Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
I don’t do one-night stands. Really. I don’t.
I don’t approach strangers at bars; I don’t go home with men whose last names I don’t know, and I definitely don’t have the best sex of my life with someone I’ll never see again. Even that gorgeous man with the dry humor, the sharp jaw, and the sinful hands?
Except, I did. All of it.
One incredible, rule-breaking night. But then…
Monday happens.
He’s standing in my boss’s office. Tailored suit. Ice in his voice. Zero recognition on his face.
Matthew Astor. CEO. My boss’s older brother.
And for the next two weeks, he’s MY boss.
He calls me Ms. Olivers like he’s never heard me scream his name. I call him Mr. Astor like I don’t know exactly what’s under that suit. Nobody at the office knows what happened between us.
My body, unfortunately, did not get the memo.
Two weeks. I just have to survive two weeks.
I am not going to survive two weeks.
Am I?
_________________________________________________________________________________
💕 “One perfect night.
One inconvenient boss.
Zero regrets.”💕
_________________________________________________________________________________
The BOSS: a forbidden, one-night-stand, workplace romance
Workplace tension, laugh-out-loud banter, and a slow burn that turns into a full-on wildfire. Ever had one perfect, no-strings night… but then HE walks into your office Monday morning wearing a $3,000 suit acting like it never happened?
Spice with charm. Standalone. No cheating. Spicy, forbidden quick read. Guaranteed HEA
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MATTHEW
Ineed to cure whatever infected my brain that made me think two weeks in my brother's branch office was a reasonable plan.
The bourbon is decent. Not great, but decent enough that I'm not insulted by the eighteen-dollar price tag, which is saying something because this hotel charges twelve dollars for a cup of coffee that tastes at least sixty percent water and maybe a drop of espresso.
I've been nursing this glass for thirty minutes, checking my phone every five because my VP probably reorganized my entire filing system while I was on the plane. Dean means well, but the man color-codes things for fun. I'll spend a week undoing whatever organizational fever dream he's having without me there to stop it.
The bar is dimly lit, all black and walnut oak, the kind of place you just know overcharges everything. For the record, I'm far from frugal, but I also hate overpaying, which is funny because we've made a business out of selling handbags and wallets that don't cost below five thousand. That’s a lot of greenbacks for a purse.
Jazz plays softly in the background. Definitely not live, but it's not bad. At least they got that right.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out. Another email from Dean. Subject line: "Small organizational update."
Fuck. He wasn't even supposed to be in the office until tomorrow.
I set the phone face-down on the bar and take another sip. Two weeks. That's what I promised my younger brother, Levi. Two weeks to cover his operation while he finally takes Angela on the Maldives honeymoon they should have taken six months ago.
They got married, and he went back to work the following Monday because we just launched a new collaboration. I couldn't even blame him because I would have done the same.
The thing is, Levi and I learned the same lessons growing up. Dad made sure of that. Every morning over breakfast, he'd drill it into us that we don't work for ourselves. We work for the thousands of families who depend on Astor Group paychecks. Their mortgages, their kids' college funds, their retirement plans, their vacation. All of it sits on our shoulders. Dad carried that weight every day of his life, and he made damn sure we understood we'd carry it too.
But where I took that lesson and built walls with it, Levi somehow managed to stay warm. That's Mom's influence. She was everything Dad wasn't—relaxed, funny, the type of person who made you feel like the world wouldn't end if you took a day off. Levi got more of that from her than I did. Maybe that's why he can run a branch office and still remember to buy his wife flowers. Maybe that's why his employees actually like working for him instead of just fearing him.
I check my phone again. It's a text from my assistant.
"Matthew, Dean wants to know if you'd like your pens arranged by brand or by ink color."
Jesus Christ.
I'm typing back a response ("Just leave my office alone.") when someone slides onto the barstool next to me. I don't look up immediately. Hotel bars are full of business travelers who think proximity equals permission to start conversations. I like my peace, thank you very much.
"Shirley Temple," the woman says to the bartender.
Her voice is a bit raspy, and somehow, that gets my attention. I look up, and…
Holy mother of God.
She's got dark hair that falls just past her shoulders in waves, and when she turns slightly to scan the room, I catch her profile. Sharp cheekbone, long lashes, and full red lips.