weekend truly begins.

I may be twenty-one, but the amount of responsibility foisted upon me weighs so heavily on my shoulders. More so than my bra straps when I’m stuck at a desk all day. Not like I have a damn choice, though. Education is too important to slack off on, and job experience is a must, even though what constitutes it is a joke. If it weren’t for the loans that will fuck my ass a few years FROM now, I wouldn’t even be able to go to school. It’s the Catch-22 from hell. How did my parents pay for their college educations with nothing but part time jobs back in the ‘80s? It’s so unfair!

Calm the fuck down, girl, I say, stepping out of the shower. Gotta relax. The world’s problems will have to wait for you to get your shit together this weekend. Maybe lose your virginity, hm? Ever think about that?

The sun is setting, and the view outside my small studio is amazing. A pink and orange hued sky, something you rarely get to see this time of year in Portland. Usually the skies are a dreary shade of gray that depresses you until you’re diving inside for the rest of the season. This past winter has been especially harsh. At first I loved the snow. Then it refused to go away, and a city that couldn’t handle it to save everyone’s life completely shut down. I was going to miss those measly paychecks from my shitty job.

Too much drama hanging above my head. Ex-roommate trying to take me to small claims court over unpaid electric bills at the last place we lived. Mother hounding my ass about networking, because my college classes and my prestigious internship aren’t enough. Dad blowing up my phone because he wants me to show his niece around the city – a niece I love as much as a nice corn on my toe. And my bosses! Oh, both halves of Bradley and Marcus are pieces of work. Pieces of sexy, hot work, mind you, but that barely lets them get away with all the demands they put on their lowly interns.

I walk into the main room of my studio and gaze longingly at my bed. Maybe I should go to sleep early tonight. Pop on some Netflix and chill with myself. Speaking of which, I got some mail today. Something I’ve been waiting a long time for.

The package holds no damning information on the labels, but even so, I have turned it upside down and thrown my scarf on top of it. I don’t live with anyone else anymore. Nobody has the key to my place, so what am I trying to hide? My own embarrassment? Should I really be so embarrassed to have purchased a sex toy off the internet earlier this week?

As my hair dries on the towel wrapped around my shoulders, I grab a knife from my efficiency kitchen and slice open the packing tape. I already know what is inside, but my heart still quickens when I see the picture on the front of the box.

I have to find some humor in this moment. I’ll hate myself later if I don’t!

My first real dildo. I really have grown up! I pop open the top and pull out the plastic packaging. Uh…

Wow.

Maybe I should have bought a smaller one? Because I’m not sure my poor body can take this hefty shit dropping into my hand.

Apparently, my eyes had been bigger than my pussy when I went shopping the other night. What can I say? I spent an hour in the bath thinking about one of my hot bosses. Wouldn’t it be nice if a guy like that asked me out, wined and dined me, and then made sweet, thrilling love to me? I’ve never had something like that before. I’ve barely been on real dates before. Never done intercourse, although I’ve been eager to try it. Except do you know what dating is like in this city? A girl can only take so many hipster beards and manbuns before she runs away screaming. Or, in my case, runs to the internet to buy a sizable dildo to make up for the lack of a love life.

Imagine me curled up in bed with popcorn, a homemade gin and tonic, and a webpage opened to some of the raunchiest sex toys you’ve ever seen. Until now, my masturbatory expeditions have only included my hand or the occasional makeshift cock. Like a nice hairbrush handle I bought solely to use as a fake cock, because yours truly was so embarrassed to buy a real dildo. Until now.

(That hairbrush is about to be retired into the trash.)

Apparently, however, my imagination had been too kinky to be realistic. Guess I thought that if I was buying a new dildo then I should make it worth it. This will be the closest I get to losing my virginity in a while, probably. You know, if we don’t count that lackluster fiddling and oral with my ex-boyfriends… which I guess technically count, but I’d rather forget.

No, what I want is the feeling of being filled up. Overpowered. Taken. Too bad this dildo can’t do other things. Only a real man can touch me, spank me, nibble on my ear and come so hard that I’m shuddering for a week.

Look at me, giggling like I’m twelve and discovering an old Harlequin for the first time.

Too bad I’m only twenty-one. A real man wouldn’t date someone my age. Not unless he’s a total creep looking for his next mark to manipulate. I’m conventionally attractive enough that I’ve had gross old guys hitting on me since before puberty. I’ve seen my young friends get mixed up with men who made them feel sooooo mature, only to be the least mature guys on the planet. (Guess what! There’s a reason no women their age date them!)

None of that matters right now, anyway. I’ve got a huge cock to play with, and it won’t treat me like a kid or a quick lay meant to be forgotten by lunch the next day. Complimentary lube is in the box, thank goodness. I had forgotten to get some when I was in my lust-induced haze the other night after work.

What had me so worked up? Well, I work in an office full of hot guys in suits…

The temperature is good for me to think about those gorgeous guys. The bed is so comfortable beneath the weight of my body. All I have to do now is breathe and brace myself.

And think of really, really hot moments I’m probably never going to have in real life. That’s why they’re called fantasies, right?

My pajama shorts are on the floor. My legs are spread. Images of my bosses are in my head, but I’m not scandalous enough to fantasize about them both. I need to pick one. That way there’s at least one guy who doesn’t make me want to die of embarrassment when I see him.

Preston Bradley? Or Julian Marcus?

Oh, like there’s a choice! They’re different kinds of hot, and one definitely does it for me more than the other.

Julian. Mr. Marcus. The more standoffish, colder of the two is more likely to bite my head off than slather on the positive reinforcements. He’s in charge of the numbers at work, and me? I work on the numbers that eventually pass his huge desk in his corner office. More than once he’s held my work up in front of the class (excuse me, staff meeting) and talked about how we need to follow better protocols, cause the work is shit. The man needs a Xanax, but damn is he fine in his bespoke suits and dangerously silky ties. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about straightening his tie for him? Walk up and play with it while talking to him? He’d probably put me in a headlock, but it would be good while it lasted!

In my fantasies, Julian Marcus channels that attitude into the bedroom, where he fucks me raw and makes me feel like the dirtiest girl in a city full of dirty girls.

The head of the dildo teases my slit. I’m already wet from thoughts of Mr. Marcus. Doesn’t take much for the crown to press into me. Bit by bit… ah, shit! This is good!

No, I did not tell my phone to ring. With a ringtone that tells me it’s work related.

Who the hell is calling me on a Friday night? Damnit. With the dildo still halfway inside me, I reach over and grab my phone. I answer it without looking at the caller ID.

Hello? Who is this? Can this person feel my ire on the other side of the line? ‘Cause they interrupted something pretty important and can put up with my sass.

A pause. I swear to God, if this is a wrong number or someone using a work number to mask a sales pitch…

This is Julian Marcus.

Oh, shit.

Are you fucking kidding me right now?

Damn me and my short temper! This is the kind of shit that gets a girl fired right when the weekend is starting!

Sir! I jerk up, forgetting my pussy is stuffed with half a dildo. I clasp a moan of pleasure in my mouth. Am I… wetter? No way. Like Mr. Marcus’s voice can do this to me… it was a fantasy! Just a fantasy! Apparently, my fantasy has summoned this guy from the depths of his office to call me on a Friday night! "What is it?’

I need a folder, he says with his usual curt attitude. Authority oozes from the audible presence of Julian Marcus, a man worth millions upon millions and used to getting his way. He wasn’t one-half of one of Portland’s biggest corporations for no reason.

I wait for him to explain, but the irritation accompanying his tone is only making things worse. Which folder? I bring five of them home any given night. Sometimes I’m convinced I’m going to get ahead on my facts and figures, but I’m always fooling myself. Yeah, right. Not when I can watch my favorite TV shows, take baths, and fuck myself silly for hours on end.

My voice shakes more than I anticipate. You see, I rarely talk directly to Mr. Marcus. He’s more likely to send out a memo or use one of his direct underlings to approach me about one of my screw-ups. As for seeing him? Also more likely to see him in magazines or on billboards around town. We work only one floor apart, but the only time I go up his floor or he comes down to mine is when he needs to get a correction. Nobody likes the corrections… because then someone’s job is on the line, and it’s not his.

Bring whatever ones you have. I’m told you’re the most likely candidate to have what I fucking need right now. Shit, son! Do I wish he was talking about something else! Get here now. He hangs up before I can confirm I’ll do as he orders.

I stare at my phone in utter disbelief. Doesn’t help I’m still half-stuffed with a dildo. Fuck it. I pull it out and set it aside. Why is my body shuddering? Is it from the sensations of the dildo? Or from Mr. Marcus’s voice?

Anyway, there are folders I’m supposed to be looking for. Most of them are in my work bag, but I think I left one under a stack on my coffee table. Where the hell is it? I’m stumbling around my apartment in a total daze. This shit must be important if Mr. Marcus is directly calling an intern like me.

I scramble for everything I can find, praying it’s what he’s looking for. After throwing my work clothes back on and fixing up my makeup – fuck it, I can fix it on the MAX. Also my luck that I don’t have a car. If I did, I could be there fifteen minutes faster. I really, really hope that my boss knows that I don’t have a car.

Talk about my world exploding. This is what it feels like, too, ever since Julian’s called me. A billionaire tycoon calling my cell phone. What the hell can go wrong?

Chapter 2

Julian

You can’t do it. I don’t care how good you think you are, man. I don’t care if your dick is big enough to make her use a wheelchair for the rest of the year. Don’t care if your bank account makes half the block fall in love with you. There’s no way you can order up one of your interns and fuck her within two hours.

"Our interns. How many times do I have to remind Preston that we share equal responsibility for the people under our employ? I’m sure I could make it happen either way."

Preston Bradley (no, not the other way around,) advances on my desk, both hands splaying across the oak. His cologne is a spicy concoction compared to my more subdued but powerful musk. His hair is a mess because he never bothered to comB it after walking in out of the wind, whereas I’m not above spending five minutes in my private bathroom making sure I’m perfectly presentable. His cufflinks don’t match his tie-clip and it pisses me off. Could he at least pretend to try?

Excuse me. I’m a perfectionist. One of us has to be.

Where were we?

You are not God’s gift to women, sorry, hate to break it to you.

I push aside his tie as it attempts to smudge the forms I’m signing at eight on a Friday night. Neither are you, yet it doesn’t stop you from bringing such stupid topics up to begin with.

Hmph. He stands up, grin taking five years off his age. Wanna bet on it?

A bet? How old are we again?

I’m not betting anything, I say. Can’t even look at him right now.

I’m serious. Call up any female intern you want. See? I’ll let you have the advantage of choosing which one. Preferably one of the ones leaving at the end of the quarter, though. I know your dick loves to cause drama from here to Miami.

I sigh. I don’t understand why we’re discussing this.

Preston invites himself into my office, both during and after work, all the damn time. Yet this is probably one of his most annoying impromptu visits in a while. He walked in talking about going to a club later to pick up chicks, and oh, did I want to tag along? Because, as he was keen on reminding me, I haven’t gotten mad pussy in a couple of weeks. For shame. Been cooping myself up in my offices trying to get caught up on the quarterly reports. I do this every three months. You’d think Preston would be used to it by now.

Because we need to spice some things up around this office. Remember college? We got into so much trouble.

Yes, and it’s years later, and we’re not acting like that any longer. Preston needs to grow up. He’s a brilliant businessman, but his personal life is a mess. Usually it’s not my problem as long as he keeps it clean for our corporation. Shit like this, though? Frustrating.

I do not want to pick one of our female interns to fuck. Yes, many of them are beautiful young women, and yes, I do love to sleep with beautiful women (young or not-so-young) but I also like to keep work and pleasure separate. I’ve learned my lessons about that.

Come on. Just this once. Humor me. You know you want to.

My eyes glance up at him; a snort shoots through my nostrils. What? I pick a random woman and fuck her right here?

Sure. Two hour time limit. If you can call her here under other pretenses and get in her cunt – all dick, no fingers, bro – by the time I get back at 10:30, you win the bet.

What the hell do I win?

Besides sex with a hot young thing? Whatever you want me to do. Because I’m trying to prove a point here.

I say the first terms that come to my mind. You’re heading all the staff meetings. For the next month.

The next month? Deal. Maybe that’s not a big deal for him, but it is for me. I hate every social aspect of this job, particularly those that demand me to talk to people who are way below my level. I have to explain everything. Be patient with them. Talk to them like they’re five. And that’s only their jobs. God help me if we’re at a social function and they make an ass out of themselves. I had to take etiquette classes growing up. Why didn’t the fools we employ? I know Oregon has some of the worst public education in the country, but really, they can’t swing a diplomacy lesson here or there? Besides, so many of our ignorant interns come from out of the state. I really expect more of the New York and Boston ones, but here we are.

I sigh again. I’m sure you have something up your sleeve if I lose the bet.

If I win? Oh, hm, let’s see. Preston taps his chin in faux-thought. If I win, you have to come down to Rio with me so we can actually get you laid.

I’m not going to Rio. Preston’s been planning an excursion to Brazil for the past month. He gets around the PNW, but our jobs are demanding enough that we rarely get real vacations, and this trip to Brazil is supposed to be a giant bachelor-cum-a-thon. That he keeps inviting me too. Please, like both of us can go on vacation for a week. We don’t have time for that. I’m working double to cover his ass during that week.

Besides, if I’m going on vacation, I’d rather go to Europe and appreciate some fine art and cuisine. The party scene is not me. Give me a few good friends, a private room with a poker table, and let the cigar smoke kill us all.

You’ll come with me to Rio if you lose the bet. We’re shaking on it.

He holds his hand across my desk. Reluctantly, I shake it. This is the last stupid bet we’re making for a while.

Preston pulls a stack of personal files from one of the corner cabinets. Some things are still analog around here. Admit it. You like the challenge.

"I thought my argument was that getting women to sleep with me wasn’t a challenge." It’s not, either. I’ve never had a problem getting laid when I feel like it. The only women who turn me down are either that committed or gay. Even the sick ones try to get some of this.

That’s what I’m saying. It’s going to be a fun challenge. Preston hands me the stack of files for our female interns. Go on. Have your pick. Call her up here for some stupid reason, like you need a file. Then seduce her. I’ll be back at 10:30. I wanna see her panties as proof.

Preston Bradley would want to see a pair of panties whether a woman had worn them while I fucked her or not. He is perpetually fifteen like that. Fine. Whatever. I wave away the files. Pick for me. I need to finish this column. I go back to my spreadsheet as if I don’t care about the woman I’m doomed to seduce.

Preston takes his time going through the files, occasionally whistling, chuckling, or bemoaning that he wants a try with a certain young co-ed. We employ five female interns and five male interns. They come from all over the country, most of them graduated or attending the local business schools.

The one he shoves in my direction? Is the youngest, and still an undergrad.

Alyssa, huh? I barely make note of her last name. Her headshot is enough to make me snort. Wavy chestnut brown hair frames her round face. Beautiful, bold, daring me to ask her up to my corner CEO’s office so I can fuck her.

It’s a HR nightmare, but our HR department is a joke. Good enough to keep the employees in line, but… there are ways around legalities. Preston was right. This would be a fun challenge.

All right. The one who fucks up her figures more than any of the other interns. That’s the only reason I recognize her at all. She’s one of the few people I’ve personally sought out so I could fuck her a new asshole. I hate cleaning up sloppy intern work. I wouldn’t even allow interns if they weren’t such cheap labor salivating for experience. As the man who works with numbers around here, I love cutting costs and still maintaining efficiency and productivity. Two good things interns are good for… if they’re actually good at what they do. Makes my plan easier.

"Now, now, be nice to her. Don’t have to be nice to her pussy, but be nice to her. Preston puts the files away. With a smirk, he shows himself to my door. I’ll be back in two hours. Get her here and fucked by the time I get back, and I’ll take care of those pesky meetings for the next two months. Upping the ante, hm? When we go down to Rio, we’re getting you a woman for every night of the week."

You wish.

I wait for Preston to vacate the office before picking up my phone. This bet is a joke, but he’s right – I do love a challenge.

Now where the hell is Alyssa’s number? Did that bastard put her file away, knowing I’d have to waste time looking for her number? Of course he did. Because Preston will do any annoying thing to win a bet.

Chapter 3

Alyssa

The bus comes to a halt. I bolt out as if bullets pepper my steps, and no young mom with a stroller or little old ladies are gonna get in my way.

One of Portland’s tallest high-rises lurks before me. On a good day I enjoy taking in the pristine architecture, the marble flooring, the silver-lined mirrors, the state of the art security systems, and the executive elevators gilded in gold.

This is not a good day.

I was here a few hours ago. When I left, embracing a Friday evening, I barely took the décor in. I was in such a hurry to get out of here.

Two security guards are on duty in the lobby. I flash them my ID badge and show them the stack of folders in my hands. One nods and motions for me to take an elevator up. Just my luck, it won’t budge. Stuck again, Elevator 2? Wouldn’t be so bad if Elevator 1 went to the top floors and Elevator 3 hadn’t been down all day.

I glance at my watch as Elevator 2 finally gets its ass moving. Nine-thirty. My boss hadn’t given me an ultimatum, but I knew that tone in his dark and dangerous voice. He wanted these files yesterday. What if I’m preventing him from making a big business deal? What if I’m costing him thousands… no, millions!... of dollars? He’s going to blame me! Then what? I lose my job in the aftermath, because he has to punish somebody?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I’m not going to have a job by midnight, am I?

The lights are off in the executive suite. All but the low-energy ones illuminating the way to Julian Marcus’s corner office. The one belonging to his partner, Preston Bradley, is completely dark. Pretty soon cleaning crews will move through here. Will they work around my boss, or are they dismissed until later? Why the hell do I care about that when I should be worrying about my own job?

The fact that the double-doors leading into the suite aren’t opening?

I wrestle with the glass door as if my life is about to be snatched from my body. I can’t afford hangups like this!

The door clicks, and I practically fall into the central office. If the secretary had been here, he would have laughed at my dumb, clumsy ass. If he wasn’t trying to glimpse at my panties, anyway. The guy has a terrible reputation around here, although he usually leaves me alone – I’m not as pretty as the other female interns. Positively average compared to them.

Even so, the secretary would have totally laughed and stared at me. I’m glad Mr. Marcus and I are apparently the only ones here tonight.

Someone pushes aside the blinds shielding the window to his corner office. That someone is named Julian Marcus.

I stop halfway there. One critical look sideswipes me, startling me, scaring me… arousing me.

So sue me. I’m human. I’m a heterosexual female looking into the dark eyes of Julian Marcus, one of the most prime specimens of young bachelorhood around. Even at this late hour he’s wearing his dark navy blue power suit with the gray and white striped tie. Perfectly cut and tailored. Dare I say bespoke? He’s got the money for it. LA, New York, London, Paris… I hear from his personal assistant he gets the measurements done right here in his office and the tailors send him fabric samples. Lucky bastard. What’s it like to live that kind of luxury?

Based on the stern face waiting for me on the other side of that glass? It’s terrible. Awful. I should never fantasize about it.

The door opens. Good. Now I don’t have to knock or buzz, because I sure as hell don’t know the keycode to his office. It changes every week, anyway.

Alyssa. Holy shit. That’s my name, and it’s not happy to greet me. Come in.

I had started walking again, but now I come to another standstill. His hand continues to motion to me. Why am I sweating? Am I short of breath? You’d think I ran up the stairs to get here instead of taking the elevator.

The man is so much bigger in person. His presence alone is enough to fill the entirety of the executive office. If he did things to me over the phone? Getting a whiff of his cologne as I approach him has my legs trembling and my heart racing so quickly that I’m afraid I’ll pass out. Would Julian Marcus give me CPR until the ambulance arrives? Oh my God, is my insurance good enough to afford an ambulance?

I have the folders. My eyes never break from his as I shove the humble stack of folders forward.

I’ll look inside my office. He turns, further motioning for me to follow him.

Really?

Into his office?

I’ve never been in here before. The few times he’s personally addressed me, it was done downstairs at my meager desk or in the center of the greater executive office. The only people who get to come into Julian’s private office are his business associates, assistant, sometimes the secretary, and…

The barrage of girlfriends he dates.

Julian Marcus has been through as many girlfriends as I have fingers, and that’s since I started working here a few months ago. I swear, every week a new woman in her twenty-somethings (and the occasional thirty-something) parades through this office wearing something Mr. Marcus has recently purchased for her. Their hair colors change. Sometimes their physiques change. Some of them are educated and some of them are so stupid you wonder how they put their bras on in the morning – then you realize they’re not even wearing one. Yet aside from any women he does business with, those are the only ones I see coming in here.

Now, me?

Mr. Marcus’s large, personal office is Spartan at best, drab and impersonal at worst. The furniture is your usual assortment of black wood and black leather. A few tastefully abstract paintings hang on the wall. Lots of potted plants, but none of them real: only deceptively fake, because who knows what business associate might be allergic? The only visible sign of tech is his huge computer monitor and the ergonomic accessories. A dark-finish bookcase lines the wall behind his chair, full of law books, business books, economic books… and a few spare copies of Victorian literature. Later, I’ll find out that he keeps First Edition copies in his waterfront penthouse.

He sits on the front edge of his desk. It takes a few inches off his imposing height, but he’s still the powerful, dominant figure of the room. The building. I am nothing compared to him. His station, his status, the snap of his fingers that could have men killed halfway around the world… I’m Alyssa. A nobody. A lowly intern who comes from a decent background, but that’s the story of a billion people. There’s a reason nothing remarkable has ever happened to me.

Until now.

Julian peeks at one of the folders. Alyssa.

Uh oh. Did I forget something? Yes, sir?

The stack of folders ends up on his desk. He’s not going to look at them? After I busted ass getting here? You’ve been interesting to watch around here.

He’s going to fire me, isn’t he?

Because there’s no way that voracious look in his eye is about anything other than firing me. He looks me up and down like a piece of scrap about to be thrown into the trash. I’ve screwed up too many times. They’re cutting me loose. I can say goodbye to this nice opportunity to seriously pad out my résumé and get a decent job with my degree I’m still attempting to get…

I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you, sir. I step back. Might as well make it easier to get the hell out of here when he fires me. That way he won’t be able to see my tears. Gotta save some sort of face around here.

Upset me? His voice takes a slight upturn. It surprises me, but isn’t enough to make me feel any better. I’m not upset, Alyssa. I’m far from upset. Honestly, though, if you think I called you here for some folders, you’re not as quick as I thought you were.

Quick, sir?

Quick-witted, of course. He pushes off the desk and comes closer to me. His cologne magnifies. His presence is overwhelming. I’m a meager person compared to his cool confidence. This is the kind of man who gets whatever he wants.

Whatever he wants.

Why… the hell does that turn me on so much?

I’m a mess. I’m embarrassing. I haven’t been in this man’s office for

Reviews for Bossed By the Billionaire

[kendall · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I found myself skipping through a lot. It just seemed like too much boring, unnecessary filler in between. It didn't hold my interest. It's not a unique enough story and doesn't pull a person in.

[GumaKuroMomo · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The last 2 chapters are very boring. First 2 are promising enough to keep going. Then it reads like dragging.

[Dennis Hann · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Let's see....A billionaire with mommy issues meets a virgin college student in Portland whom he loves to tie up and spank. Where have I read a book like that before?