Marrying My Ex’s Boss Read Online Jordan Silver

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 70185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)

When her husband left her and their three little girls for one of his work colleagues, Justine did not take it lying down. The SAHM refused to be a victim and came out swinging.
She ended up having one too many at the bar across the street from the corporate party where she planned to expose them and get a bit of her own back and things got way out of hand.
Marcus Devereaux had just landed back in town after years of ignoring his grandfather’s pleas that he come home and take over the family business when the hot blonde called out her ex and his affair partner in a room full of businessmen and women. It was the beginning of the end for the confirmed bachelor who never believed there was a woman alive who could capture his interest and keep it.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


Okay, Justine, enough of this crying shit. I drank the last of my third drink in twenty minutes and slammed the glass down on the counter. I left the bartender a nice tip because she’s a good sort who listened to my woes and was just as upset as me about the shit that was going on in my life.

She kinda reminded me of the women I grew up with. Those boss bitches in steel-toe boots who could hold their own against anyone, man, woman or child.

After years of being married to a sod, I’d forgotten that I was one of those women. It’s so bad that now I need liquid courage just to speak my truth, and that was never the case before.

I feel like a damn hypocrite. When my girlies from college call me up crying about their life issues, I’m always the one telling them how to navigate these things, and yet I’d let this spineless fuck slip by me while I wasn’t looking.

He'd worn me down, him and his mealy mouth bitch of a mother, talk about the mother-in-law from hell. I’d put up with her shit because I was in love with her breech-born mama’s boy zit of a son.

I’ve put up with much more than that, but what I absolutely will not do is put up with cheating. No, siree, that shit ain’t going to fly.

I trudged down the sidewalk and looked across the street at the five-star hotel that was my destination. The party room of that hotel, to be exact, where my husband and the other high-level executives from the company he works for, along with their wives and some lower-level employees, were gathered for some party or another.

Also in attendance is the rot-crotch bitch he was screwing behind my back for the last year while my stupid ass sat at home raising his asshole kids, that were doing their best to put me in an early grave.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids, but for fuck sake, don’t they ever stop moving? These little pissants, not one of them taller than my knee, be running my shit from sunup ‘til sundown.

I haven’t had a moment to myself since giving birth to my first five years ago and the other two that came right after because I let that asshole talk me into having the kids close together in age.

I put my whole existence on hold for this shit, and this is the thanks I get. I was so fucking mad I sobered up and had to go back to the bar for another round.

Not because I was afraid to do what I came there for, but because I’d reached the point of mad where my gun was not going to stay in my purse if I went over there now.

I had to hurry, though, because the babysitter had shit to do, and she couldn’t waste her night because I was too chicken, so after one more, I took a deep breath, walked out of the bar, stepped down off the sidewalk, and headed toward the beginning of the end.

I wasn’t dressed for this, which is something I knew before leaving my house to come here. The thing is, between finding out about the affair, calling the babysitter, and leaving the house, it had only been a half hour or so. I didn’t exactly have time to think or plan my outfit.

What the fuck do you wear to burn every fuck down? Hell, if I know. But the culottes and tee shirt I was wearing when I found the evidence is exactly what I’m wearing. I had to look down to remind myself what I had on my feet. Uggs house slippers.

I pushed my purse higher on my shoulder and walked through the doors of the hotel. I had my shades on and didn’t even look in the direction of the front desk because my business was not with them.

I knew where the ballroom was in this place since I’d been here before, so I took the elevator up and prayed the booze didn’t wear off too soon. I needn’t have worried, though, because the first thing I saw when I stepped off the elevator and into the party was a waiter with a tray full of champagne.

“I’ll have one of those, thank you.” People were already looking in my direction because, in a sea of black and white evening wear, I stood out like a sore thumb. Like, I give a good damn.

I didn’t look left nor right as I headed to the podium at the front of the room that they leave there for any blowhard who wants to blow smoke up the owner’s ass to go and make an ass of themselves. I was that ass today.

I think I heard my soon-to-be shit stain of an ex call out to me, but this was not his part of the show, not yet. “Hello, good evening. Attention, please.” I waited for the noise to settle down, and all eyes were on me.