Falling for Her Bad Boy Boss

By Zee Monodee

Middle sister in the Hemant trio, Neha Kiran, has always done the ‘right’ thing society asked of her. She’s never rocked the boat but ends up a widowed single mother to her three teenage children. Yet, if only this were the wave she has to contend with...
Enter Logan Warrington, former heavyweight boxing champion from New Zealand and Neha’s boss at the station where she takes a job. While neither can deny the intense attraction sizzling between them, being together feels like a dangerous yet thrilling game of Russian roulette. Emotions, desire, forbidden love—what’s good-girl Neha to do when her heart starts to whisper louder than propriety deems acceptable?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Love Africa Press
• Release date: Feb 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215431887

Book preview

First Published in Great Britain in 2023 by

LOVE AFRICA PRESS

103 Reaver House, 12 East Street, Epsom KT17 1HX

www.loveafricapress.com

Text copyright © Zee Monodee, 2023

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

The right of Zee Monodee to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Also available as paperback

Island Girls: 3 sisters in Mauritius

The One That Got Away

How To Love An Ogre

Falling For Her Bad Boy Boss

Blurb

Middle sister in the Hemant trio, Neha Kiran, has always done the ‘right’ thing society asked of her. She’s never rocked the boat but ends up a widowed single mother to her three teenage children. Yet, if only this were the wave she has to contend with…

Enter Logan Warrington, former heavyweight boxing champion from New Zealand and Neha’s boss at the station where she takes a job. While neither can deny the intense attraction sizzling between them, being together feels like a dangerous yet thrilling game of Russian roulette. Emotions, desire, forbidden love—what’s good-girl Neha to do when her heart starts to whisper louder than propriety deems acceptable?

Chapter One

Neha Kiran was hiding—she’d admit it to herself. With her three children out of the house, she had a few moments’ peace from their never-ending drama. And without their father around to turn them into manageable offspring rather than Satan’s spawns, she was in over her head dealing with them.

Her thumb pressed onto the open page of the historical romance novel, her gaze losing its focus on the words. Rahul wasn’t here anymore … but it wasn’t like he’d been that much present in their lives before he’d been reported missing during a monsoon flood in Mumbai. He used to travel a lot, work even more, and in recent years, even she, his wife, had hardly seen him except at bed time.

When he’d turn away from her and fall asleep.

The thought hurt even more than him being gone. The latter, she’d had over a year and a half to get used to and accept. The idea that her marriage had probably been a sham from Day One? Still akin to the red-hot blade of betrayal slicing through her heart.

Had Rahul loved someone else? Her elder sister?

The idea sliced through her heart like a dull knife sawing through recalcitrant tissue.

The arranged marriage between their families—neighbours here in the upper plateau town of Curepipe, in Mauritius—was supposed to have been between Rahul and Lara. Instead, Lara had agreed to another proposal which had taken her back to London. Then, Reema Kiran had chosen Neha as the backup bride for her son.

Blinking, she pulled herself out of that path to nowhere. Of course, it didn’t help that she’d adored Rahul since the day she spotted him in the next-door garden. He’d been sixteen years old while she’d been on the cusp of fourteen. Her family had been living out of boxes following their move from London, where she’d been born and raised with her two sisters.

He hadn’t loved her …

She jumped from the couch and clutched the book tight. A quick glance at the clock on the mantel showed close to five p.m. The children would be home soon—she better not let them catch her reading such steamy stuff. Silly material, according to her husband. She’d always snuck the books in when Rahul had been away—it had become second nature.

She plumped the cushions, then went upstairs to her bedroom, where she stashed the novel at the back of her underwear drawer. Neha then returned downstairs, turning into the kitchen as the kids would surely be starving. Well, not Susanne, her only daughter and the eldest of the clan, who wanted to be a model and thus steered clear of anything ‘carbs.’ But Kunal, her second-born and eldest son, would be coming from the gym, needing fuel. Rishi, the youngest, was a growing boy who always required food.

However, once at the sink, she stopped at the sight across the window. Two beautiful women were heading towards her house, crossing the hedge separating her property from the one next door.

A groan escaped her. Her two siblings weren’t her favourite people when she was craving some peace. The two could talk the hind leg off a donkey, all while Neha remained there like the odd one out. Still, she loved her sisters, but she’d never had the easy camaraderie the others shared.

Gravel crunched outside, and a knock sounded at the back door. The frosted-glass panel swung wide open.

She hasn’t got any pot on the stove, so I won, said Diya, her younger, petite sister, as she stepped in.

Doesn’t mean she remembered there’s dinner at Mum’s tonight, Lara, her older sister, replied on her heels.

Dinner at Mum’s tonight? Neha squeaked.

Blast it. She’d completely forgotten they’d go to their parents’ place a month after Christmas. Today.

Aha! Lara exclaimed. I won.

Neha stood straighter as the two women settled on the tall bar stools at the kitchen counter. Both had dressed in jeans and tailored shirts. But while Diya’s looked like a rabid cat had attacked the fabric with its claws, Lara’s resembled an outfit straight out of a fashion magazine. Lara epitomized the perfect modern woman, confident in herself with her understated makeup. A far cry from Diya, with her sparkly blue eyeliner, and Neha, with her comfortable skirt and cotton blouse.

You’re alone? Where’s the gang? Neha mumbled.

Best she cut her losses. And find out if or when the hordes might descend on her place. Everyone strove to escape their mother’s vicinity, and her being next door meant her house was the perfect getaway. Good thing she’d had time to stash the novel away.

Stepping closer to the island, she drew a stool and sat down.

All at Mum’s place. Dad’s over the moon to have the grandkids around, and Mum’s tipsy to have the sons-in-law there to boost her ego and tell her what wonderful girls she brought up.

She had to laugh. Lara had summed up their family pretty well.

Where are the kids? Diya asked.

Suze and Rishi should be home any minute. Ballet and maths tuition.

And Kunal?

At the gym. Again.

However much it pained her that her son was into violent martial arts, it was for the best. They’d been living in Cape Town, South Africa, when Rahul had been declared missing. The news hit the children hard, but she hadn’t known how much in Kunal’s case. So when one day, she received a call from the police informing her that her son had been involved in a backstreet fight, she’d learnt the extent of the emotional damage on him. On the sly, he’d started to train in Muay Thai and had busted a local gang member with his ‘skills.’

Never mind that he’d already had a black belt in karate. She’d thought it all harmless fun, a boy channelling his hormones and energy. But that had been a scare, forcing her to get a grip on herself and her family. She’d ditched the guilt plaguing her whenever she recalled how she’d, for one instant, wanted out of her marriage that morning when the call had come. People always said, Be careful what you wish for. She knew it all too well. Within a couple of weeks, she’d packed them up, put the house for sale, and returned to Mauritius, to the family home that had belonged to Rahul’s family for generations.

After the brush with the law back there, she’d known her son would come looking for some violent practice here, too, whether legally or illegally. She’d thus signed him up for kickboxing training at a gym run by a former boxer who trained the next generation of Mauritian athletes. At least with him, Kunal would be in good, responsible hands. She trusted the man after having met him a few times and asked around about his reputation. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her son.

Goodness gracious, Neha. I’ve never seen you frown so much. A few more lines and you’re gonna need Botox, Diya said.

Dee. Lara’s tone held a warning.

No, seriously. Diya turned her intensively mascara-ed eyes onto Neha. Stop worrying so much about the kids. You gotta let them live a little. And get a life for yourself, too, in the process.

Don’t you start. However much she didn’t want to get into a verbal argument with the family’s sharpest tongue, she had to stop this. They always got on her case but backed off when she put her foot down.

Dee, they’re teenagers. Of course, I’m gonna be worried.

Bull. I’ve got a teen at home, too, in case you don’t know.

Right—Diya’s eldest stepson. An angel. Not like her lot.

Dee does have a point, Lara said.

Neha bit her lip to refrain from replying. What would they know about her existence? They weren’t one parent down in their households. Though she’d always manned the family unit alone, knowing Rahul wasn’t coming back proved something else. He hadn’t been declared dead legally, but he’d been actively missing for over eighteen months.

And he wasn’t coming back. She knew that. Too much time had passed for him to have been caught in an accident or with a lost cell phone. She’d clung to those scenarios when panic had been making her break into asthma attacks every so often. She’d lived with an inhaler within easy reach for weeks.

Face it. When was the last time you did something for you? Or for fun? Like go to the spa, Diya asked.

She always says she doesn’t have time, Auntie Dee, Suzanne said as she breezed into the house and joined her aunts at the counter.

Inside her, Neha groaned. Just what she needed, Suzanne joining the clan against her. Her daughter had started pestering her about ‘getting a life.’ Still, she was happy her little girl was back to being her obnoxious self after the near-breakdown following the news of Rahul’s disappearance. The punk-rock Goth stage? Not something Neha wanted to live through again. But Suzanne was still too much of a handful under any circumstance.

All that beauty stuff is not for me. Who had time for all that? She had a house to run, thank you, and three hellions to raise. She stood. Anyone want a cuppa?

Now, who’s playing hooky? Diya asked. The beautiful young woman who could still pass for a teenager scrunched her delicate features. Goodness, Neha. That blouse of yours was in style when? Two decades ago? And when did you last tweeze your unibrow?

Don’t bother. Suzanne rolled her eyes. What Mum needs is a makeover. Her look is so passé, it’s scary.

What you need is a purpose, like a job, Lara said.

And who’ll take her when she looks like this frumpy desperate housewife?

The discussion picked up. Neha forgotten.

Invisible. That’s what she’d always been.

She’d been born a few years after Lara, whom everyone had been smitten with. Then, still finding her place some years later, Diya arrived, a raving, screaming diva from the minute she’d entered the world. Between the golden child and the primadonna, Neha had melted into the background. A perfect way for a person to lose their marbles—way harder for a child.

Then they’d come to Mauritius. She had seen a sliver of light in the doom where the other two had baulked at the mere idea. There were specific ways of doing things on the island, established parameters London had lacked. In this society, a girl could be perfect at all the roles set down for her. Daughter, sister, wife, and daughter-in-law. Taking that path, she’d found her way. Her parents adored her for once. Her future mother-in-law had sung her praises. Her sisters had hogged the spotlight, but Neha had learned a valuable lesson: Doing the right thing came without cost. True, one did have to rationalize at times, but the contribution to the greater good outweighed everything.

She had found her place. She had finally been seen! The epitome of that had been her wedding day. She’d basked in that feeling for the next ten months until she’d given birth to Suzanne. Her daughter snatched the spotlight this time, Neha once more rendered invisible.

But in the meantime, she had matured. Doing the right thing did not cost her.

Tell you what, let me text him, Lara said, fingers flying over her iPhone screen when Neha blinked out of her thoughts.

Text, who? About what? she asked, slightly dazed.

The job, silly. Diya exchanged a guffaw with Suzanne.

A far cry from being stuck at home with a cleaning spray glued to your hand, Suzanne ribbed.

A churning sensation started in Neha’s stomach, not unlike the reckoning that came every time she’d tried a sip of alcohol that soured her whole gut. She would not throw up. What had Lara done? In checking out, she had missed the entire discussion.

A ping resounded a few seconds later. Lara grinned triumphantly as she glanced at the screen. "You have an appointment on Monday, one o’clock, Cybertower One in Ebene, at the offices of the local branch of Global Village Media Studios."

No. The word flew out on a breath.

Aww, come on, Neha, Diya whined. It’s high time you did something with your life.

Yeah, Mum. Get a life.

What, no snark in Suzanne’s tone?

Neha’s heart bottomed out. Worse than being invisible was being seen for something you weren’t. She had her life rolled out as she wanted it—she sure didn’t find it lacking. But to be seen and be found lacking? She gulped. Never mind that Lara had put her on the spot here. Doing the right thing never brought any cost to bear. Maybe she should show them in her quiet, unobtrusive way.

She wouldn’t go to the interview. What did she have to lose? Except for her good name if she were to be a no-show.

No, she would do the right thing and walk away from those offices with her head held high.

***

That’s it. Today, I’ll finally kill him.

Logan Warrington stared across the steel and glass desk in his office at his business partner. You did what?

On some days, he swore Griffin McDougall didn’t have half a brain.

Come on, Logan. I only gave a candidate an appointment.

For one of the most important jobs of the station. Someone you know nothing about, for whom you don’t even have a CV or an application letter. He sighed. What were you thinking? Or have you blown a fuse on your logical reasoning again?

Instead of McDougall, Griffin’s surname should’ve been Murphy, of the famous Murphy’s Law, because everything Griff touched had a way of going wrong. While that had been fun when they’d been dumb young colts on the Wellington and Auckland streets, it proved tedious as men.

It’s no big deal. An appointment is all. Give her a chance.

Logan stood and went around the large table, facing the man with whom he co-owned the Mauritian branch of Global Village Media Studios. Too much anger inside, beating a dull throb in his veins, for him to remain seated and exchange polite niceties with Griff. Too much rode on this gig. If they bungled this up, they’d be finished. Griff might not care, having a family fortune and Old Money credentials to fall back on, but Logan couldn’t risk it. He was only the second generation of Warringtons trying to climb out of the gutter.

Forget about her. She, whoever she is, is not getting an interview. What I really want to know is how and when you had the time to do all this behind my back, eh.

Griffin shrugged, eyes downcast as he squirmed in his seat. Logan took a step towards him, and the repressed tension inside him must’ve been tangible, for his friend jumped up and backed away.

Maybe the tensed fists had been too much. Reflex still kicked in sometimes. No-punches-held-Warrington had been his name on the streets. The moniker had followed him when he’d ventured onto professional boxing rings. In his stint as a sports commentator, blows traded from his mouth rather than his fists.

Still, Griff knew he’d never hurt him, or anyone else, for that matter, but he expected a modicum of respect and consideration in an operation equally half his responsibility. And here, the clown had played him for a mighty fool. Rules and frameworks existed for a purpose, dammit. So how would he extricate himself from this tricky situation?

Something akin to apprehensive doubt glinted in Griffin’s pale gaze. At least, the fists had unsettled the little nitwit. Griffin had now backed into the wall, forced to stop. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed in trepidation under Logan’s hard stare.

He must appear like a right arse, but Griff knew he never turned the other cheek. Face the consequences of all your actions, and no other way around—he did strive towards this after growing up in one of the most crime-ridden areas of Wellington.

This job was his chance to escape his reputation which stuck to him like a piece of dirty loo paper under the sole of his shoe. He would get to prove himself as a man with a working brain and not just a brute using his fists to get his way. Why couldn’t Griff let him catch this break? With such shenanigans, it’d look like he was running a circus, not a successful business.

Cancel it.

Griffin swallowed again.

He raised his voice, though he kept his tone chillingly cold. Cancel. It.

I … I … can’t.

Why?

Security called before I came to your office. She’s … she’s on her way up.

He clenched his fists, his cracking knuckles echoing in the room's stillness. Better this to release the pressure than slamming said knuckles into a wall, or table, or whatever inanimate surface stood in his way. Griffin’s deep-set, pale-grey eyes grew as big as saucers as if they would pop from his skull.

Who the hell is she, Griff, that you’d be willing to risk my wrath? We had a deal. You don’t poke your nose into my side of the business, and I don’t poke mine in yours.

The other man gulped audibly. She’s Lara’s sister.

Lara. Logan sighed and swore. He should’ve known. The woman—the married woman—Griffin had been hopelessly in love with at university. She knew she could get you to bend the rules for her, didn’t she?

It’s not like that, Logan, I swear. This girl has all we’re looking for. She’s the perfect fit.

Wrong, he yearned to scream. Instead, he stiffened his arms, his muscles rippling with the coiled tension. Yeah, he’d definitely need a date with a punching bag before the day was out. Safer for everyone. Funny how one of the techniques he’d learned in therapy to deal with his raging emotions sent him right back to what had been the lifeblood of his younger years.

Get rid of her. He dropped his voice lower. If you don’t do it, I will. Get it?

He couldn’t fuck this up. Yes, he was thirty-seven, with his whole life ahead of him. But for once, he wanted something to work on the first try without any hurt, rage, or pain. Was that too much to ask?

Griffin nodded, and Logan moved away.

And then, there was the other side of this issue—the privilege and entitlement behind it all. In his book, people who thought they could pull strings for favours were not welcome. Because they’d been born with a silver spoon in their mouths didn’t mean the world owed them everything. Logan owed them nothing, especially not her, this woman coming for the interview.

How could she expect she’d barge her way in and get away with it? Maybe she pulled this stunt with Mauritians, but hell, he wasn’t a local. New Zealanders weren’t known for their patience or hypocrisy.

Bloody hell, this woman didn’t come with a letter of recommendation. Worse—from the sound of it, she hadn’t ever handled such a job. So how could that egg deem her perfect for the position?

Logan?

What?

Griffin flinched at the bark. I … I … she …

Logan threw him a withering glare. Griffin nodded towards the door.

His gaze bypassed his friend and settled on the luxurious lobby on the other side of the one-sided mirror making up his office door.

A tall, beautiful woman stood at the front desk. Chin-length black hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights and danced with every graceful movement of her head. Her profile showed alabaster skin and exquisite features, the dark-lashed eyes hinting at a deep gaze. Softness and gentleness seemed to project off her, from the pretty face to the lush body clad in a white, long-sleeved blouse and ankle-length black skirt.

He forgot to breathe until Griffin’s dreamy voice brought him back.

Blimey, she could pass for Lara’s twin.

Logan stared at his best friend, wishing he hadn’t heard what had been implied in Griffin’s words. The woman outside was the one who had come fishing for favours.

She was also the only woman who’d caught his attention for more than five seconds in the last decade.

I guess I better go tell her she came for nothing, Griffin said.

Logan cursed and whirled around to hit his clenched fist into the wall. A dull thud resounded, and he grimaced at the pervasive sting of air plunging into a knuckle cut. What did they say in therapy? Some days, it was one step forward, two steps back? Thankfully, that had never happened to him with alcohol after his rehab stint, but life in general? Today felt like one of those days. Blessed relief, yet doing nothing to lessen his internal turmoil.

Damn you, Griff, damn you, he said in a low growl as he walked past his partner into the lobby.

***

Neha stood in front of the curved marble desk in the Internet TV & radio station’s reception area. The room was bright, bathed in white artificial lights. Too bright. Almost revealing.

She reached up to touch her chin-length bob, the gesture as much a nervous tic as it had been when the strands had been three times the length. She couldn’t say she disliked