My Boss’s Forbidden Daughter Read online Lindsey Hart

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50014 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)

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My Boss's Forbidden Daughter

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lindsey Hart

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One moment, she's hating on me. The next, she is seducing me.
From that first moment she laid eyes on me, She hated me.
At least, she thinks she hates me. But I can see the burning desire in her eyes. The need in those licks of her luscious lips. The sparks in those deep red blushes on her cheeks.
She denies it all. Well, I'm going to prove her wrong. I'll make her aware of the extent of her attraction to me. Because I want her just as much.
There is only one problem though. What if I'm caught romancing the boss's daughter? Will I lose everything I have worked so hard for?
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Lindsey Hart



My mom and Bill have finally gone and done it. They’ve completely lost their minds.

It’s the only thing that could explain the new guy. He’s here to replace my stepbrother, Lucas, who shacked up with his archnemesis. She just happened to be one-third of our besties’ trio. They took themselves off on a grand adventure to start their own company. They want to make a difference in the world by doing fair-trade and helping artisans who don’t come from much, get their product out there. It’s a great calling. Aria and Lucas—they’re making a difference.

My mom and my stepdad own this giant chain of grocery stores, and we keep acquiring more all the time. I started working for them around the same time I bought shares. I didn’t want anything handed to me, especially because my parents have worked their butts off to get where they are. After college and sporting a fresh degree in Business, they gave me a job.

It’s not glamourous doing accounting all day. Lucas had the fun position. He was the one who got to broker all our merger deals and takeovers. He was a rock star at it. I just put my share of work in with the books. Thanks to a collective effort, my shares are doing well. I’m thirty-one, and I think I could actually retire by forty. That kind of well.

But then this.

My mom and Bill decided to hire this.

This happens to be Johnathan Thatcher. We just had our first round of introductions with the rest of the staff, and now he’s doing what every other employee here does shortly after nine. Hit up the break room to get a second or maybe a third cup of coffee to try and stay awake.

I round the corner and find him there, standing in front of the industrial coffee maker like a break room god.

No one should be this handsome. Seriously, it’s a crime against humanity and female reproductive organs. My mom is worried that since I’m over thirty now, my ovaries are rapidly drying up. I almost wanted to find her after our orientation this morning and tell her that thanks to their new hire and the hour I just spent in a small meeting room in close proximity to him, I now have active proof that my ovaries are functioning perfectly. They’re actually on overdrive, thank you very much. Zero to sixty in two point three seconds. Pedal to the metal.

No one that hot should have a normal name like Johnathan Thatcher. John. That’s what he told us to call him. I feel like he should have an exotic name to match his exterior. Like Rico, or Luigio, or Devritzi or something. Okay, okay, so we don’t all have parents who like to give their children really difficult to pronounce and even harder to spell names. His mom took mercy on the rest of us.

He looks like someone went into a museum and cast a spell on one of those bronze statues that was carved two thousand years ago or whatever, but then again, I’m not a history expert. Or maybe that same magically inclined person went into the wilderness and used their magic wand to bring a tree or a mountain, or something equally as fresh scented and hard, to life.

The guy is jacked. He makes pouring a cup of coffee look like office porn. I’d like to see him in action with a stapler.

He’s broad. Like an inverted mountain. Huge shoulders, nice chest—especially defined in a crisp white dress shirt—trim waist, long legs, and an ass made of steel like it truly was magicked into being. I’m not, for the record, a flirty girl. I’m still single, half because I’ve had shit luck with guys, and half because I like being independent. I’m normally quiet and shy. I’m not the kind of girl who checks out her coworker’s ass.

Not normally.

I did not, during orientation this morning, imagine doing dirty things with that ass. For the record, we live in Miami. Winter is a thing I don’t fully understand. My other bestie, she moved to freaking Colorado, so I do get a taste of it now and then when I visit her. She told me this hilarious story about it getting so cold that things freeze to metal. Hands. Tongues. Other exposed appendages. I didn’t believe it at first, but apparently, it happens.

Okay, I’ll confess. I sat in that meeting this morning, at our perfectly prim and proper boardroom, probably looking prim and proper myself, and freaking imagined John Thatcher’s butt being freezing cold and my tongue sticking to it. Just the cheek. I swear. It was just the cheek.

Mr. Granite Bottom keeps pouring coffee. I stop in my tracks, hanging back behind the corner wall like a stalker, and watch his muscles ripple under that white dress shirt. It’s neatly tucked into a set of black pants that do wonders for his already wonderful rear end. It really isn’t fair. My mom and Bill clearly weren’t thinking when they hired him. He’s like straight lawsuit bait. No one around here is going to get any work done with a distraction like this in the office.