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Read Online Books/Novels:

Boss Me Daddy

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Ashlee Price

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B07SNGDDVN
Book Information:

My billionaire boss is my worst enemy.

I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.
Those deep green eyes.
His cocky smile.
And that chiseled chest under his tailored suit.
He fired me once.
Completely destroyed my career.
Losing my v-card to him was a mistake.
There’s no way I’d let him back into my life.
Except that I may not have a choice anymore.
His touch has me hooked.
And what complicates things even more?
I’m pregnant.
I want to keep it a secret.
To run in the opposite direction.
But my heart wants me to stay.

Will falling in love with my enemy lead to a second chance?
Or, with everything stacked against us, will we be driven apart forever?

Books by Author:

Ashlee Price Books

Prologue

Jules

2014

My two-inch stiletto heels don’t make a sound on the carpeted hallway. Warm air from the vents up in the ceiling makes me feel more comfortable inside my grey silk blouse and black slacks. Alternating panels of black marble and frosted glass stretch out on either side of me.

Wow. So this is the nineteenth floor. It seems like a wholly different world from the fourth floor where I work.

That fact becomes even more apparent as I enter the office of Mr. Meyer, the company’s junior marketing manager. I knock, but no one answers, so I just go in. The room is empty.

Okay. I guess I’ll just wait for Mr. Meyer.

I consider sitting on the lone chair in front of his desk. Instead, I sink between the animal print pillows on the couch against the wall and breathe in the scent of vanilla—my favorite fragrance. It must be coming from the bowl of potpourri on the coffee table. In the rack beneath it are copies of Forbes, Time, Fortune and National Geographic, not old ones with creased covers and folded corners but current issues that look like they’ve never been read. As my eyes wander, they rest on a potted orchid that looks real, a painting which could pass as something by Monet, and glass bottles filled with odds and ends—seeds, marbles, paper clips. What catches my eye, though, is the rounded red doll sitting on its own perch on the wall. At first, I mistake it for a Matryoshka doll, but when I take a closer look, I realize that it’s not. It looks masculine and has Asian characters written on it. Oddly enough, one of its eyes has an iris and the other doesn’t. I wonder whether it was made that way on purpose or its maker was just in too much of a rush and forgot to put in the other one.

At any rate, I’m fascinated. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I take my phone out to snap a picture, but before I can, a deep voice behind me makes me jump.

“Get out.”

Two words spoken clearly, not yelled. Just two words, and yet I find myself frozen for a moment, my hand clasping the phone that has slipped from my grasp to my chest.

Slowly, I turn around.

Displeasure pours from the green eyes I find myself staring into. They seem to be drilling into me, and I know that I should look away, but I can’t, not from such a handsome face. Most of the men I’ve seen in this building so far are old and stocky or young and lanky, reeking of ego and cigarettes. But not this man.

This man, this strapping, six-foot-something, square-chinned hunk in a tailored suit, smells of Christian Dior.

And sex. Not the kind all my friends have bragged they’ve had. The kind that I’ve only read about—the kind that makes your toes curl and leaves you senseless.

I can already imagine it—my fingers tangled in those wiry curls, my hand splayed in the middle of his broad chest, his lips buried in my neck and his nails digging into my thighs.

Oh, shit. Why am I thinking about sex when he looks like he’s about to kill me?

His eyes narrow as his hands grip his hips. “Are you deaf? Did you not hear what I just said?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “No… I mean yes, I… I heard what you said… sir.”

I quickly slip my phone into my pocket and square my shoulders in some effort to regain my composure.

“I’m Jules… Julianne Decker. I’m an intern from—”

“I don’t have any work for you.”

“Oh.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not looking for work, Mr. Meyer. I’m here because Ms. Collins sent me from the PR department. I’m supposed to get some files.”

For a moment, he just stands there, those eyes of his holding me in cold scrutiny. Then he walks to his desk.

The view of his firm backside making its presence known through his charcoal gray pants as he bends over slightly takes the breath I’ve been holding in a gasp.

When he turns back to face me, I look away.

God, I hope I’m not blushing.

“Here.” He hands me a folder.

“Thank you,” I mumble, forcing a smile.

He doesn’t return it. He just goes to sit behind his desk. I walk towards the door. Just before stepping out, I stop and turn. I just have to. A part of me doesn’t want to leave.

I hug the folder to my chest and draw a deep breath.

“Mr. Meyer, I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to barge into your office, which is a very interesting office, by the way. I—”

“Be careful with those files,” he cuts me off before turning to his laptop. “They contain important information that must be kept confidential.”


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