Hard & Hungry Boss Box Set Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Hard Boss

  Copyright

  Also by Luke Steel

  Dominic

  Lucy

  Hungry Boss

  Nate

  Emma

  Next Door Boss

  Hard and Hungry

  Luke Steel

  Contents

  Hard Boss

  Copyright

  Also by Luke Steel

  1. Dominic

  2. Dominic

  3. Dominic

  4. Lucy

  5. Dominic

  6. Dominic

  7. Dominic

  8. Dominic

  9. Lucy

  10. Dominic

  Epilogue

  Hungry Boss

  Copyright

  Also by Luke Steel

  1. Nate

  2. Nate

  3. Nate

  4. Emma

  5. Nate

  6. Nate

  7. Nate

  8. Nate

  9. Nate

  10. Nate

  Epilogue

  Next Door Boss

  Hard Boss

  Copyright © 2017 by Luke Steel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Also by Luke Steel

  Hard Boss

  Hungry Boss

  Dirty in Charge

  Wicked Billionaire

  Filthy in a Suit

  Single Dad Boss

  Last Hookup

  Alpha Bodyguard

  The Hot List

  Next Door Boss

  1

  Dominic

  “I’ll give you a million dollars if you stay.”

  “You already gave me two million dollars. No deal.” The old bird keeps packing, withdrawing items from the deep walnut drawers, placing them in a white cardboard banker’s box.

  I lean back from the edge of Sandra’s desk and fold my arms. She won’t let me call a service for her. She won’t let me help because she knows I’ll just take everything out of the box and put it all back in her desk. Where they belong.

  “How will you live with yourself, leaving me like this?”

  “On the beach, sipping piña coladas behind my beautiful new condo in Boca Raton.”

  “You don’t drink.”

  “Retirement is an excellent time to begin.” She waggles a finger at me and continues packing.

  Mrs. Sandra Talbot has been my executive assistant for over twelve years. Before that, she was my father’s executive assistant for over thirty years, until he died. Before that, she was working as one of Breson Company’s phone operators when my grandfather promoted her to the secretary pool and then to executive assistant. This woman has been a part of my life since the day I was born. She knows everything about me. She probably knows my company better than I do. And she’s retiring to Florida.

  “Oh, stop looming, Dominic. Here.” With a disapproving side-eye, she pulls out a small oval candy tin she’s always kept tucked hidden in her left-side drawer and holds it out to me. Something she always used to do when I was a boy, visiting my father’s office, to bribe me to behave. The bronze metal tin has red roses on the lid. She opens it and I see butter mints nestled inside. I love those things.

  She did the exact same thing the very first day I ever met her. I was four. Our eyes meet briefly. The moment is a sweet throwback gesture from my childhood, a private joke between us. It’s the very last thing that could possibly make me feel better about her leaving.

  I take a mint, turn away, and pop the candy as I walk to the office window. I pretend to stare out at the twilight over the city fifty stories up, but in the reflection of the glass, I can see her bend to place the tin in the box. There’s not much in there, even after nearly fifty years working out of that desk. The original typewriter evolved to desktop computer then to laptop, and the phone changed models a few times, but the stalwart leather portfolio, yellow pad and #2 pencils are the only constants. Nary a wacky coffee mug in sight. Mrs. Talbot doesn’t drink her tea out of anything not made of china and accompanied by a saucer.

  “Piña coladas…” I mutter to myself.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Talbot.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  I do look out at the skyline now and think ahead to what needs to be done. I’ve put off hiring a replacement. The idea of Mrs. Talbot retiring and leaving was just too much to take on, and Breson Company is a multi-billion dollar way to procrastinate. The upcoming merger with Foster Corp—really an acquisition, as our corporate holdings are vastly deeper than theirs—has consumed almost everything for months now. Thinking about it annoys me. We’re six weeks away from closing the deal, the biggest and most lucrative in our company history, and the old lady pulls a snowbird routine on me. Only she’s migrating permanently. She gave me a year’s notice, but it still feels like a betrayal.

  Something you should know all about by now, huh pal?

  The voice in my head is my old buddy, Jake. My fists clench. And, thinking about Jake, I can’t help but think about Nicole. In the growing dark I see her beautiful face, and I ache.

  “Well, that’s that.”

  Snapping back to the present, I turn away from the window and the bad memories. Mrs. Talbot is holding the covered banker’s box aloft in her hands, her raincoat bent over her arm, taking one last look around. The only light in the room is the discrete desk lamp and the fading sun.

  “You know I’m not going to let you carry that yourself.” I take the box out of her hands and we stand that way a moment. Looking down at her, I feel as though I’m saying goodbye to a family member. In a way, I am. It’s the end of an era.

  We stand that way a moment, and all the unsaid things fill the silence. After a while, I move the box to my left arm and then crook my right arm and offer it to her with a wink. She rocks back on her heels, amused, then slips her arm through mine as we walk out the door.

  The hall is empty as we walk down the long corridor to the elevator. I know some of the offices on various floors still have executives busy at work, which is the way of things for multi-national corporations. Not one to stand on ceremony, Mrs. Talbot wanted to wait until most everyone else left for the day before she made a quiet getaway.

  As we walk, she starts to tell me my calendar for the next week.

  “You have a relatively light morning, so I sent along the Foster portfolio and you have a few hours to review before the two-thirty conference call tomorrow. That will leave you adequate time to meet Lucy in the morning.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll go through email,” I say, checking my watch. They should be set up by now. We make it a few more steps down the hall before I think to ask, “And who is Lucy?”

  Mrs. Talbot doesn’t miss a beat. “Your new executive assistant.”

  I stop mid-step. “Wait, you hired someone? Without asking me?”

  Mrs. Talbot lifts an imperious chin and smiles serenely, “You weren’t going to do it.”

  “Yes, I was. When I was ready.”

  “Dominic,” she says, not even pretending to care if I’m angry. “You’ve never put off anything in your life. I began interviewing candidates three months ago.”

  I’m still incredulous. “Did you even think of consulting me?”

  “You would have been such a bear about it you’d frighten all of them away. Look at you. You were about to let me leave you without an assistant entirely.”<
br />
  I shut my mouth because she’s right.

  “Her name is Lucy Warner, and she’s perfect. I hand-picked her out of a short list of twenty whittled from a list of a hundred. I have her ready to hit the ground running on her first day and she knows exactly what she needs to do to keep all your trains running on time. Stop growling.” Mrs. Talbot slaps at my bicep and tugs at me to keep walking down the hall.

  We make it a few more steps before she turns back, shaking that trademark finger under my nose. “You behave yourself and be nice to this young woman.”

  “I don’t have to be nice. I’m the boss.”

  She scowls at me. And then she sighs, suddenly serious. “You used to be nice. Before that…that…person.” Mrs. Talbot waves her hand in the air. We both know she means Nicole. “I mean it, Dominic. I want you to give this new hire a chance.”

  “Alright. I won’t fire her until Friday.”

  Mrs. Talbot smirks. “I gave strict instructions to HR that they’re not to let you fire her for at least two months.”

  “Well, you’re leaving. You won’t be around to stop me.”

  “Care to test that?” she asks.

  Mrs. Talbot can be quite dire when she wishes to be. I have no doubt the specter of her return will keep everyone at Breson in line for quite some time.

  “We’ll see.” I slow our pace and check my watch again. Showtime.

  I stop in front of a closed set of double doors that lead to a conference room theater and snap my fingers. “You know, I think I left my wallet back in the office. Why don’t you take a seat just in here and I’ll run back and get it. Won’t take a minute.”

  As my hand closes on the doorknob to open it, Mrs. Talbot cackles behind me. “Young man, you’re not fooling anyone.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, all shock and innocence.

  “I told you, no surprise parties.” She shakes her grey head at me. “I am ten steps ahead of you. I know what you planned. It’s very sweet, but I told you, I don’t want a party.”

  I hold up my hands. “What kind of a person doesn’t like parties?”

  “A person like me.”

  “Well,” I say, thinking of all the people waiting inside the room behind the doors, “I guess you’re just going to have to pretend. There are a lot of people behind this door who want to send you off.”

  Mrs. Talbot just shakes her head again. “No, they’re not. During my little chat with HR, I cancelled it. There’s no one in there.”

  My mouth drops. “You did not!”

  “I did. I knew what you were going to do, so I marched down there myself and told them to stop planning and cancel the caterer. I don’t want a big to-do over me.”

  I put the banker box I’ve been carrying down on the floor and lean back against the door, defeated. After a moment I sigh and shrug. “Well, that just goes to show you.”

  “Show you what?”

  “That the good folks in HR are devious when they want to be. They wouldn’t let either of us ruin the other’s surprise.”

  I throw open both double doors and step back. Behind me, two hundred people from all across Breson Company shout as one in a thunderous, happy roar, “Surprise!”

  As the crowd launches in to a raucous round of “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” and the banners and confetti fly, Mrs. Talbot is too stunned to do anything but lean into me as I put my arm around her and sing along. And by the look on her face, and the happy shine of tears in her wizened eyes, I can tell the old lady is pleased as punch.

  The next morning the sun is harsh, even through the office blinds. I may have had a few too many cocktails at last night’s party. I keep my shades on my face as I step through the elevator doors and onto the office floor, but I can tell I’m not the only one feeling it today. Many staff look a little haggard behind their computer screens this morning, and the smell of brewing coffee is strong.

  We all may have partied a little too hard for a school night. Mrs. Talbot would likely say it serves us right.

  Of course, I’m thinking of her as I finally reach my office. To heighten the suspense, the outer doors that lead to my office suite are closed. And locked. This is interesting.

  It’s the quick work of a minute to pull the key card out of my left breast suit pocket and unlock the doors. When I step in, the admin alcove outside my inner office looks the same as it always has. The lone laptop, the phone, all on the desk.

  But no one behind it.

  I look up at the wall clock and check the time. 7:12.

  Well, this Lucy whatever-her-name is late for her first day of work.

  “Hand-picked. Right,” I say out loud to no one.

  With a deep sigh, I walk to the door to my inner office. Mrs. Talbot was never late a single day of her career. This is starting out great.

  I open the door and stop dead in my tracks. The smell of coffee is strong in here, too, and now I see why: a puddle of it is pooled in the very center of my desk, next to what looks like a carafe set down in haste. Coffee is dripping off the edge and onto the carpet. And that’s not all.

  There’s a woman crouched on her hands and knees next to my desk, pressing napkins into the growing coffee stain. All I can see is the wiggling curve of her rear end over the soles of black patent leather heels, and the back of her legs. Whoever she is, she’s wearing sheer black stockings with those lines up the back that you see on calendar girl pin-ups. The fabric of her skirt is taut over the generous rise of her rump as it twitches to and fro in the air. I can’t see behind the shiny straight curtain of long brown hair fallen over her face as she dabs at the floor.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…” the woman chants as she settles back on her heels and pushes up to her knees. She finally looks up to flounder on the desk for more napkins and that’s when she notices me.

  Stark blue eyes and wine red lips open wide in horror. Her face was flushed from bending over the coffee mess, but I swear the woman turns white when she sees me at the door. Despite all of that, I’m struck immediately by how beautiful she is.

  And I’m immediately pissed. Not at the coffee mess—I can guess what happened. Good idea: have coffee waiting for your new boss when he arrives in the morning. Bad idea: trip and spill it all over the place.

  No, right now I’m pissed at Mrs. Talbot. Not only didn’t she consult me before she hired my new executive assistant, she neglected to mention the woman is a freaking knock-out. Face like an angel with a banging body to match. Now that I’ve seen the business end of her, so to speak, I already know I’m in huge trouble.

  She scrambles to her feet, clutching the napkins in her fists. I brace myself, ready for the woman to start bawling or stuttering apologies.

  Rather than a blubbering mess, though, she seems to set her chin and compose herself before she smiles.

  “Good morning,” she says as she steps in front of the desk. It’s a completely futile attempt to shield the mess from me, and all she’s accomplished is an unfettered view of her figure. The crisp black skirt and white blouse do nothing to hide a luscious hourglass shape.

  I don’t say anything because I’m trying like hell not to look directly at her chest, which is just as high and full as the rest of her.

  “Are you Mr. Breson?” she asks.

  “Sorry to say, yes. I’m Dominic Breson, your brand new boss. Sorry I can’t spare you some embarrassment on your first day? No such luck, Miss… Warren is it?”

  “Ah…Warner, sir. Lucy Warner.”

  “Yeah. Welcome to your first impression.” Her head jerks back at my rude tone, but I ignore her and head to the closet. She lurches out of the way just in time to avoid collision and I walk around the desk to my office closet and peel off my coat.

  I have to fight the urge to look her up and down again. Instead I pretend to dig through my day case, tossing directions over my shoulder. “Sopping coffee up off the floor won’t matter if it’s still dripping off my desk. There are towels in the supply closet out in the
hall around the corner. Then call the building crew and have them send someone up to clean the rest.”

  “Yes, sir.” I turn just in time to see her scurry out. The mess is less distracting than the way she fills out that skirt.

  I take out my tablet and settle into the leather couch by my office window. A few moments later she’s back with both a towel and a white-haired man wearing a blue security suit. Jim Conlon. He’s worked here a million years.

  The elderly Conlon makes a tut tut noise. “Ah well, you did make a bit of a mess, didn’t you? Don’t you worry, we’ll take care of it all. No, no, here, I’ll do that for ya…” I watch out of the corner of my eye and listen to the man fawn and bluster as he takes the towel from Lucy’s hands. He doesn’t even notice me, the owner of the company, in the corner of the room. It’s obvious the old guy is smitten with the new pretty woman in the office.

  For some reason, hearing the gracious thank yous and sweet words between the two is rubbing me the wrong way. Probably because I can’t stop myself from sneaking looks over my shoulder at my new assistant’s, uh, ample assets and imagining a few right ways to rub—stop it! I haven’t known the woman ten minutes and my brain is in the gutter.

  To her credit, Lucy ushers Jim out quickly and soon the office is quiet again, the mess at least contained. She hovers in the door, notebook in hand.

  I let her stand there for a full minute before I pretend to notice her again.

  “Sit down.” I gesture to the wingback chair opposite me. She perches at the end of the seat, looking tense but composed. I make a show of checking my watch. The first fifteen minutes of our meeting have been less than ideal.

  She speaks first. “Mr. Breson, please let me say, I’m very sorry. Certainly not the way I’d hoped to introduce myself.”

  Without acknowledging her apology, I look at my tablet and gesture with it. “I’m reviewing your resume.” This is true. Mrs. Talbot emailed it to me this morning as a parting gift. I look up at Lucy, wondering if she knows I had nothing to do with hiring her. I’m not going to give that bit of info away if I can help it.