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My boss wants us to get lucky together.
From the moment billionaire Ashton Smith interviews me, I think of him as Hot Boss.
Am I just a clover my boss wants to pluck this St. Patrick’s Day?
Lucky Pet is a standalone romance. Jamie Knight promises to always bring you a happy ever after filled with plenty of heat. And never any cheating or cliffhangers!
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Ave Maria, full of grace,
Ave Maria, full of grace…
I repeated the prayer to myself, willing myself not to look too closely at the guy who was sitting on the other side of the desk. He was super hot. And, if all went right, he was going to be my brand new boss.
So, I couldn’t let myself have these thoughts about him.
Thoughts like how his green eyes and full head of brown hair and dimpled smile were so handsome.
Thoughts like how ripped I bet he was under that expensive suit.
And thoughts about how I wanted him to rip my clothes off and bend me over his desk and take me for my very first time.
My face burned as I wondered what my mother would think if she could hear my thoughts. My mother was very Catholic. She named me Maria, for goodness sake. She taught me to be a good girl and do all the right things.
And I always had. I was still a virgin, for goodness sake. And yet, something about this man was making me want to let him change that fact.
I knew he had a name. It was on the letterhead, since the company he had co-founded just merged with McKenzie Technologies, this bigger company. I had researched it. And I knew he had introduced himself to me when I first walked into his office for this interview.
And yet, I forgot what it was at that moment. All I could think about was how much I wanted him.
I had a feeling he wanted me, too, from the way he peered at me over my resume, raised his eyebrows very seriously, and said, “So, what do you think you can bring to the firm, Ms. Herrera?”
It wasn’t like he was flirting with me. Not even a little bit. In fact, he was rather reserved and distant – very professional seeming, and sophisticated.
That demeanor didn’t line up with how I traditionally thought of in terms of what “flirting” was, but there seemed to be a sexual tension between us. It was as if he was holding back because he wanted me but didn’t want to let himself have me.
Then again, perhaps I was imagining things. I did have a wild imagination that always had the tendency to run off on me.
But the way he was looking at me.
It was as if he was undressing me with his eyes.
Ave Maria, full of grace… take these thoughts away from me.
Remembering that he asked me a question and that I was supposed to be answering it, I cleared my throat.
“I worked as a secretary for two years, before I had to leave employment temporarily, to take care of my mom,” I told him. “I have a lot of experience and I’m a fast learner.”
I willed myself to act professional. To not think about having sex with him but instead think about working for him.
I really needed this job. My mom’s round of chemo was over, and it looked as if it hadn’t gotten all the cancer like the doctors were hoping it might. She would have to undergo more treatment and the bills were piling up.
They weren’t going to keep treating her unless we could pay some of what we owed for the previous treatment. Plus, I was trying to get her into some trial therapy programs that could have a better chance of curing her, but they were ridiculously expensive, if she even qualified.
I had actually enjoyed being a secretary. I needed the steady routine of coming and going from office to work, of the clicking and typing and beeping and ringing, to keep me sane.
Otherwise, I had the tendency to just sit around and daydream. I thought up story ideas I never wrote, or products I never invented.
It was better to just go to work and type up pleadings or letters, to answer the phone and bring coffee and help out in a useful and practical way, instead of living in my head, doing nothing in real life. Some would say it was boring, mundane work, but it was easy, and it kept me grounded.
For me, it was a good job. It had kept me busy and kept my mind off my mom’s illness.
But I couldn’t work and take care of my mom. I had to stay home and take care of her and it was a depressing time.
I couldn’t count the number of hours I had sat there daydreaming while she dozed off, with my only interruption being the brief periods of time that she woke up. Those times afforded me the opportunity to bring her some tea or some soup and try to encourage her to eat it, even though she never had an appetite. Once in a while, she was alert enough to watch her beloved telenovelas.
But now that the chemo treatment was over, there was a lull in between rounds, where she was well enough to take care of herself. It was a good time for me to start working again, because she wouldn’t need me as much. Not to mention the fact, once again, that we really needed the money that a job could bring in, for the medical bills.