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  Bad Boss

  Scoundrels in Love

  Matilda Martel

  Copyright © 2019 by Matilda Martel

  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.

  This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only. It must not be sold, shared, or given away.

  Cover design by Matilda Martel

  Created with Vellum

  For my own fussy, bossy man. You know who you are.

  Contents

  1. Simon

  2. Nova

  3. Simon

  4. Nova

  5. Nova

  6. Simon

  7. Nova

  8. Simon

  9. Nova

  10. Simon

  11. Nova

  12. Nova

  13. Epilogue- Simon

  About the Author

  Also by Matilda Martel

  One

  Simon

  Order gives me strength. Routine dominates my life. It soothes and brings me peace in a chaotic world. Perhaps, that sounds dull, but my habits calm me. I run my life like I run my company. I expect the best and plan for the worst. My time is precious, and I refuse to waste it listening to excuses or fixing other people’s mistakes.

  This is my mantra. I guard it well and practice it daily.

  Every morning, I wake at 5:00 without exceptions. For forty-five minutes, I run. If the weather permits, I run in the park. If it doesn’t, I hit the gym. I prefer to be in nature, breathe fresh air and take in the scenery before I spend the rest of my day indoors. But I keep my routine regardless of the weather.

  At precisely 7:30, I arrive at the office. I would rather be thirty minutes early, than one minute late. My assistant brings me a cup of coffee, black no sugar, and I start my day by answering emails or listening to voice messages. Fridays are typically slow, but we just closed a huge account and multiples items need my review and signature.

  Five minutes before 8:00, I casually patrol the executive hallway. Although I can’t control or monitor the arrival and departure of all my employees, I keep an eye on those I most depend on. They know the rules. I’ve been clear. If I arrive on time, so can they. My Senior Vice-Presidents arrive minutes after me. The managers arrive just before 8:00. They cut it close, but all are here before I do my daily inspection.

  With one exception, Nova Rigby. She’s late.

  I told Ken she was too young to be a manager. She’s undisciplined and unruly. If I had my way, I would have fired her after her first offense, but he relies on her more than any of his other managers. They tell me she’s talented. He says she’s brilliant and irreplaceable. That’s absurd. No one is irreplaceable.

  I watch her tiptoe into the office at 8:04, without a coat. It’s thirty degrees and this girl is too forgetful to wear a sweater or jacket. No gloves or scarf in sight. Just a thin blouse and a long, tight pencil skirt that resembles something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie. She wears it well.

  Big deal. She’s a gorgeous hanger.

  There’s no denying, she’s a pretty girl. Too pretty. The kind of pretty you don’t think twice about seeing in the pages of a magazine, but you never think you’ll see in real life. That’s Nova. Flaky, stunning Nova Rigby.

  I take a deep breath and hold it in. My chest tightens. I watch her rush towards the small space heater she brought from home, shivering as she hugs herself for warmth. Her door is wide open, and I have the perfect view of her round ass as she adjusts the temperature. While I watch in rapt admiration, my lovesick heart flutters like a teenage girl. Why her? This is the last person who should tie me in knots and yet, she does.

  This is unbearable. Humiliating and unbearable. The longer she stays the worse I become.

  Nova Rigby is a distraction. A beautiful distraction that keeps me fighting a battle I’m not sure I want to win. For eight months, I’ve fought these inappropriate thoughts. I’m her boss. She’s twenty years younger. We’re opposites. She flies by the seat of her pants and my world needs to make sense. I crave control. I have no interest in controlling another human being, but I will never be able to control my feelings for her. One word from those pouty lips and my heart skips a beat. One look and she slays me.

  I watch her pace. Her wavy red hair looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. My pulse spikes. Nova in bed. A hundred obscene thoughts fill my mind at once.

  This always happens. I can’t help it. I’m an old pathetic man who can’t stop fantasizing about an employee half my age.

  Nova…my Nova.

  Beautiful, naked Nova winds her long legs in our sticky sheets. Her big green eyes take me in as she curls her finger and summons me back to bed. Primal hunger overtakes my senses and I rush back, eager to give her whatever she wants.

  “Simon, please...give it to me. I’ve been so good.” She purrs and welcomes me into her arms.

  “You’ve been perfect, baby. You’re always perfect.” I pull her close and bring her lips to mine.

  I need to please her. With impatient desire, I spread her thighs and watch her eyes grow wide as I thrust all the way in. Her legs wind around my waist and she brings me closer. Deeper. With a smile on her face, she melts into me and I revel in the heat that surrounds us. With each thrust, she drives her hips into mine, meeting me halfway and howling vulgarities that make my mind swirl with ravenous, mind-blowing lust.

  Every second she’s in my arms, I worship her like a fiery zealot. We fuck bare. We always fuck bare. Her hot flesh surrounds my cock and we chase our release like wild animals in heat. This woman is mine. I’ll never stop claiming every inch of her body. I’ll never let her forget who owns her.

  “Sir? The meeting with Reynolds and Markham begins in fifteen minutes. Did you want to go over Miss Rigby’s notes?” My assistant, Julie, hands me a folder and waits for me to explain why I’m lurking like an unrepentant stalker. I take the notes, march into my office and slam the door.

  Once again, I’m rock hard before 8:30.

  This can’t go on. She’s not working out. If she’s so talented, she can get a job somewhere else. Every single time I’m forced to be in her presence, I revert to middle school puberty. I’m plagued by uncontrollable hard-ons. I can’t stop jacking off in my office. All day, every day, I watch her. As long as she’s here, I’ll never get any work done. I’ll never regain control.

  I feel bewitched. How the hell did I let this get away from me?

  We couldn’t be more different. She looks at life like it’s one grand adventure. As much as I want to dive into her whirlwind and let her take us on the ride of our lives, I know the fun won’t last. You can’t depend on people like her. They’ll distract you long enough to let your guard down and then pull the rug out from under you. The Novas of this world are all the same. In work and in life, they do permanent damage.

  If she stays, this fixation will grow into love. And I can’t love someone like Nova. I just can’t.

  What the hell am I saying?

  It’s too late. I know it’s too late.

  She needs to go. I’m putting an end to this today. This is a place of business and her presence has become disruptive. She upsets the balance in the office. She unsettles me. I want her gone.

  The thought has hardly cleared my mind when she buzzes by me on her way to the meeting. I catch a whiff of her perfume and my limbs weaken as fast as my resolve.

  Fine. Not today. I can’t part with her just yet. Not my Nova,

  Two

  Nova

  All eyes are on me.

  We’ve just closed a huge account and my d
epartment sealed the deal. The sales department pitched a fit and accused us of stealing it from under their nose, but that’s ludicrous. We’re social media. We don’t have time to do both our jobs. The client came to me. He wanted to work with me personally. We did all the legwork. We closed it and I’ll be damned if we’re not taking the credit.

  I’m not a superstar. But for one day, I’d like to look like one.

  The big win that has blown everyone’s minds and put us far above our sales expectations for fourth quarter is Reynolds & Markham. Yes, the Reynolds & Markham. No one expected them to go with us. They have people. They work with the best in the industry and although our boss, Simon Mueller is a legend, this latest venture of his has only been around for a little over a year. He could have retired after selling his last company, but old Mr. Mueller can’t stay out of the game for long.

  He’s not old. Old-ish. Mid-forties and hot as sin.

  No man should look so good at his age. It’s obscene. Heavenly, hot and obscene. This is a personal preference. There’s something about older men that brings out my dormant bad girl. Especially when the hot older man is moody and full of angst. He’s my Mr. Rochester and I’m Jane Eyre, the strange girl who suffers his moods.

  Focus, Jane. You’ve got a presentation in five minutes.

  Anyway, his hotness is none of my business. He’s never noticed me. Sometimes I think he’s an asexual man who gets off on closing deals and adding another billion to his fortune. We lowly humans aren’t interesting enough to garner his attention. He’s too stoic. Too self-centered to get turned on by people. At least, it feels that way.

  But it’s hard not noticing Simon. He commands everyone’s attention. He’s over six and a half feet, unnaturally handsome, lithe but oh so, ripped. I’m not playing around. You don’t have to look too hard. His sculpted muscles are easily detectable through his hand-tailored, wool-blended, single-breasted Saville Row suits.

  Okay, fine. I’ve look hard. Sue me.

  But that was before he turned into a world class prick. First time he cut me down to size, I got over it. These days, I keep my nose down and stay out of his crosshairs. I do my work and put in whatever extra hours I need to get it done early.

  Ken, my direct supervisor, is always happy. But not Simon. He invents reasons to find fault with what I do. If he can’t find a legitimate reason, he nit picks until he’s sufficiently broken my spirit. Sometimes it’s the margins. Once he didn’t like the font. There’s never any gratitude or compliments, just strange glares that make me wonder if he’s plotting my demise or picturing me naked.

  No, not naked. Not Simon.

  I’m obviously projecting. But none of this matters. He doesn’t like me and I have no use for someone in his position. I’m done with bosses. I was forced to leave my internship because things with Clive Reynolds grew too uncomfortable to disguise. Yes, the Clive Reynolds. One half of Reynolds & Markham and the reason yours truly was so successful in snagging this insanely lucrative account.

  He owes me.

  I don’t care about the commission. This is about proving something to Simon. I want him to stop treating me like I don’t belong here. He can’t hide his disdain. I see the way he looks at me. He thinks I’m too young for this level of responsibility. He can’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to give me a compliment for all my extra hours, but he can find the time to chastise me for being a few minutes late. It’s infuriating.

  And I’ll be honest. It hurts my feelings. Why doesn’t he like me?

  It wouldn’t bother me quite so much if everyone was held accountable. He pretends to be a hard-ass, but his obsession with punctuality is only ever directed at me. I’ve asked the regular offenders, the ones who habitually arrive fifteen to twenty minutes late and none have ever received more than a finger wag. I’m the only one he’s written up.

  This is a sore spot. I work hard and want to be taken seriously. Maybe, my methods are a bit unorthodox for fussy Simon, but I get results.

  And today’s results should finally earn me the respect I deserve.

  Maybe. Hopefully.

  Three

  Simon

  Something’s wrong. For the last twenty minutes I’ve sat in the back of the boardroom and watched Nova Rigby walk us through a strategic plan to update Reynolds & Markham’s social media outreach to millennials. She’s on point, articulate and thorough. Normally, I’d try to find fault with it, but I can’t.

  Don’t underestimate me. I can find fault in almost anything.

  But now is not the time to punish Nova for making me fall in love with her. The only thing on my mind is figuring out why Clive Reynolds has found the need to touch my woman a total of eleven times in the last twenty minutes.

  Holy shit, that makes twelve.

  What’s happening? Am I the only one who notices? Why is she letting him? And why the hell can I see the shape of her nipples through that poor excuse for a blouse? If I can see them, so can Clive. So can every man in this room.

  No wonder everyone is quiet. They’re looking. Studying. Probably trying to guess the color. Rick, from Finance, smiles to himself. Abel, head of IT, is in a daze. Zoned out. Salivating. Damn him.

  My breath falters. My heart hammers. I can hear the beat throb in my ears as beads of sweat trickle down my temple. I’m seconds from gouging everyone’s eyes out, when I hear whispers from two women behind me.

  I hear they dated.

  Really? I heard they worked together. She interned there just after college. He’s way too old for her. You heard wrong.

  No. Seriously. Maybe, Nova likes them old. Clive is hot. And loaded. You can tell just by the way he keeps touching her. They’ve totally screwed.

  I stifle a gasp. Clive and Nova? Screwing?

  My brain explodes.

  Giggles ensue. Their laughter cuts into my soul and brings my simmering blood into a full boil.

  Is that why this bastard was suddenly so agreeable after sales spent a year courting him? He wants her back. He wants an excuse to spend time with my Nova. He’s a notorious womanizer. He’s a year older than me. What does a forty-four-year-old man want with a twenty-three-year-old girl?

  I cringe. Probably the same thing I do.

  Son-of-a-bitch. I’ll kill him.

  For the next ten minutes, my mind summons visions of Clive’s greasy mitts groping my Nova. Touching her breasts. Licking her nipples. Squeezing her ass and burying his face in her tight pink pussy, night after night. Those things are meant for me, not Clive. I’ll be damned if he thinks he’s going to worm his way back into her life.

  My anger builds. All around me, men who work for me, who I pay well, who should be taking notes, stare bewildered, undressing her with their eyes. Every time I see someone ogling her tits, I make my vexation known. I try to be discreet, but when Albert from Marketing continues to stare with a goofy grin etched across his face, I slam my palm against the table and inadvertently throw her off her game.

  I apologize, but she looks unconvinced.

  She smiles nervously, points to her charts, laughs with Clive and as usual, bounces on the balls of her feet to ward off anxiety.

  She’s driving me crazy.

  Nova’s completely unaware that each bounce makes her giant breasts jiggle, which I’m almost certain has created a symphony of boners underneath the conference table. Typically, I enjoy this anxious tick, but not now. Not when everyone else gets to watch. Those are my tits.

  I fight to steady my breath. My stomach churns and my heart aches to carry her out and hide her away from these lecherous perverts. She’s mine.

  I don’t care if I said I didn’t want her. It was a lie. I’m a liar. An old, pathetic liar who fell in love with this girl the first time I laid eyes on her. I should have been bringing her roses and finding ways to make her smile, not inventing ways to make her quit. How could I be so stupid? She’s not a pain in the ass. She’s glorious.

  She’s everything I never knew I always wanted.
<
br />   Enough bullshit. I can’t fight this anymore. Screw my routine. My schedule. My order. Nova Rigby is chaos. I despise chaos, but not her. Never her. She’s the beautiful mess I was born to love. The more I try to look away, the more she pulls me into her orbit. I don’t want her. I need her. I’m desperate for her approval. For her love. For her big green eyes to lock on mine and recognize that I’m the only man in this great big world for her.

  But how the hell do I fix this mess? She thinks I hate her.

  By the time she ends her presentation, I’m livid. Visibly rattled and shaken to my core. With a new plan to win her over, I jump out of my seat and head for the door. I give everyone a quick nod and storm through the hallway towards my office.

  I need to think. This can’t wait one day longer.

  I’m making my move.

  Four

  Nova

  I stretch my neck and work out the same kink that crept into my spine late last night. It’s no use. I’m tense. I’m angry. Once upon a time this bullshit brought tears to my eyes. Not now. Maybe, a little, but not as much as it did before.

  I’m resilient. I roll with the punches. Broken people like Simon Mueller will not drag me down into their swamp. Something is robbing his peace of mind and I’ll bet it has nothing to do with me. I worked hard on that presentation. I put up with Clive and terrorized my own team to get this ready before Thanksgiving.

  And for what?

  He didn’t listen to a single word I said. He repeatedly rushed me by clearing his throat and banging on the table. I’m an idiot for believing this would make a difference. Not one word of congratulations. No high-fives. Just a nod and an icy stare.