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

  I’ve never related to people very well. I see them. I hear them. But I always feel as if there is a wall between us that I can’t punch through. I can’t read body language, and most of the time, I have a difficult time understanding context in conversations. I wouldn’t say that I’m socially awkward; I’m socially uncapable.

  It haunts me, how many times I’ve messed up interpersonal relationships. I don’t realize that I’m being an ass until after I’ve already dug a hole and fractured my leg in it. By the time my brain catches up to what I did wrong, it’s already too late. Worse, I don’t feel bad about what I said, so, I’ve been told, it makes it hard for me to learn from my mistakes.

  Drumming my fingers on the top of my desk, I lean back in my chair and run a hand through my hair. A few months ago, my personal assistant called in sick because her dog died. I called her back and demanded she get over it and come to work. She quit.

  I’m guessing that I didn’t handle that whole scenario very well. Will I learn from it? Probably not.

  Restless, I sit straight and shut my laptop. I swivel in my chair and look out the wall of windows behind my desk. The Miami ocean front is absolutely stunning this time of quasi-morning. The sun is just waking up and casts tendrils of color across the dark sky. Buildings are lit up with starlight, headlights twinkling below on the highway. I wish I could hear the ocean from here. I can see it, but only my memory can taste it, smell it, and hear the relaxing crash and slide of the waves. I have a condo right on the water, but I’m rarely there.

  I live here, in my office. It’s my best friend, my lover, my family. It’s everything to me and I rarely leave it.

  Problem is that Helen wasn’t just my personal assistant; she was the glue that held every aspect of my working life, and much of my private life, together. She did everything for me, right down to dropping off my dry cleaning and scheduling my dental appointments. I’ve been completely lost without her, and nothing I’ve said has been good enough to bring her back. I’ve been so uncapable in managing myself that it prompted an absolute nightmare: my mother stepped in.

  It kills me that I can do absolutely anything required of me in business. I close deals, manage billion-dollar developments and negotiate with a flair that escapes me in every other aspect of my life. Business negotiations often require me to be curt, to the point and aggressive, so I don’t mince words or even watch what I say. It never works when I try anyway… not really.

  I’m an ass, and the one thing that makes me worse? Having my mother trying to censor me. Hovering. Nagging. Reminding me that I have this issue and that I’m not doing enough to temper it. My father was the smooth talker, the socializer, the one who ran PR and left the business angles to me, behind the scenes where I couldn’t do any damage. But now I’m front and center and I’m flailing.

  A man like me does. Not. Flail.

  I can’t sit here any longer. I get up and hit the company gym downstairs, working up a sweat but doing nothing for the constant swirl in my mind that doesn’t sleep. Coming back to my office, I shower in my private bathroom and dress in one of the suits I keep hanging in the closet. I’m adjusting my tie in the mirror when I realize the sun has fully risen and my office is flooded with light. I go to the windows again and bask in it, letting the warmth seep into me as I take a big breath. The sun and the water soothe me. They’re the only things that do and at least I get the advantage of one of them to start my morning.

  I fiddle with my tie and shove my hands into my pockets. My phone rings and I take a call from a wealthy landowner in Morocco. We’ve been dancing back and forth for a year now and I’ve done everything I can think of to woo them into hiring TerraLuxe to build the elite luxury resort their investors are planning. I need their contract not only to grow TerraLuxe, but to help solidify a plan I’ve been working on for a while. He invites me to a soiree he’s holding in Los Angeles to schmooze investors and business partners, in one month. Of course, I agree to attend. But my heart sinks. I’ll be flying across country, alone, to struggle through a huge social event. It’ll be the death of any chance we have to nail this contract.

  Turning away from the windows, I go to my desk and check my daily calendar. The appointment I have with Lora isn’t on it, so any moment my secretary will be buzzing me to see if I have time to speak with her. I’ll pretend like I don’t, and then I’ll relent and have her sent in.

  Lora.

  I remembered her the moment she’d walked in here for the interview. I remembered how quiet she’d been in college, and timid around me whenever we ran into each other. We had one class together—I can’t even recall which one—and we’d been assigned to work on something as a team and she’d nailed it. The details escape me, but her huge brown eyes didn’t. And that red hair, so much of it, always spilling around her head, barely contained. She’d looked good at the interview, those curls smoothed into professional waves, her face fresh and eyes hopeful.

  Apparently, I’d loved that team project enough to encourage her to apply here after graduation. I was three years ahead of her and once I graduated, I took over TerraLuxe. I can’t remember what promises or encouragements I might have offered anyone. Especially not after what happened the night before graduation. That was the moment my brain went completely haywire and my soul changed forever.

  I’m harder now, jaded, I suppose, and I carry the nagging feeling that people want me for my title and what I can do for them. It’s always been that way, sure. Being an heir to a billion-dollar company will do that. But the sensation is stronger now that I own it all. Lora reminding me of our little conversation rubbed me the wrong way and removed any feeling of nostalgia I might have had over our time in college.

  I remember that night in the hot tub. I’d thought she’d been coming on to me. But she’d looked too uncomfortable in her little blue bikini, too shy as she stepped into the water across from me and the vibe was all wrong. She was just a chick looking to soak in the water and I happened to be in her space. Fair enough. I’d never had to urge a girl to go back to my room and I certainly wasn’t going to start with one who clearly wasn’t interested.

  It was clear to me that she’d developed a backbone since college. She challenged me, stood up to me. Gave my bull right back to me. That was something even Helen didn’t do. Maybe it was what I needed, because my brain responded. Lora made me pause, think, then speak… even if the words were still not socially encouraging. She might be what I need to get through this soiree and come out the other side with the contract.

  The buzzer on my desk goes off and I grin. So, it begins.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a Lora Marcetta here who says she has an—”

  “Send her in.”

  So much for my plan to make her wait. I don’t want to wait. In fact, I’m excited to see her again and see what kind of banter we can get into. I frown at the thought but shake it off. The door opens and Lora strides in. She’s wearing a skirt that hugs her curvy hips and has a little flutter trim that ripples as she walks. A white and black pinstripe button down is tucked into the waist, showing off her nice figure. Her hair is the same ball of curls I remember but wrangled back into a neat ponytail with some spiraling around her temple.

  “Good morning,” she says and stands in front of me with both hands clutching her brown leather bag.

  “You’re one minute late.”

  She glances at her watch—a real watch on her wrist and not the cell phone version—and looks back to me. “Must be a difference in our settings. I apologize.”

  I gesture her to a seat and take my own across from her with my desk between us. Last time she was here, I’d insulted her suit. She stepped it up today, and I remind myself not to comment on her clothing.

  “Your degree is in…?”

  Her left eyebrow goes up. “Business management.”

  “Did they teach you how to make small talk, mingle, laugh at mundane jokes, flirt with influential businesspeople, and read body language all
while memorizing any and every detail that might help close multi-billion-dollar negotiations?”

  Her lips part but she closes them again. I go on. “How about the art of intentional redirection and conversation manipulation. Did they teach you that?”

  She pulls her bag to the side as one does in preparation to get up. “No, Mr. Calder. They didn’t teach me any of those things in business school. Clearly, this was a mistake.”

  “It’s not a mistake. I’m determining how much I have to teach you.”

  “You offered me six figures to essentially gaslight and manipulate your business contacts? That’s what I’m getting from this conversation.”

  “I offered you six figures to help me keep my mouth shut.”

  She stills and stares at me. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Folding my hands on the desk in front of me, I attempt a reassuring smile, but my face doesn’t feel any different, so I know that I’ve failed. “My personal assistant is my task horse, yes. Organizing and arranging every detail of my business life and my private and social ones, as well. However, in this instance, the bigger requirement is someone who can accompany me and take the lead on social engagements. Making and curating conversation to the benefit of our end goal, which is to close deals. Schmoozing the right people. Being a friendly, sociable presence that people remember with a smile. Not… what they remember after socializing with me.”

  Lora’s lips pull into a crooked smile—one she’s trying very hard to contain. It’s infectious and I feel myself doing the same.

  “I… believe you’re calling yourself an asshole, Sir.”

  My office door suddenly shuts, and I hold back a groan. Not now.

  My mother hurries over to Lora, her yellow suit and bright red heels making my head hurt. Lora looks pleasantly surprised as she takes my mother’s offered hand for a shake.

  “That would be correct, and the very fact that this young woman had the guts to say that to you says she’s the absolute perfect one for the job. Now, just how quickly can you get started on making my son not an asshole?”

  Chapter Four: Lora

  “Margaret Bendi, Jett’s mother. Very nice to meet you—?”

  I gape at the attractive older woman. She’s the same one who crashed my interview. There’s an air about her that makes me think there’s no way she’s this man’s mother. She’s warm and pleasant and kind. All the things Jett certainly is not.

  “Lora Marcetta.”

  “Get out, Margaret.”

  Margaret tisks and cocks her head at me. “Do you see what I mean?”

  “Margaret.”

  “I recently stepped down from my position as head of acquisitions to be Jett’s personal secretary. But now you’re here, so I can finally blow this joint.”

  “Mar-gar-et.”

  She waves a hand and winks at me. “Fine, I’m going. I’ll clear my things out of your office, Lora. I’ve been holed up in there trying my best to keep this guy running smoothly.” She thumbs at her son. “But just like when he was little, he has a mind of his own. So, I wish you very good luck. Give me half an hour, and the office is yours.”

  Her heels are loud as she leaves, and I try and wrap my head around all this. He calls his mother by her first name? There’s a dynamic there that I don’t want to get involved in. Pulling myself together, I focus my sole attention on the man in front of me. He looks completely unruffled. Getting back to the business at hand is what we need to make this less weird.

  “Do you have a written job description for this position that I can read?”

  “No. The details constantly change. Why would I attempt to capture something fluid?”

  I have the feeling I’m in for something akin to quicksand. “The basis of this position then, is to keep you from offending people during business negotiations? Is that right?”

  “Correct.”

  “As well as pull the personal details of your life together?”

  “And collaborate with my secretary to make sure my business obligations and personal ones intersect smoothly. Consider yourself my PR person, always at my side, always the face people see and warm up to, when they’re interacting with me.”

  My insides feel as if they are shrinking. I’m not the strongly confident type. I’m not one to stand up and speak in front of people or put myself out there. I’ve gotten better over the years, yes. I mean, I drummed up the courage to walk in here for an interview two days ago, got bounced, and look at me now? Simply because I’d stood up for myself. I’m not sure why it’s different with Jett, but I don’t feel the need to hold back with him. He brings something out in me that drives me to hold my ground with him. I’m sure I’m not the only one he brings out the worst in.

  Yet, the thought of being out there in front of his business associates, clients, investors and the like, being the face of the CEO, the one they all want to talk to and mingle with, makes me want to dry heave. I’m not that girl.

  But for six-plus figures, I can be that girl.

  I think.

  “I’m not a naturally outgoing person.” I need to be truthful with him. “I’m probably more socially awkward than anyone you know.”

  “I remember.” Blunt. Ouch.

  “You do?”

  “There wasn’t anything memorable about you save for your inability to look people in the eye, and your red hair. Certainly, there was nothing remarkable about you. However, there is something you’ve developed in the meantime that reassures me you can do this job.”

  I sigh. No wonder this man needs to be muzzled. “I’m glad that I left such an amazing impression.”

  He blinks. “Are you being sarcastic?”

  I’m not sure if it’s a trick question, because how could he not recognize the tone of my voice and the implication of the words themselves? “Yes. Yes, I was.”

  He contemplates this, and I almost see him filing it away for later. Maybe he’s on some sort of medication that makes it difficult for him to understand… maybe, he’s a little slow? He had a stroke at a young age. Margaret dropped him on his head when he was a baby. Something.

  “Your first task will be to accompany me to the staff meeting in fifteen minutes. The larger task at hand is to prepare for a meet and greet with our Moroccan landowner who is a breath away from giving TerraLuxe a development contract. It’s in a month. You’ll need to read up on the key players, pull out personal details on all of them—who their spouses are, how many kids they have, what type of dog they have—and we’ll strategize business elements that will help you win them over. You’ll be required to improve your appearance, so you fit into the clique. We need to ditch the Target look for Gucci.”

  I don’t absorb the insult. I’m too excited about LA. I mean, two days ago, I was sitting on my couch browsing freelance websites for article spinning jobs that paid a half-cent per word, and today I have a huge salary and a position that pays me to travel.

  An alarm goes off on his cell phone. He retrieves it from his inside pocket and clicks it off, then stands and heads for the door. Glancing back at me, he spreads his hands in question like I’m an idiot. “Staff meeting, Lora.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I get to my feet and hurry after him. “I haven’t officially accepted your offer, though.”

  “I’ll give you a line of credit at the Gucci store downtown.”

  “I accept.”

  Clutching my bag in both hands, I resist the urge to fist pump as I clip after him down the hall. I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m supposed to do in this staff meeting. He opens a set of huge walnut doors and doesn’t bother holding them for me as he walks inside. I catch the door and let myself in to a room full of bored looking people who turn their attention to me. My hairline tingles—great—and my back grows warm. Fight or flight kicks in, dishing out a helping of sudden nausea that tightens my throat. Jett takes his seat at the head of table and all the other seats are taken, so I shift to the back and stand by the wall.

  He n
ails me with a look, his voice terse. “Take someone’s seat and sit down.”

  Take someone’s seat? I glance around, aware that my eyes are wide, and I look like a scared rabbit. Everyone is looking at me, reflecting my own discomfort and maybe, a little fear. I raise a finger at the woman directly in front of me, change my mind and scratch my neck with it instead. She gives a ghost of a smile and stands, offering me her seat. I want to apologize to her, but I don’t as I scoot into the chair.

  “For God’s sake, can we get on with this already?” Jett opens a leather portfolio and spreads some papers in front of him. I sit and take out a notebook for good measure. It has a picture of Labrador puppies rolling around in flowers on the front. I flip it open quickly, hoping no one saw.

  “Bruce,” Jett barks. “Where are we at with the Red Raven development? If you’re going to tell me nothing, then you can get up and go home.”

  Bruce looks down at the table, then to Jett, closes his folder and nods. He starts to rise, and Jett shakes his head. “Why is there a standstill on this? What happened with the purchase inquiry with Johnson and Demp?”

  “Price was too high, sir. And you said it was absolutely not negotiable.”

  “It’s not.”

  “You’re pricing the building out of the market.” Bruce’s face paled as if he hadn’t intended to say it out loud. “With all due respect, Mr. Calder, this is the twelfth buyer who has backed out because of price. If you’re not willing to negotiate, it’s not going to sell.”

  “Sit down.”

  Bruce sat and Jett hooked a finger and pressed it momentarily against his lips. “What kind of client are we after? One who wants to negotiate to the lowest penny, or one with enough self-respect and business sense to take an absolutely stunning property like Red Raven for the masterpiece it is and pay what it’s worth? What kind of employee do you think I want? One who knows the value of the company he works for, or one who pushes to undersell it?”