Boss Me Daddy

By Ashlee Price

My billionaire boss is my worst enemy. I didn't think I'd ever see him again. Those deep green eyes. His cocky smile. And that chiseled chest under his tailored suit. He fired me once. Completely destroyed my career. Losing my v-card to him was a mistake. There's no way I'd let him back into my life. Except that I may not have a choice anymore. His touch has me hooked. And what complicates things even more? I'm pregnant. I want to keep it a secret. To run in the opposite direction. But my heart wants me to stay. Will falling in love with my enemy lead to a second chance? Or, with everything stacked against us, will we be driven apart forever?


Ashlee Price's books are recommended for fans of authors such as Nicole Snow, Alexis Winter, Sarah J. Brooks, Weston Parker, Ali Parker, Natasha L. Black, Claire Kingsley, Cassie-Anne L. Miller, and Samantha Christy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashlee Price
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223382508

Book preview

Prologue

Jules

2014

My two-inch stiletto heels don’t make a sound on the carpeted hallway. Warm air from the vents up in the ceiling makes me feel more comfortable inside my grey silk blouse and black slacks. Alternating panels of black marble and frosted glass stretch out on either side of me.

Wow. So this is the nineteenth floor. It seems like a wholly different world from the fourth floor where I work.

That fact becomes even more apparent as I enter the office of Mr. Meyer, the company’s junior marketing manager. I knock, but no one answers, so I just go in. The room is empty.

Okay. I guess I’ll just wait for Mr. Meyer.

I consider sitting on the lone chair in front of his desk. Instead, I sink between the animal print pillows on the couch against the wall and breathe in the scent of vanilla—my favorite fragrance. It must be coming from the bowl of potpourri on the coffee table. In the rack beneath it are copies of Forbes, Time, Fortune and National Geographic, not old ones with creased covers and folded corners but current issues that look like they’ve never been read. As my eyes wander, they rest on a potted orchid that looks real, a painting which could pass as something by Monet, and glass bottles filled with odds and ends—seeds, marbles, paper clips. What catches my eye, though, is the rounded red doll sitting on its own perch on the wall. At first, I mistake it for a Matryoshka doll, but when I take a closer look, I realize that it’s not. It looks masculine and has Asian characters written on it. Oddly enough, one of its eyes has an iris and the other doesn’t. I wonder whether it was made that way on purpose or its maker was just in too much of a rush and forgot to put in the other one.

At any rate, I’m fascinated. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I take my phone out to snap a picture, but before I can, a deep voice behind me makes me jump.

Get out.

Two words spoken clearly, not yelled. Just two words, and yet I find myself frozen for a moment, my hand clasping the phone that has slipped from my grasp to my chest.

Slowly, I turn around.

Displeasure pours from the green eyes I find myself staring into. They seem to be drilling into me, and I know that I should look away, but I can’t, not from such a handsome face. Most of the men I’ve seen in this building so far are old and stocky or young and lanky, reeking of ego and cigarettes. But not this man.

This man, this strapping, six-foot-something, square-chinned hunk in a tailored suit, smells of Christian Dior.

And sex. Not the kind all my friends have bragged they’ve had. The kind that I’ve only read about—the kind that makes your toes curl and leaves you senseless.

I can already imagine it—my fingers tangled in those wiry curls, my hand splayed in the middle of his broad chest, his lips buried in my neck and his nails digging into my thighs.

Oh, shit. Why am I thinking about sex when he looks like he’s about to kill me?

His eyes narrow as his hands grip his hips. Are you deaf? Did you not hear what I just said?

I swallow the lump in my throat. No... I mean yes, I... I heard what you said... sir.

I quickly slip my phone into my pocket and square my shoulders in some effort to regain my composure.

I’m Jules... Julianne Decker. I’m an intern from—

I don’t have any work for you.

Oh. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I’m not looking for work, Mr. Meyer. I’m here because Ms. Collins sent me from the PR department. I’m supposed to get some files.

For a moment, he just stands there, those eyes of his holding me in cold scrutiny. Then he walks to his desk.

The view of his firm backside making its presence known through his charcoal gray pants as he bends over slightly takes the breath I’ve been holding in a gasp.

When he turns back to face me, I look away.

God, I hope I’m not blushing.

Here. He hands me a folder.

Thank you, I mumble, forcing a smile.

He doesn’t return it. He just goes to sit behind his desk. I walk towards the door. Just before stepping out, I stop and turn. I just have to. A part of me doesn’t want to leave.

I hug the folder to my chest and draw a deep breath.

Mr. Meyer, I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to barge into your office, which is a very interesting office, by the way. I—

Be careful with those files, he cuts me off before turning to his laptop. They contain important information that must be kept confidential.

I glance down at the folder. I guess he’s not big on conversation.

I will, I assure him.

I don’t even know if he heard. He’s typing something now. I better go before he tells me to get out one more time.

With a heart as heavy as my feet, I leave his office. As I walk down the hall, a sheepish grin forms on my lips.

Damn. He’s hot. Maybe the hottest guy I’ve ever met.

I haven’t had a crush since eighth grade, but darn, I think I do now.

~

Hey, earth to Julianne. The voice of my co-intern, Vanessa, breaks into my thoughts.

I put the hands that I’ve been propping under my chin on my desk and give her an apologetic smile.

Sorry. I... was just...

Daydreaming? Vanessa supplies.

I scratch my head. Yeah, I guess I was.

She leans on my desk. About who?

Oh, no one.

She arches an eyebrow.

I sit back. Fine. Someone on the nineteenth floor.

Her blue eyes grow wide. Wow. They have hot guys up there? Why couldn’t I have been assigned there?

I’ve been thinking the same thing.

But wait. Aren’t the guys upstairs all old, married executives?

I shrug. I didn’t see a ring on his finger. And he’s not old.

Maybe thirty-five at most.

But he’s titled, right?

I nod.

That means he’s your boss.

I frown. Well, technically...

Go upstairs, sneak into his office and have sex with him on his desk.

My eyebrows arch. What?

What? Office sex is hot. And sleeping with your boss is definitely hot.

Vanessa!

What?

It’s against the rules for interns to have ‘relationships of an intimate nature with employees of the company’, remember?

Screw the rules.

I shake my head.

She does the same. No wonder you’re still a virgin.

My eyebrows crease. What?

Nothing. By the way, Ms. Collins wants you to scan these files. She puts a folder down in front of me. Since you don’t want to have fun, then you should work. No in between.

Fine.

She leaves my cubicle and I let out a sigh.

Seriously, I can’t decide if she’s my friend or just a bitch I have to work with.

I rest my elbows on top of the folder as I place my hands on my cheeks.

Sleep with Mr. Meyer, huh? Yeah, I’d love to give that a go. But before that, I have to make him like me.

~

When he steps into the same elevator I’m on, my heart feels like it’s going to burst. Too bad we’re not alone, but the fact that the elevator’s packed means his cologne drifts right up to my nostrils and that his arm is pressed against mine. When he lifts it to scratch his chin, his elbow brushes against the side of my breast.

Sorry, he mumbles.

I say nothing. It was an accident, after all.

It was an accident, so why is my heart fluttering? Why am I blushing?

The feeling of his gaze on me isn’t helping. What is he looking at? My breasts? My clothes? Should I have worn a blazer instead of my favorite cardigan? Or is he looking at my glasses?

I nervously push them up the bridge of my nose.

These glasses are real, I tell him. I was wearing contacts the other day but not today because my eyes are tired because I stayed up late last night... reading. I was reading... reading...

I stop and purse my lips. He hasn’t said a word and it seems like I’m just having a monologue. Now I’m blushing from embarrassment.

God, why did I start babbling?

The doors open. Some people get off.

Isn’t this your floor? Mr. Meyer asks me.

It is, but I shake my head and come up with a quick lie. I have to run an errand.

Hmm.

The doors close. In the moments of awkward silence that follow, I seriously question my decision.

Why did I say that? Why didn’t I get off? Instead, I stayed, choosing to make an even bigger fool of myself. Now what do I do?

I try to breathe and think of a plan. Do I get off the next time the doors open? I definitely can’t get off when he does.

The doors open on the sixth floor. One more person gets off. I stay. Six people remain, including the elevator operator, Mr. Meyer and me.

Okay. I’ll get off the next time someone else does.

But when the doors open on the seventh floor, it’s Mr. Meyer who steps out. My mouth opens in silent protest. I thought his office was on the nineteenth floor.

Just as my heart is sinking, he glances over his shoulder.

You smell like my office.

I’m still gaping when the doors close. Then I give my shoulder a quick sniff.

My smell? Ah. He must be referring to my shampoo. Vanilla.

I smell like his office, huh? Is that a compliment? It is a compliment, right? He’s saying he likes how I smell.

Smooth.

The doors open again and the other people go out. After they do, the elevator operator, Susan according to her gleaming name tag, gives a sniff.

Don’t worry, sweetheart, she tells me. You don’t smell like disinfectant.

She heard?

Oh. I run a hand through my hair. Yeah, I know.

What floor are you headed to? she asks me.

I glance at the floor buttons. Oh. I have to go back down. I forgot something.

What floor?

Fourth, I say.

Hmm. She pushes the button.

I lean against the wall, brush the tips of my hair against my nostrils and breathe in the sweet scent. My lips curve into a smile.

He likes how I smell. And he remembers what floor I’m on.

Looks like Mr. Meyer likes me.

~

No, he doesn’t.

The next time I meet him, it’s at his office and he’s sitting behind his desk with a serious expression. Well, he’s always been serious, but this time I can tell there’s something unpleasant weighing heavily on his mind. When his eyes meet mine, I immediately know I’m in trouble. Oh, and there’s some serious-looking woman in the room, too.

I swallow. What did I do?

Julianne, right? The woman gets out of the chair in front of Mr. Meyer’s desk and turns to me.

Y–yes.

I’m Sonia Lewis from HR.

Human Resources? Why is she here? What does she want with me?

I won’t beat around the bush, Julianne. Mr. Meyer and I are both busy, like all the other people in this company. So let me ask you this: Do you remember the files you got from Mr. Meyer three days ago?

I glance at him. Yes.

Do you remember making a copy of those files?

I nod. I scanned them, yes.

She sighs. Mr. Meyer taps his fingers on his desk.

What? What did I say?

You weren’t supposed to, Mr. Meyer says. Do you remember what I told you about the files?

I try to recall his words. Y–you said they were important and should be kept confidential.

But you still scanned them.

Because Ms. Collins asked me to.

Did she say why? Sonia asks.

My gaze drops as I search my memory.

No.

She didn’t, because she didn’t actually ask me. Vanessa told me she wanted me to, but I didn’t confirm it with Ms. Collins.

I was under the impression that you were a smart woman, Ms. Decker, Sonia says. All the interns in this company are, or at least they’re supposed to be. Didn’t it occur to you that if Mr. Meyer wanted Ms. Collins to have a soft copy, he would have given her a stick and not a folder?

A lump forms in my throat.

No, it didn’t, but now that I think about it, it should have.

Do you know what she did with that soft copy? Sonia goes on. She sent it to someone in another company. About an hour ago, that company held a press conference to announce their new marketing campaign, which, coincidentally, looks very much like what Mr. Meyer here came up with.

I gasp. No way.

Catherine Collins is no longer part of this company, and she’ll be in jail once she’s found.

Shit. The curse escapes my lips in a whisper before I clamp my hand over my mouth.

Am I going to jail, too?

And I’m sorry, but we also have to let you go.

I look at her with wide eyes. But I’ve only been here two weeks, and it’s too late for me to find another internship. And if I don’t do my internship this spring, I won’t be able to graduate and—

That’s not our problem, Mr. Meyer cuts me off.

I cast him a pleading look. This isn’t my fault. I only did what I was told.

Well, I’m afraid that this isn’t one of those companies where you get rewarded for doing what you’re told, he answers. What we value are people who can not only do their job, but think independently and do more than what is required of them.

I sigh. Fine. I made a mistake. One mistake. I glance at my boss. Can’t you give me one more chance, sir?

Are you confident you won’t make another mistake? Because I’m not.

Disbelief floods through me. Is he saying I’m an incompetent intern?

Sir, I came to this company highly qualified. Am I perfect? No, I’m not. But I’m... smart and hardworking and...

You’re impatient. You can’t sit still. You lie. You get easily distracted, easily rattled, Mr. Meyer points out. And you don’t know how to follow the rules.

I lean forward. I... I’m sorry?

Yesterday, were you or were you not flirting with me on the elevator?

My jaw drops.

Sonia lets out another sigh.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I glance at her before looking at Mr. Meyer. No, sir. I was not.

I mean, I tried to. But if what I did could be called flirting, every woman would be single.

Sonia steps forward. Julianne, you are aware that there’s a policy against interns having intimate or romantic relations with employees in this company, are you not?

Yes. I didn’t do anything! We shared an elevator, that’s all.

So you weren’t flirting? Mr. Meyer asks me.

No.

And the thought of having sex with me never occurred to you?

I...

I should just say no, but I can’t seem to. So he knew what I was thinking? Wait, I’m being punished for thinking of sleeping with someone? This is absurd.

Sonia gives another sigh. Ms. Decker, I don’t think you understand how lucky you are. We could have easily sued you along with Ms. Collins as her accomplice. Instead, we’re just letting you go, which I’m now convinced is the correct decision. Fortunately, that campaign was not Mr. Meyer’s best.

Far from it, he confirms.

Wait. I put up a hand. Are you saying you weren’t going to use that campaign?

I wasn’t, he answers.

So why did you give those files to Ms. Collins. Why...? I stop as the gears in my head engage. You knew she was going to leak that information.

Mr. Meyer sits back in his leather chair. Let’s just say she’s been a cause for concern.

So you used her to outwit the competition.

You don’t need to know anything more, Ms. Decker, Sonia tells me. You’re no longer a part of this company.

But this is all because I got caught up in Ms. Collins’ scheme. You knew it was going to happen, you were waiting for it to happen, you were hoping it would happen!

She’s smart after all, Sonia, Mr. Meyer says. Too bad she can’t be trusted.

I look at him with arched eyebrows and shake my head in disbelief. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m being punished for something I didn’t do.

I place my hand over my chest. This is unfair.

This decision is final, Mr. Meyer tells me with unflinching, narrowed eyes. Now, for the last time, get out of my office.

As before, that cold emerald gaze has me standing still. This time, though, my heart’s not pounding. It’s just shattered. Slowly, I nod and turn towards the door. My knees feel so weak I’m surprised I can still walk.

Ms. Decker? Sonia calls after me. Surrender your ID to security on the first floor.

I give another weak nod before taking another step. Just before I go out the door, I glance over my shoulder.

Mr. Meyer meets my gaze, his still icy.

I frown.

I guess this is what I get for wanting a man I know I can’t have. I’m a fool.

Yup, it’s all my fault for being a foolish virgin.

Still, I hate him. I so hate Bruce Meyer.

Chapter One

Bruce

2019

The Fresh Face of Billionaires

I read the headline on the cover of Forbes’ annual Billionaires List edition one more time, the one in big yellow letters right next to my face.

I am the fresh face of billionaires.

Last year, after taking the reins of the company, opening its largest hotel, signing a deal with the world’s largest cruise line, and taking over the premier real estate brokers in several countries, I made my first five billion. So here I am on the cover of Forbes.

Damn, that feels nice.

I pick up the magazine along with my cup of coffee as I head to the window, passing by the shelf where all the other awards won by the company are kept. I like to keep them here in my office, and not just because there’s plenty of room or to give me a sense of accomplishment. The gleaming trophies and plaques are there to remind me that at the end of the day, recognition is something put away on a shelf to gather rust and dust. I have to keep working hard to make sure the same does not happen to me or my company.

A knock on the door makes me turn.

Come in, I say before bringing my cup to my lips.

My secretary, Louise, enters the room.

I have two networks asking for an interview, she tells me as she glances at her phone. Mr. Wolsey called, sending his congratulations, and your board meeting at eleven has been moved to a luncheon at the Ritz. The board wants to celebrate with you.

Fine. I lift the magazine in my hand. Have you picked up a copy?

Two. I’m sending a copy to my parents so they know who I’m working for.

I nod.

I’m pretty sure it will be in every reception room in this building, she adds.

Well, tell the office administrator not to buy all the copies. Other people need to read them.

Her glossed lips form a smile. I’m sure there’s enough for the rest of the world.

I turn to the shelf as I take another sip of coffee. I notice from the reflection in the glass that Louise is still standing there.

I glance over my shoulder. Anything else?

Well... I’m not really sure if I should tell you this, but you never gave me a protocol about family.

I turn to face her. Family?

She draws a deep breath. Your father—a man claiming to be your father, Harry Meyer—is here.

I frown.

My father? That man is no father. He left my mother and me when I was only eight. They had a fight. He left. He never came back. I thought he was dead. I hoped he was dead.

What is he doing here?

Should I send him in? Louise asks.

No.

I don’t care why he’s here. He has some nerve showing up here, but I have the sense not to see him.

He said it’s important, Louise says. He even begged me to let him see you.

Begging, huh? Pathetic. Still, I remember another plea, so I sigh.

Fine. Let him in.

Let him in so I can spit out his crimes straight to his face and kick him out myself.

Okay.

Louise leaves the room. I go back behind my desk and finish my coffee. A moment later, the door opens and a man comes in. Barely anything is left of his grey curls. Creases crawl from the corners of his eyes and line his forehead. He’s still stocky, just as I remember, but he looks tired. Old. Older than I expected.

Bruce. He smiles as he says my name.

Harry.

No way I’m going to call him Dad.

Look at you. His smile widens to show the places where his teeth used to be. A CEO and a billionaire.

He takes the rolled-up magazine out of his bag.

I bought a copy, you know.

Yeah. I guess that’s what happens to sons who get abandoned by their fathers. They turn out much better than them.

His smile vanishes.

I mean, look at you, I add. You look like you’ve been through hell, while I’m here sitting on top of the world.

He sighs. Well, I can’t deny that I’ve been through hell since I left you and your mother. I thought I’d left it, but it seems I’m still in it.

I don’t want to hear about it. I sit back. If you’re here to apologize, don’t. You’ll just ruin my mood.

I’m not going to apologize. I know that no words will be enough to make up for the mistake I made all those years ago. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, so I’m not going to ask for it. I’m here to ask for something else.

I snort. You want to ask me for something?

He really has some nerve.

He sits in front of my desk. I have my own company in New York, Bruce. A publishing company, not that big but not small either. While some houses have fallen, we’re thriving because I have such talented and hard-working people under me.

I don’t want to hear you gloat about your success, either.

Harry shakes his head. I’m not gloating. I’m telling you about my company because I want you to have it.

Have it? My eyebrows crease. Like a birthday present?

I mean I’m asking you to take it, he explains.

I’m still confused. You want me to take your company from you?

He nods.

I chuckle. Is this some joke? I don’t think so, because I don’t remember you having a sense of humor, and I can’t see how you might have acquired one. And if this is a peace offering, I don’t want it. Good try, but I don’t want it.

It’s not a peace offering, he says. But it is an offering, one I hope you won’t refuse in spite of everything. You see, Bruce, I’m sick.

No wonder he looks so tired. Is it cancer, I wonder? Still, I don’t want to listen to a sob story.

I can’t run this company for much longer, and I don’t want to just leave it.

Didn’t you just say you have talented and hard-working people under you?

They’re good at what they do, no mistake. They’re good at finding authors, putting books out there and convincing people to read them. But none of them are entrepreneurs.

Ah.

And you are the best of entrepreneurs, he praises me. So I’d rather hand over the reins of this company, my company, to you.

I sigh. Not a bad idea, old man. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy running my own company here.

I know that. I also know you’re not the sole CEO of your company.

Trust me, if one man could do all the work, there would be only one CEO. And that would be me. Also, I’m more into real estate than media.

"I know that, too. I was hoping you wouldn’t be against diversification, venturing into