Page 2 of Big Book Boss

I swear, she must have my office bugged.

Yes, ma'am. It's true.

Good. I didn't like him anyway.

Mother, you haven't liked any of them.

And I was right!

And your point?

The same one, dear. You need a woman.

Mother….

I know. You refuse to hire an estrogen-driven human being as your personal assistant.

But I'm telling you again, son, for your own good.

The only way to level the playing field is to hire an alpha FEmale.

I flex my fingers to restrain them from typing on their own. The alpha female my dad hired is the problem. I hid the truth to keep you from worrying that you would end up penniless, but Janet Brooks ran Prestigious Publishing into the red.

When I took over, I changed our focus, established Precious Kitty Publishing as the sixth-largest book publishing house in the world, and Janet resents the hell out of my success and my authority.

Will talk on Sunday. I've arrived at my destination.

Okay, dear. Enjoy your evening. Love you, son.

Love you too.

I put my phone back in my pocket. I know my mother wants the best for me. But honestly, if she only knew. When I took over and realized the danger the company was in, I shifted gears from focusing on every genre under the universe to concentrating on the biggest genre —romance. I ruthlessly fired and strategically hired, and I built our new brand by giving women fictional boyfriends and an app that syncs our line of adult toys to them. Thereby giving them not only their private book porn fix but real happy endings. The only person I couldn't get rid of, according to my lawyers, was Janet. My dad got screwed hiring her, and I'm still stuck with her.

Reno keys his mic again. "We're approaching now."

I sit up and prepare to exit, flipping my cap and putting it on backward. I need a drink or ten.

Three car lengths back from the bar's entrance, Reno signals and stops as the car reserving the parking spot pulls out, then pulls in. As soon as he's parked, I step out onto the sidewalk. Two muscular men dressed similarly in distressed Wranglers and tight t-shirts step away from the exterior wall and fall in behind me. Women think men wear their shirts tight to show off their biceps and pecs. But the reality is, in a fight, you don't want to give the other guy anything to grip.

The outside world vanishes as soon as I enter the bar. Friday Night's extended Happy Hour has the establishment packed. That's a good thing. I like making money. The clinking of bottles and spontaneous laughter burst out over the low hum of conversations and eases the tension in my head. I head for the bar. Thankful I didn't stay in tonight.

The emcee keys the mic, "If you are here to compete in the karaoke challenge for the $2,000 prize money, please form the line here. Sign up with a nickname and your song choice."

Placing my hand on Mickey's shoulder, I grin at his trumped-up angry face when he turns his 'back-the-fuck-off' scowl at me.

He smiles, "Bossman. Glad you made it."

I roll my eyes. Mickey refuses to call me by my name, even when it's only us. He tips his chin at the man on the stool next to him. Who nods, slides off the stool, then blends into the crowd to serve as overwatch. We haven't been introduced, but he's been on Mickey's staff for about a year now.

Erica spots me and delivers my usual Samuel Adams Boston Lager. "It's good to see you again." She slides it across the counter to give me an ample view of her cleavage. "I'll switch the TV to the Yankees game."

Remodeling the bar after I purchased it from a Tootsie's theme to something reminiscent of a Twin Peaks and Hooters, branding it T. & A. Tavern for Tits and Asses, I designed the uniforms myself to enhance our server's full figures. Contrary to what the fashion industry wants everyone to believe, men like women with curves.

As she tunes the TV overhead, she stretches to reach the button. Arching her back, knowing her ass is tempting me, she glances over her shoulder and smiles her invitation.

I would do her, but she's the help.

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