Page 1 of Boss of the Year
PROLOGUE: CHAMPAGNE COCKTAIL
*To elevate, make your own bitters.
“Are you a dirty girl? Are you a dirty little whore who wants to come out and play?”
“Yes,I’m your dirty little slut. Give it to me hard, just like I want it.”
Flesh met flesh with loud, wet slaps, like elephant ears at a water park.
There was a squelch. Then another one. Followed by a lot of grunting, and some sloppy, sopping noises that might have been kissing or possibly a mouth on some other body part.
Could you call it kissing if it wasn’t on the mouth?
I was embarrassed to admit I didn’t know.
No one was fighting it, though. In fact, by the sounds coming out of the bedroom, at least one of them was feeling pretty good. Maybe even in heaven.
Which, good for them. Especially since I, Marie Annetta Zola, was almost certainly in hell.
“Fuck, yeah, that feels amazing.”
I had heard Daniel Lyons’s voice many different ways over the ten years I’d worked for his family. Snarling with frustration when he lost money on a horse race. Shouting for joy when his father presented him with a new Aston Martin on his twenty-first birthday. Droning with boredom when he met with his tutors.
Sly when he planned a new party. Sweet when he spoke to his mother. Sultry when he greeted a friend’s daughter.
I’d never heardthisparticular timbre, though. One where he was apparently lost in the throes of passion.
It…wasn’t what I imagined.
And Ihadimagined it. More than I would ever admit.
In my fantasies, I was on the receiving end of those efforts. Daniel would stare deeply into my eyes and confess that he’d secretly loved me for the last ten years, ever since I’d first started working for his family at just fifteen years old. His kiss would be sweet and full of promise, and he’d ever-so-tenderly press into me, taking my virginity in the most perfect way. Maybe under the stars somewhere, or on a bed of roses. Gentle piano chords would line the moment like butter, and we would melt into each other like perfectly blended chocolate ganache.
I had not, however, envisioned myself sweaty and squealing while the object of my affections pounded away like a jackhammer and shouted obscenities until he was hoarse.
Nor had I ever thought of hearing Daniel Lyons’s sex voice while crouched in his closet like a cat burglar, waiting for him and his conquest to finish so I could make my escape.
Like I said, absolute hell.
“Give it to me, Daddy,” the girl squealed. “Give it to me so deep. Justdo it!”
“You want it deep, baby? Here it comes.”
The girl gave an excellent impression of a Kardashian who swallowed a dog toy. Then there was rustling, followed by asuccession of loud, quick bangs, as if a piece of wood were hitting the wall.
Headboard was my best guess.
I pressed my forehead into the wall beneath a row of Daniel’s suits. Torture had a new name.
My last night on the Lyons estate wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was meant to be bidding farewell to the staff before leaving to attend culinary school in Paris, courtesy of the family who wanted me to replace my mentor, Ondine, when she retired.
That’s the type of wealth the Lyons family had: the “send our kitchen maid to attend the most elite cooking school in the world” kind of dough. A life-changing opportunity for me, but for them, it was no different from a Saturday night shopping spree. The only difference was that after I finished my training, I’d be expected to repay their generous gift for years to come.
Tonight, I’d had the night off after preparing food for one of the many parties the Lyonses threw every summer. My plan was to hug Ondine goodbye, pack my things from the staff quarters, and then allow Lawrence, the Lyonses’ driver, to take me to LaGuardia for my midnight flight.
I would do all of that. There was just one more goodbye I needed to say.
I’d summoned just enough courage to sneak upstairs to the family’s private quarters while the rest of the Lyons were entertaining guests under the tent on the back lawn and dancing to the standards played by a full big band. Daniel had slipped out of the party after making his customary moves on some models. Or maybe a politician’s daughter. Or an up-and-coming actress.
