Mr. Big Shot Read Online R.S. Grey

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary, Funny Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)

Biting banter, fake relationships, and illicit workplace rendezvous—anything goes in this romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author R.S. Grey.

While most little girls grow up idolizing Ariel or Belle, I was banging a plastic gavel and pretending to be Judge Judy. I spent my summers divorcing Barbie and Ken and splitting their Dreamhouse assets. Now, my goal to become the very best acquisitions lawyer at the top firm in Chicago is within reach.

I’m one month into my big-girl job at Elwood Hoyt, venti Starbucks in hand, ready to take on the day. The sleek elevator doors are about to close…then he steps in after me. Hudson Rhodes—the one senior partner I was told to avoid at all costs—just so happens to be the heartless villain I’m assigned to work under.

Ever since he found out who I am— the Scarlett Elwood—we’ve been enemies, the sort who constantly bicker and bark, take jabs in the boardroom, and occasionally pop up shirtless in each other’s steamy dreams. Y’know, that kind . He has to know I could run to my dad at any time and demand his firing, but his confident smirk says he knows I’d never give him the satisfaction.

The elevator chimes as we reach our floor, and I feel his broad shoulders pull even with mine. Fury mixes with fear, hatred with lust. He turns to briefly hold my gaze before confidently stepping out in front. His message is

If I want to reach my goal, I’m going to have to go through him first.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One


Big law is a phrase used to describe the country’s largest and most prestigious law firms.

Here’s how to use it in a sentence:

All the top graduates from law school accept offers from big law.

Big law routinely dishes out the best salaries and bonuses across the industry.

Now, this is how you’ll use it when talking to your therapist:

I cried every day I worked in big law.

Big law ruined my life.

If not for big law, I’d be [married, happy, well-adjusted, sober].

And here’s how I’ll use it starting today:

Oh, my first year at big law? It was a total breeze.

I made big law my big bitch.

My alarm buzzes on my nightstand, blaring for the half-second it takes me to lean over and turn it off. The alarm wasn’t necessary. I’m already awake; I have been for two hours. I’m standing beside my bed in an outfit chosen with care and deliberation. The sales associate at Barneys was popping Advil for a tension headache and rethinking her career path by the time I made it to the register.

I’ve gone with cool ankle-length slim-fitting black trousers paired with a belted cream blouse and the ever-popular Aquazzura bow suede pumps, though I’ll stick with flats until I get to the office. For accessories, I have my hand-me-down Cartier watch; clean, manicured nails; and diamond studs in my ears—nothing else.

This must be what Batman felt like his first day on the job. I’ll bet he took the time to run his Batmobile through a Mr. Suds the day before to get the wheels squeaky clean. Tearing the tags off those brand-new combat boots and stretchy nylon pants before clicking all those safety gadgets and gizmos into place must have been quite the rush.

I feel the same flutter of butterflies as I gather my work bag, already packed with everything I need and more. I walk outside, ready and raring to tackle the day…just in time for a bird to poop on me.

I freeze and look down, suspended in shock. It takes me a moment to register the white sludge dripping down the front of my blouse, headed straight toward my trousers. Panic sets in with a great big belated rush. NO. I was stalling at my apartment on purpose so I wouldn’t feel silly about my extremely early arrival at the office, but now, NOW, I’m kicking myself for not camping out in front of Elwood Hoyt overnight. I should have slept under my desk. A little crick in my neck would have been nothing compared to this.

It’s fine, I tell myself, trying to regain control of my heart rate; it’s hovering somewhere near 190 bpm. I’ve careened right past cardiac arrest range and I’m creeping ever closer to spontaneous combustion. I walk-run my way back into the lobby of my apartment building and try not to cry as the elevator seems to have newly gone on strike.

Fortunately, I had my entire week’s worth of outfits already chosen. A quick change of my top to a black silk version and then I’m skipping down the stairs, leaving the elevator for all the people who aren’t about to start the first day of the rest of their lives.

This time when I exit my building, I have that bird locked in my line of sight. I swear it looks smug from its perch atop a spindly branch. No doubt it’s stretching and flexing its sphincter muscles on the off chance I creep too close again.

I flip it off (secretly), hiding my finger behind my other hand so I don’t look absolutely insane to everyone passing me by on the sidewalk. Then I turn in the direction I was originally headed and begin.

I’ve only lost ten minutes with my wardrobe change, but it feels like ten minutes too many. It’s the first week of October, and the everlasting heat of summer has finally gone. I’m grateful for the crisp autumn air as I race down the city blocks.

I’m in the heart of Chicago’s downtown, the River North district, surrounded by luxe shops, quaint eateries, and sprawling skyscrapers. There’s history on every corner, places I usually love strolling past at a leisurely pace rather than careening by at breakneck speeds. But alas, this morning, there’s no time for a latte at my favorite coffee shop or a bagel from that place on the corner.

Thank god my apartment is walking distance to Elwood Hoyt’s office. I make the quarter-mile trek in no time, only stopping once when a delivery truck nearly sideswipes me as I dart across the street. The metal bumper comes within an inch of my thigh as the gruff man behind the wheel shouts at me through the open window. “You got a death wish, lady?!”

No! The exact opposite—I have a dream!

I turn the final corner and see it.