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  Greedy Boss

  Badder Bosses, Book One

  C.L. Cruz

  Greedy Boss Copyright © 2020 by C.L. Cruz. All Rights Reserved.

  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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Liz Fox

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  C.L. Cruz

  Visit my website at www.clcruz.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: June 2020

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  Dani

  I have a habit of falling for men who are unattainable. It’s how I keep myself from getting hurt—if nothing ever starts, nothing can ever end. But when I end up with my boss, Harrington Abbot, at an out-of-town conference and we finally get to know each other outside of the office, sparks fly. Maybe it’s time to finally take a risk and choose love over security, even if it might mean getting my heart broken.

  Quick Trip is a steamy, standalone, office romance novella.

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  CONTENTS

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Shameless Boss by Liz Fox

  Also by C.L. Cruz

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Helena

  The phone on my desk rings, and I pick it up, spinning in my chair so I’m looking out the big picture windows in my home office instead of at my computer screen. The sun sets behind the towering downtown buildings, bathing the sky in purples and pinks. I moved into this apartment in the Village a couple of years ago when I got my promotion at Durand Communications, the PR firm where I work. The view was expensive enough that I should make it a point to enjoy it more.

  “Helena Prescott,” I say into the receiver.

  “Helena, it’s Charlie.”

  Charlie Sky is one of the few clients who has me on retainer, a musician with the voice of an angel and a bad boy streak a mile wide that keeps my pockets lined with cash every time I have to dig him out of a scandal.

  “What did you do now, Charlie?” I ask, trying to sound stern but unable to stop the smile from creeping onto my lips.

  “Not that kind of call,” he says. “I just wanted to thank you for saving my ass on that sex tape scandal and see if you wanted to go out to dinner sometime.”

  With a coy laugh, I say, “You know I can’t do that.”

  That isn’t to say I haven’t thought about it. Charlie and I have been working together for years, and he asks me out about once every six months, which seems to be whenever he dumps whatever starlet he’s dating at the time. He’s sexy and charming, but he’s trouble. And it’s important in my line of work to avoid that where I can.

  Before he can object, I continue. “I’d have to dump you as a client due to conflict of interest. A second-rate PR agent just won’t be able to do what I do for you.”

  “It’s just dinner,” Charlie says teasingly. “It won’t lead to a conflict of interest.”

  “You forget that I know you better than anyone else in the industry,” I remind him.

  He smacks his teeth, but I can hear the amusement in his voice when he says, “I’ll change your mind, Helena. Just you wait and see.”

  We go over tips for his next appearance and end the call on a good note. I’m considering logging off for the day when my inbox dings with an email from my boss, Zach Durand. A new client brief is attached, and his email is short and to the point.

  Helena,

  We were retained by a board director to wrangle a scandal for his CEO. Take a look at the attached brief and let me know your thoughts. It seems to be right in your wheelhouse, and I expect your schedule is a bit freer now that Sky is squared away.

  -Zach

  Right in my wheelhouse means it’s another bad boy with a difficult case. Every agent has their strength, and that just happens to be mine. Maybe it was growing up in foster care and learning how to cope with sometimes hostile siblings. Or maybe it was being a scholarship student at snooty Samwell Prep, where I learned how to deal with my fair share of bullies without becoming one myself. Whatever it is, I have a way with them.

  I double-click on the client brief to pull up the file, and settle in to read. But I only get to the first line before my eyes lock on the name of our wayward CEO and won’t seem to go any farther.

  Jasper Wright.

  No way.

  In a way, I’ve been expecting this moment for the last fifteen years.

  Closing the client brief, I plug his name into the Google search engine. The results flood the screen, but they aren’t the usual stories about our country’s most eligible—and toxic—bachelor. No, this time the top results are about an FBI raid at an underground poker game where Jasper was busted playing alongside members of the Royal family crime syndicate. I skim the article in the Oakwood Daily, catching words like “organized crime” and “money laundering scheme.”

  I click back to the client brief and skim the rest, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I knew Jasper was still in town, and I knew about his success in business consulting that had led to him leading a multi-billion-dollar public company. With women lusting after him and men jealous of him, he’s always in the news for one reason or another. It’s not really that different from when we were in high school. If I’m being perfectly honest, I always thought he might wind up on my desk. But for something like this?

  This isn’t sex tapes and drugs. This is some serious shit.

  Further investigation reveals he isn’t facing criminal charges, but stock in his company is way down. He’s probably lost a lot of business, which would explain why his board of directors is involved.

  I go back to Zach’s email and pull up a reply message.

  Zach,

  I’ll take it.

  -Helena

  Then, I email Jasper’s assistant and ask her to set up our first meeting at Le Clocher, a high-end French restaurant that just opened downtown. The first time I see Jasper again, I want it to cost him a pretty penny.

  Sitting back in my chair, I smile and gaze down on the city, the view from the top suddenly much more appealing. Fifteen years ago, at Samwell Prep, Jasper Wright crushed me like a roach beneath the heel of his Italian leather dress shoes. Now, the tables have turned, and I finally hold his future in my hands.

  It’s time to make him squirm.

  Chapter Two

  Jasper

  “I’m a grown man,” I say into the phone receiver. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  My driver makes a sharp right and pulls to a stop in front of the restaurant. It’s some uppity, French place that I’m sure is going to have small portions of shit food that will cost me a fucking fortune. If there’s anything I hate more than being treated like a child, it’s parting with my money.

  “The lie detector determined that was a lie,” Jake says in his best talk-show-host voice. Sometimes, it’s nice having my best friend as my CFO, and sometimes—like now—it’s bullshit. “Look,” he continues, “she’
s not a babysitter. She comes highly recommended. Woo her over lunch. She’ll get your reputation back on track and then she and the board will be out of our hair.”

  I climb out of the car but don’t go inside the restaurant yet. Instead, I stare up at the brick facade. The sun glints off of the picture windows lining the building. The hostess smiles at me from her station beside the door.

  “You’d better be right about this,” I say.

  “Am I ever wrong?”

  “Well, there was that time in Vegas with the—”

  “It was a rhetorical question, asshole,” Jake interrupts.

  Without responding, I end the call and drop the phone into my pocket as I approach the hostess. She smiles at me, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear. I don’t smile back.

  “Reservation for Wright.”

  She looks down at the screen in front of her. “Party of two?”

  I nod.

  “Right this way.”

  She leads me inside. The restaurant is dark but warm, with more of the same twinkling lights from the window lining the walls, and a lot of hanging plants creating the illusion of an outdoor space. I begrudgingly admit to myself that it’s nice. The hostess stops in front of an empty table and signals to it with her hand.

  I frown down at it. “Where’s the other member of my party?”

  “You’re the first to arrive.”

  That’s unusual. Typically, people are waiting for me. I sit and order a bottle of their most expensive Bordeaux. If I’m going to have to endure the ramblings of some crotchety old killjoy, I might as well be a little tipsy.

  Two minutes later, the hostess approaches again. I glance up from the menu, expecting a middle-aged woman in a pantsuit but instead find my eyes moving over wide hips, the curve of a soft stomach, two large, shapely breasts, and then—

  The sight of familiar amber eyes is so startling, that I stand up in a rush, my chair scraping against the stone floor.

  “I wondered if you would recognize me,” she says in the same sultry voice that had first caught my attention in high school.

  Inhaling sharply through my nose to gather my wits, I say, “How could I ever have forgotten you, Helena Prescott?”

  The hostess glances back and forth between us, but we both ignore her, neither one of us looking away. God, where Helena was delightfully plump in high school, she’s become a curvy goddess over the last fifteen years, wearing her body with a confidence that most women lack.

  Helena breaks the spell first, sitting and smoothing her dress over her thighs. Joining her at the table, I watch as she lifts the glass of wine in front of her to her nose and sniffs. Then, she swirls the dark red wine before taking a small sip. I watch her face, mesmerized, as her eyes drift closed and she lets out a small groan of contentment. It reminds me of that night our senior year, her lips on mine, the way she’d practically purred into my mouth as I pressed her back against the lockers.

  “So,” I say, clearing my throat, “you’re the one they sent to clean up my act.”

  She raises her eyebrows at me over her menu. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

  “How so?”

  “Well, after what happened in high school, it seems like I’m always the one stuck cleaning up your messes.”

  “Now, that’s not—”

  But she stops me, holding up a hand and smiling brilliantly as the waiter approaches and takes our order. In perfect French, she orders the spiced duck, which I don’t miss is one of the most expensive dishes on the menu. I order a steak.

  When the waiter leaves, I study my date-slash-babysitter. No one has caught me this off-guard in years. Maybe ever. Women fall at their feet in front of me. But Helena has always been different.

  I decide to try a different approach and avoid all mention of the past completely, focusing instead on the reason we’re here. “So, can you fix it?”

  She unfolds her napkin in her lap and leans forward. I don’t miss how her arms press her breasts together, lengthening her cleavage. I want to bury my face in that soft flesh. Even if I suffocate, at least I’ll die a happy man.

  “Fix you, you mean? I can,” she says, drawing my eyes up to her ruby red lips as she speaks. “But the question really is whether or not I will.”

  “Will you?” I ask. I’m fucking putty in her hands. It’s disgusting.

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Whether or not you’ll agree to cooperate. Do exactly as I say. I’ll be in charge of your schedule. I’ll set up your public appearances. I’ll know exactly what you’re doing every second of every day. Who you’re talking to. Where you’re going. You don’t so much as look in the direction of a party, or a woman, or a poker table, without my permission.” There’s a smile on her mouth that I don’t mistake for kindness. No, it’s a challenge. I saw that look on her face way too often in high school, and it usually resulted in me losing. Awards. Scholarships. Club presidencies. In fact, if someone hadn’t sabotaged her senior project, she probably would have beat me out for valedictorian, too.

  But I have never been one to back down from a challenge. She thinks I can’t do it—or won’t do it—and so for that very reason, I have to. “Agreed. Will you be pre-screening my one-night stands for me?”

  Her subdued chuckle is terrifying. “Oh, Jas, there won’t be any one-night stands, not for a very long time.”

  Our food comes and we eat as she explains to me what it will mean to work together. Public appearances. Charitable donations. Pre-written speeches. I listen in relative silence, which is new for me. Usually, I’m the one doing the talking. At one point, a couple of women who are sitting a few tables away start to approach me, probably for a picture, but Helena shoots such a fierce look at them that they back away. I laugh into my wine glass, draining it and pouring us both a refill.

  After our meal, she seems a bit more relaxed, which makes sense, since we’ve almost finished the entire bottle. She leans back in her chair with her wine glass and crosses her legs. I get a glimpse of her smooth, white thigh and imagine digging my fingers into the unmarred skin as I spread her legs, leaving a garter belt of bruises that mark her as mine to anyone else who dares to look. It makes me hard just to imagine it.

  “So,” she says, narrowing her eyes on me. “I have one more question.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, taking my napkin from my lap and placing it on the table.

  “A guy like you who has everything…why risk it for a poker game?”

  The waiter comes by with the bill, and I slide him my Amex Black Card without looking at it. Truth is, I’m stalling for time, not sure how to answer her question in a way that will satisfy her. I can’t tell her that the only reason I ended up at that table was because of my brother, because I had to bail him out of another bad situation. I’m sure that her solution will be to throw him under the bus. To turn the media’s attention on him instead of me. But I can’t let her do that. For all his faults, Asher is family, and I’m the one with the resources to protect myself.

  Finally, I look over at her. “I work hard, but I play harder.”

  The curiosity on her face morphs into a smug smirk that I don’t like. The waiter returns my card and we stand. I follow her to the front, enjoying the view. We step outside, where my driver is already waiting, but I don’t move away from her. I’m not ready to, especially considering the way she smirked at me like I was predictable.

  “Let me take you out to dinner tonight,” I say.

  She keeps her eyes on her phone, scrolling through emails. “No.”

  “Well, how about we—”

  The phone disappears as her head snaps up and she meets my eyes. “I don’t think you understand. The only thing we have in common is work. You are my client. There is no other ‘we’ in any sense of the word.”

  Just then, the valet appears with her car, a shiny, white Mercedes-Benz. She starts toward it, but looks back at me over her shoulder.

  “I’ll be in touch. Remember
—I’m in charge. You will do as I say.”

  I know she wants me to feel discouraged and rejected, but instead, I feel a zing of excitement. It’s been a long time since I felt a rush like this, and I can’t wait to see what challenge she comes up with next.

  Chapter Three

  Helena

  That night, I can’t sleep. I’m torn between fantasizing about having Jasper in my bed and being furious at myself for letting him still have that effect over me. I kicked his rich, preppy, sexy ass at everything I could in high school, but no matter how victorious I was, all it took was a smoldering look from him and my insides melted. To make it worse, he’s even hotter now—wavy, dark blond hair, deep brown eyes, full lips, scruffy jaw, broad shoulders straining against his designer suit jacket.

  I just have to remember the night when it all came to a head. When I let my guard down for a split second and he destroyed everything I’d been working so hard for. If anything, working with him now is just an opportunity to show him that in spite of his best efforts, I’m still winning. I’m successful, and now his continued success depends on my ability to do my job.

  It’s nothing else. It’s certainly not an opportunity to pick up where we left off fifteen years ago.

  Definitely. Not.

  When my alarm goes off at five o’clock, I’m already up and headed to my building’s basement gym. It’s not that I enjoy working out, or that I even do much more than walk on the treadmill and watch the morning news, but it’s a good stress reliever. Not surprisingly, the only other person there is Quinn, one of the three other women in this building that have become my friends the last couple of years. She’s an under-appreciated and overworked executive assistant at a venture-capital firm, so she’s usually down here earlier than me since it’s her only real free time.

  I take the treadmill beside hers.