Seduced By My Billionaire Boss (The Billionaire Boss Series, #1)

Seduced By My Billionaire Boss

Part 1

By

Sierra Rose

Copyright © 2015 by Sierra Rose

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Chrissy Peebles

Seduced By My Billionaire Boss (The Billionaire Boss Series, #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

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Rebecca is an aspiring actress. While at a fancy cocktail party, the socialites begin to pick on her. And that’s when she claims she’s dating the billionaire host of the party. When he goes along with it, Rebecca is in shock. And when this billionaire offers her a proposition she can’t say no to, she dives straight in. 

“T
axi!”

I took a giant step back to avoid the accompanying wave of sludge water as the cab sped by me, then surged toward the pavement with the rest of the crowd to catch the next one.

Life in New York City was a series of such compromises—little gives and takes. Your apartment floods, you get moved to the Hilton where you can comfortably sue for water damage. An early winter blizzard blankets the ground; you get to pull out your brand new Bloomingdales trench coat to combat the cold in style. You miss this cab; you get the next one. And fortunately, I had a bit more in my arsenal than the stockbroker standing next to me to deal with that last one.

With a seductive smile, I extended one bare leg onto the street, peeking out from beneath my skin tight pencil skirt and ending in the point of my stiletto. The guy standing next to me gawked appreciatively, but his eyes narrowed as they met mine—he knew my game. Under the guise of scanning further up the street, I leaned over, letting my conservative blouse pop open an extra button or two. There was a screech of tires, followed by a gruff, “Where to, miss?”

Sneaking a winning glance back at the stockbroker, I climbed into the cab. “Financial District. The corner of Pearl and Pine.”

And just like that, with little more than a smile, I sped off to my first day of work.

I leaned back against the cool leather and re-buttoned my blouse as I recited my resume under my breath. “Graduated with honors, Princeton University. Masters in Business from Harvard. Two years president of the Women’s Student Association. Junior Editor, Harvard Business Review. Eighteen-month internship with Goldman Sachs.”

But instead of accepting Sachs’ lucrative job offer when my internment came to an end, I’d set my sights even higher. There was one financial investment firm with a reputation even more pristine than that of Goldman Sachs. A firm ranked top of their game in every field by every standard.

Larchwood.

Not ‘The Larchwood Company.’ Not ‘The Larchwood Investment Firm.’

Just Larchwood. Like Madonna or Cher. The company didn’t need further explanation. When it came to the financial community of Manhattan’s upper elite—they were king. No questions asked.

So I left Goldman Sachs. Left the two hundred thousand starting salary on the table. Left to make my name with something bigger, better. Even if it did mean starting out as a low-level assistant without recognition or the chance of dental.

I was ready for this. I was overqualified. It was in the bag.

“Excuse me, sir?” I called up to the driver. “Could you pull over for just a second?”

As the cab veered close to the sidewalk, I leaned out the open door and threw up on the curb. The cabbie watched me with shrewd eyes as I patted my mouth discreetly with a tissue and sat back against the leather.

“That’s all,” I said weakly. “Thank you.”

The eyes in the rear view softened. “You auditioning for an internship downtown?” he asked sympathetically.

“An assistant’s position, actually,” I corrected automatically. But my heart fell in spite of myself as I studied him right back. “Why do you ask?”

He chuckled. “I’ve made that last minute swerve many times now. There sure are a lot of you.”

I pondered this for a moment before the competitor rose up in me and I considered the possible implications. “Wait—many of us, like, many of us
today
? Have you already dropped people off downtown?!”

I had left a full thirty minutes early just so I could be the first one in the door, but maybe I’d undershot it by an hour or so.

Without giving him a chance to reply, I pointed authoritatively to the right. “Avoid Lexington at all costs! Take FDR Drive—it’ll shave fifteen minutes off our trip.”

Precisely ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of the endless chrome skyscraper I was hoping to make my home. Despite my frantic rush, I paused inside the cab for a second, staring up toward the clouds. Suddenly, my prestigious education and impressive resume didn’t mean a thing. This was
Larchwood
. I’d be lucky if they let me work in the mail room...

“You going in? Or are you just going to sit here looking?”

I passed my credit card across the divide and straightened my blouse with trembling hands. It would be fine. They’d hire me. They
had
to hire me.

He handed back my card and gave me a comedic thumbs up. “Go get’em, tiger.”

“Thanks.”

This time, keeping my legs carefully concealed beneath my long coat, I climbed out onto the curb. There was a crispness to the air. An electric sort of energy that had nothing to do with the storm clouds piling overhead. It was the people. The collective buzzing vibrations of a group of people just like me—chomping on the bit to get inside and climb all the way to the top of those stairs. A nervous little smile crept up the side of my face, but I was quick to hide it. Only thoughtful scowls and busy frowns over here.

Then, without a backward glance, I straightened my blouse again, squared my shoulders, and filed inside with the rest of them.

After navigating my way through a tricky lobby, I signed in and took the elevator to the thirtieth floor. It seemed my cabbie had filled me with a false sense of dread. There wasn’t a single person in the waiting room. I exhaled with quiet relief and made my way to the counter. Flashing an uncharacteristically warm smile at the receptionist, I signed her list as well.

“Hi, I’m Jenna Harks. I have an appointment to meet with Patti Macer at nine.”

The receptionist eyed me up and down but gave me a returning smile before glancing at the clock. “You’re sure early, aren’t you?”

I nodded curtly. “Yes ma’am.” Best to indulge her a little. It was often times no exaggeration when people said that the keys to the castle lay behind the front desk.

“Good,” her eyes sparkled over her glasses, “that’s how we do things here. Well, take a seat.” She nodded at a few suede chairs hidden below copies of Forbes and Time. “Ms. Macer got called into an emergency meeting upstairs, so she’s going to be at least twenty minutes.”

“That’s fine,” I glanced at the chairs, before glancing at the clock. “Actually, could you point me toward the restroom?”

“Down the hall, fourth door on your right.”

“Thank you.”

The office was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more. Everything my friends at business school and I used to speculate about during all-nighters at the library. Behind heavily frosted glass, I could see the makings of an empire. The financial foundations—grunt work, and coffee runs—that held up the weighty structure above. This was where I would have to pay my dues. It was on these ground floors—the floors below fifty—where I’d have to claw my way up the ladder. I’d done it at Goldman and Sachs, and I’d do it here as well. The trick was to do it in the shortest possible amount of time.

I’d gotten into the game early. No gap years. Straight into my internship. Last week, I’d celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday. I was young. I was hungry. I was here.

I pushed open the door to the bathroom, pleased to see that I was the only one. After a few meditative breaths, eyeing down my reflection like some kind of ‘tough love hawk,’ I pulled out my new professional-colored lipstick and began to carefully apply. I’d just finished a cursory sweep when a heard a muffled sob from inside one of the stalls. My hand froze in front of my face as my eyes swept the closed doors. I was about to make a discreet exit when the door pushed open, and a woefully disheveled looking girl stumbled up to the mirror.

She was too obvious to ignore. Too distressed not to warrant some sort of action. While averting my eyes in what I took to be a sympathetic gesture, I pulled a tissue out of my bag and offered it silently her way.

“Th-thanks,” she choked, taking it and wiping her smeared mascara. We accidently locked eyes in the mirror and she gave me a wry smile. “I must really look like a mess, huh?”

I dropped my gaze quickly to the counter, gathering up my purse. “No, you’re fine.”

“I didn’t used to be like this,” she continued hastily as if needing to prove herself, “I was top of my class—Stanford Law.”

She glanced my way again, and I offered her a weak smile. “Harvard. Business.”

She nodded approvingly, sniffing as silent tears continued to pour down her face. “I was groomed for this job, out in California. Just moved here last week. The CEO put in a request for outside help with this new merger, and I was their top pick.”