Bossy Bully: A Sweet Billionaire Boss Romance (Sweet Bossy Millionaires Book 1) Read online

  I check my phone again even though I know there won’t be any messages. Justin and I parted ways, amicably after all that, and that alone is a weight off my mind. Jett will never speak to me again. My dad is working. My college friends are all out doing their thing. And I’m here, pining for the most difficult, insufferable, infuriating man on the planet. Wishing he’d forgive me. Hurting like I’ve never hurt before because he won’t.

  My phone goes off and I jump. My heart pounds and I fumble the phone, scrambling to hold it tight and check the message. It’s a reminder that I have an appointment in one hour at the Gucci store to be fitted for an evening gown.

  With a mumbled curse, I delete the reminder and shove the phone into my back pocket. We’re supposed to leave for LA in two days. How will Jett manage without someone to guide him? He’d been so insistent that he close this deal, desperate even. He has so many plans that I’ll never see come together. The Maldives, the Moroccan possibilities, and Red Raven. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but I’d gotten awfully invested in the short time I’d worked at TerraLuxe.

  And I’d started falling really hard for my boss.

  I never imagined I’d feel that way twice in a lifetime.

  I didn’t realize at the time that Jett was beginning to care for me. It was rare that he’d let anyone be close to him; very rare to have someone he felt close to. He’d let Sam in and had formed a bond with his best friend that other people weren’t privy to. Except for me, and look what I’d done with his confidence, his feelings. His trust.

  Oh, God. I double over on the couch and clasp my hands behind my head. I never meant to hurt him! I had no idea when I’d first walked into TerraLuxe that things would develop the way they did. Tears threated to blind me and blinking them back isn’t working. I quickly think of where the restroom is, but before I can turn to go the other way, a hand appears in front me, holding a tissue.

  I look up and do a double take. Margaret stands there, offering the tissue. Her hair is pulled into a simple ponytail and her face is pleasantly free of make-up. She’s in a pretty sundress and sandals and looks completely different than the flashy corporate version I’m used to. I don’t take the tissue, so she grips my hand, turns it over and puts it in my palm. Her smile is warm, her eyes so kind. I don’t deserve that.

  “Hello, dear. Such a shame. Orange is not your color with all that red hair.”

  My chin begins to tremble, and it takes great effort to hold back my emotions. I slowly realize how odd it is that a woman like Jett’s mother is in a store like this.

  “What can I help you with, Margaret? It’s only my second day, so don’t expect miracles, but I’ll do what I can.”

  She adjusts the designer sunglasses on her head and loops her arm through mine. “Well, I’ll be going out of town for a few days and decided I need some of those glass things that you fill up and tip upside down to water your plants. You know, it looks like a globe on the top and—”

  “You’re going to LA.” The words pop out. A tear falls and I use the tissue, grateful Margaret had shown up when she did to give it to me.

  “Yes. Someone has to keep that mouth of his in check.” She touches my arm and turns to me. “Lora, I’m actually not here for water globe things. I’m here to thank you.”

  “What? Why on earth would you thank me after what I did?”

  She tips her head to look deeply into my eyes, the seriousness there shaking me to my core. “Because, without you, my son wouldn’t be alive. You saved his life. Do you… do you even recognize that?”

  I cross my arms and look at the floor, trying so damn hard not to cry. “I left the scene. I just… left when I should have stayed.”

  She takes both of my arms in her hands and forces me to look at her. “Thank you, Lora. Thank you.” Suddenly, we’re embracing, and tears fall freely. I dab with the tissue, but it quickly becomes soaked, so she reaches behind herself and hands me another. I laugh, and I don’t know why.

  “You know, he’s a pain in the ass. So difficult most of the time. But I wouldn’t trade him for anyone. Jett is my favorite person in the world, and I can’t imagine my life without him. I would like to promise you that, in time, he’ll come around and forgive but sadly, he has as hard of a time with forgiveness and he does in telling a lie.”

  “I don’t expect forgiveness, Margaret. I don’t deserve it.”

  She pulls away and holds me out from her to give me an encouraging smile. “You made mistakes, and you owned up to them. That’s all we can do. That’s how we grow.”

  I want to argue, but I’m deflated, and the words won’t come. My break time is nearing its end, and as much as I don’t want to go back to the bland meeting room where I’ll watch safety videos for the next five hours, I have to.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I excuse myself to answer it. I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway.

  “Ms. Marcetta?”

  “Yes.”

  I hear the next words as if they were shards from shattered glass. Father. Chest pain. Our Mercy critical care. I’m already moving before the caller finishes speaking, throwing my clipboard down and hurrying for the exit. Margaret is right behind me and snags my elbow as the automatic doors swish open and blast us both with heat from outside.

  “Lora, what is it?”

  “My father is at Our Mercy with chest pain. I have to go.”

  I’m driving, but I don’t recall getting in my vehicle. My phone rings and it’s my new supervisor’s number but I don’t pick up. Yes, I just ran out on my new job—former new job—but I don’t care about that right now. My father had a heart attack three months ago. He’s having chest pains after going back to his mostly physical job. I don’t need a medical degree to know that it’s not good.

  I hit the steering wheel with my palms. I should have done more to keep him from going back to work. I should have done more to keep my job at TerraLuxe. Damn it! If he’s in bad shape… if he dies, I’ll never forgive myself. Pressure starts behind my eyes, but no tears form to blur my vision. I think I cried them all in front of Margaret. Maybe it’s shock or adrenaline or pure worry that keeps me from breaking down. I don’t know. I certainly don’t feel steady or collected when I park and race into the hospital, sliding to a stop at the desk to ask about my Papa.

  Room 3321, third floor. We’ve been on this floor before, not that long ago. I’d hoped to never be here again. There are two nurses in the room when I get there, both turning to look at me. I recognize the older nurse from last time Papa was here after his heart attack. She wears her hair severely pulled back and wears a white dress, stockings and shoes like nurses did a long time ago. She was excellent with my Papa before and my legs go weak with relief to see her.

  “Linda,” I call her name. “What’s going on?”

  My Papa lies still on the bed, the covers tucked in tightly around him. His face has that sickly gray color I remember from the last time. Maybe the whiteness of the sheets gives it a worse hue this time; I’m not sure. He looks gaunt and thinner than he did just a few short hours ago. I go to his bedside and take his hand, smiling when his watery eyes open and find me.

  “Papa. I’m here.”

  Linda thanks the other nurse as she leaves the room, then puts her hand on my shoulder and gives a little squeeze. “Your Papa had a pretty severe bout of angina which is sudden chest pain that comes and goes. Dr. Lercado has ordered lots of tests, given his past history. The good news is that the initial cardiogram is good—no active heart attack.”

  I clasp my other hand over my father’s. “That’s good news. Such good news.”

  Deep lines form around his eyes as he smiles, trying to comfort me. Always trying to comfort me. “Maybe I went back to work too soon, mia. I should have stayed at home and taken my chances with the dog.”

  He’s trying to joke with me, but I can’t swap my fear for humor right now. “You think? Papa, what did I tell you before? I told you, no going back to work.”
<
br />   He tsk-tsks me with his tongue and closes his eyes. His face is etched with fatigue. But other staff come in to start the testing—drawing blood, performing another cardiogram, taking him to radiology—and three hours pass before he’s finally able to keep his eyes closed and drift into sleep. Darkness shades outside his windows, and the aide comes in and closes them and makes Papa comfortable. My stomach growls and I know that I should get something to eat before I settle in and wait for test results to come in, or fall asleep, whichever happens first. But the very thought of food makes me ill.

  I’m so alone. I have no one to call. My knee jerk reaction is to call Justin, but that’s all he really was to me. An outlet. But he’d been an outlet that didn’t offer support or advice or give me anything in return. Jett challenged me. He listened. He said what he felt needed to be said, and amazingly, he wasn’t always wrong. Abrupt, yes. But his insight was more than most people had given me in my entire life.

  I can’t call him, either.

  It’s just me and Papa against the world, and I hope and pray that it doesn’t end up just being me.

  Alone.

  Chapter Fourteen: Jett

  I’m not a stupid man. At least, I didn’t used to be. Deciding to take my mother to LA with me to the soiree might prove that things have changed, though. The news she just delivered isn’t what I was expecting. I’d thought we were going to lunch to discuss details about attending the event.

  Instead, she rocked my very foundation.

  I have changed, even though I used to think that wasn’t possible. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be standing in the hallway at Our Mercy hospital right now, considering the best thing to say when I walk into room 3321. My palms wouldn’t be sweaty, and my insides wouldn’t be in knots. The old Jett Calder did not get nervous or second guess anything. Yet, right now, I’m tumbling over every word that I want to say to be sure I get it right. I don’t have anyone with me to make sure that I say the correct thing, that I interact in a socially appropriate way.

  Lora’s soft voice filters out of the room and it gives me shivers. I got so used to having her around the office, that her absence was pronounced and made me edgy. My nerves settle some as I listen to her soothing tone, even though it’s not me that she’s speaking to. Not this time.

  Once, in third grade, a girl in my class had given me a Valentine. It wasn’t the standard kind that you buy at the store and write the recipient’s name onto. Most kids didn’t bother writing my name, not like they did for the other kids. They gave me a blank card with a sucker attached because it was an obligation, not something they wanted to waste time personalizing. Not for me.

  Even at that age, I recognized that kids didn’t understand me or have the desire to try. I didn’t run and play. I stood and observed. I didn’t throw or catch a ball. I held the ball in my hands and wondered how it was made. I didn’t talk about the latest cartoons or read comic books. I collected medical books and read every page. But this particular Valentine, from this one girl, had my name on it, written carefully as if she’d put thought into getting each of the letters perfect.

  Shivers go over me as I recall that moment. It was the first time that anyone besides Margaret had made me feel as if I was worth the effort.

  Until Lora.

  I have nothing to apologize to her for, yet I have the unfamiliar feeling like that’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s a white lie, she’d said once. Something nice that you say to make someone feel good, even if you don’t necessarily mean it. I could try that, but I don’t want to lie to her. Besides, she’ll see right through me anyway. I’m going to have to do what I always do and just be myself and hope for the best.

  “Lora, Lora, Lora, you are putting too much on yourself. We’ve talked about this.”

  It’s an older man’s voice, her father I assume since I didn’t see anyone else in the room. The voice sounds strong and that’s a good sign. My mother had said he was having chest pains when they brought him to the hospital yesterday. I imagine that’s even more concerning with his past medical history. I should have come yesterday, but I wavered on it, feeling like I might be intruding. I’ve never worried about intruding before—yet another sign that something is changing inside me.

  “Papa don’t try and make me feel better. You’re not going back to work, and I’ll pick up a second job. Well, I’ll have to get two because I’m sure the home improvement store is going to fire me for running out without telling anyone.”

  “Listen to me. The money your mother and I gave you was a gift. Only you were worried about paying it back. Remember what I said when you made that silly contract for paying me back?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did I say?”

  She sniffs and coughs a little bit and I have the sudden sensation that I’m doing something wrong by standing here, listening.

  “You said that you didn’t expect a cent in repayment, save for one dollar.”

  “Yes! Because I gave you a dollar for good luck, and luck can be shared. Share that luck with me and consider this crazy debt idea of yours put to rest.” There was a pause and the man’s voice grew low and thick. “I have enough money to live out the rest of my life if I’m frugal. It’s the boredom that I worry about. But I promise you, I’ll take it easy from now on. No more working. At least, not unloading trucks. Maybe I’ll deliver papers, or flip burgers.”

  She laughed, and the bed creaked, and Jett imagined them hugging. She’d worried this hard about paying back a debt she didn’t even owe, simply because she wanted to be sure a loved one had enough.

  He rapped on the side of the door and waited for her to turn around before stepping over the threshold. She nearly fell out of her chair.

  “Jett? What are you doing here?”

  Was it his imagination, or did her face pale a couple shades of white? Why was his pulse racing so hard? Why… was the old man in the bed grinning as if he’d just won the lottery?

  Lora stood and crossed her arms. He should go, but not without saying what he’d come to say.

  “May I have a minute of your time?”

  She wiped at her eyes and he resisted the urge to put his hands on her shoulders. She was wearing joggers and an oversized shirt that kept slipping off her left shoulder. Her hair was a crazy knot on the top of her head, and she wasn’t wearing makeup. But she was beautiful like this, raw and perfect. No amount of designer clothes could make her more beautiful than she was right now.

  “We’re waiting on some test results, so I can’t really take the time right now.”

  “Go in the hallway, Lora!” Her father spouted. “It’s not like anyone will get through that door without going past you first.”

  She made a half turn to look at her father. “Papa!”

  “Go. Go.”

  She barely glances at me as she joins me by the door, and we step out into the hall opposite her father’s door. She looks at me like she can’t believe that I’m here and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

  “Shouldn’t you have left already? You’re supposed to be in LA tonight.”

  It’s only eight a.m. but I should have been in the air already. I rescheduled my private plane to leave in two hours, giving us plenty of time to arrive in LA before the soiree. “My plane leaves at ten. I needed to do this first.”

  She shrugs and I want to take her into my arms so badly. “Do what?”

  She looks me over just then as if really seeing me, her eyes widening in surprise. I’m in jeans and a plain gray tee shirt. It was too hot for a hoodie, or I would have worn one. I retrieve a folded white envelope from my back pocket and open it, handing it to her. It’s a small blueprint that my designer completed.

  “This is the final plan for the Red Raven building. The lower floor is sectioned into offices that are going to be a workforce development center, a second-hand shop for professional clothing, and employment services office. The upper levels will be transitional housing apartments for displaced families,
homeless and others in need of both emergency and longer-term housing until permanent residences can be found.”

  Her mouth is open, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “There’s an unfortunate number of homeless and displaced in Miami—people that need help getting good jobs and finding a safe place to live. We’re going to help them with that. This was… this was Sam’s master project assignment for graduation. He’d hoped to bring it to life one day.”

  She just looks at me and I wonder if I’m dreaming this whole thing, maybe speaking in a foreign language. “Lora, I want you to be the director of development. You asked me to teach you, and I will. I want to because I know you’re the best fit for this project.”

  She shakes her head, her voice sputtering to life. “W-why? Why are you offering this to me?”

  I try to smile but it comes out as one of those frown-smiles. “I didn’t mean to start an argument with Sam that night. It just happened, and in the moment, I thought if I kept pushing him and saying things he didn’t want to hear, that I could make him change his mind about leaving. I was scared to lose my best friend. Just as you were scared to lose your father. It doesn’t make what either of us did right. But I want you to know that I understand. I don’t like that you lied to me. But I’d be a hypocrite if I said I didn’t know why you did it.”

  She tucks hair behind her ears and gives a soft laugh. “You do realize that you gave me this entire speech without dropping one insult. Things are looking up for you.”

  I believe she’s teasing me. I’m going to assume that she is. “I’ve had a good teacher.”

  “Is the salary negotiable?”

  “It’s only common sense to negotiate something like that. I can teach you a lot of things, but if you don’t have common sense, I’m afraid you’re—”