Page 1 of Big Book Boss

1

PART ONE

Sebastian King

Bring the car around. I've decided to watch the Yankees game at T. & A.

Copy that.

"Precious Kitty, where are you?"I lift the blanket off the sofa, looking for the white fur ball I brought home years ago. She had been abandoned in the alleyway. Poor thing was half-starved, terrified, and caught in a downpour with nowhere to hide. I'm not a softy. But that night, I was sympathetic. I scooped her up, tucked her in my jacket, and brought her home.

"Here, kitty, kitty." I try my last resort to coax her out of hiding, intending to lock her in her playroom. The last time I left her out, she decided to practice her tree-climbing escape skills, and she got stuck up there. When I returned, I found her meowing pitifully, perched on top of the curtain rod with no idea how to get down. "Come on, now. Show yourself."

My phone dings. Dammit. Time's up. She wins. I don't want to be late for the Yankees game.

Reluctantly, I let my hunt for her go. I toss the blanket onto her favorite chair, grab a ball cap, and as I close the condo door, I catch a glimpse of a white fluffy ball of fur strut across the living room, making me smile. She's getting wise.

Even though Central Park Tower's super-efficient elevator is designed to travel the distance from top to bottom in a minute and a half, the ride down to the lobby takes a few minutes due to stops along the way. When I step out, I stride across the vast area, then out the front door to my waiting car. Dale, my head of security, opens the door and brings me up to speed on my detail team for the evening. "Bastian, Mickey is at the bar with a crew of three tonight."

Four bodyguards for a drink at the bar? Ridiculous. But I don't complain. Dale knows his shit. Instead, I ask, envious of his happily ever after romantic storybook life with his college sweetheart. "How's Emily and the kids?"

"Good. The kids are growing up too fast. Joseph has a football game on Sunday. You should come. He runs like the wind."

"Like his dad," I smile. Dale's pro football career was cut short by a knee injury. But back in the day, the man could fly with a time of 4.2 in the forty.

He laughs, "He's better than I was at his age. You should come. Hang out with us. Watch Emily lose her shit when he scores."

"Proud mama, huh?"

"Bro, she's demon possessed when he's on the field. It's scary."

I pat him on the shoulder, then ease into the car. "If I'm free, I will."

"Ah, you're hunting tonight. Maybe next time."

I wink as he closes the door, then double-taps the top.

Reno, my new after-dark driver, checks my mood. "How was your day, Mr. King?"

I remove my ball cap and run my fingers through my thick hair. His formality rubs me the wrong way. "Mr. King was my father, Reno. Just call me Sebastian."

"Yes, Sebastian, sir." He turns onto the street.

Sir. I'm not sure that's much of an improvement, but it's respectful, so I don't correct him. I lean back and stare out the window, annoyed by his question. It's none of his business, but he's been briefed by a cautious Mickey, who would have his ass if he didn't report anger issues. But I'm not that man anymore.

I answer him, "Nothing a woman willing to get laid wouldn't cure. But finding one who won't talk my damn ear off is next to impossible. So I'll settle for getting drunk at the bar, watching the Yankees with a dozen other men, not having a conversation."And jacking off when I get home.I look out the window. Code for our conversation is over.

I reflect on the exceptionally bad day I had. Chad, my personal assistant, who hasn't been with me long, gave his two-week notice. I thought hiring a gay man would be the ticket for sure. I would have a male liaison in a sea of feminism. But his sexual orientation turned out to be the problem. He was too feminine and offended by my 'harsh, direct' style of communication. I don't sugarcoat shit. I cut to the chase. I don't hold back. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. If I hurt your feelings, that's on you. But according to Chad, I'm toxic, and he can't work in a dysfunctional relationship.

Christ! I twirl my cap with my fingers. He was a pussy, not a professional.

Reno keys the mic. "Mickey, we're stuck in traffic."

I lean back in the seat and close my eyes. My head wants to throb. I'm a goddamn bitter billionaire. Trapped in my success.

My phone vibrates with a heartbeat. Slipping it from my pocket, I read the text from my mother.

Sebastian, is it true? Chad quit today?

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