Page 1 of Bossy Trouble

1

GEORGIA

“It’s a colossally bad idea,” my brother said, his voice striking that trademark balance between concern and the slightest amusement.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that already,” I said, feeling my annoyance skyrocket as sweat trailed down my back. I was currently striding on the pavement, in the godawful heat, on what had to be the most miserable summer we’d seen in a while. Even worse, I could see my destination in the distance, a soulless, high-rise building that loomed into the skies like a threat.

The building matched the owner, a man even more soulless and imposing.

I didn’t feel any better now that I was almost at my goal. If anything, I felt worse. I mentally calculated the amount of time it would take me to get into the building, get past his secretary, and finally meet with Donovan Dresden, shark of Boston, a man that seemed to be universally admired as much as he was hated.

He was the one I needed to meet today to save everything I’d ever worked for from crashing down.

And the last thing I needed right now was my brother’s pessimism.

“Yeah, but I just wanted it to be on the record that I'm totally against this idea,” he persisted. “In case we circle back here at some point shortly, and you come complaining to me about whatever it is Donnie has done.”

“Donnie?” Despite my bad mood, I couldn’t help but smirk. “I can’t believe you still call him that.” My brother might be the only one Donovan let get away with that ridiculous nickname. Me? He never let me get away with anything.

The first time I tried to tease the then sixteen-year-old Donovan by calling him ‘Donnie,’ he’d picked me up and hung me over a railing while I screamed my head off. We weren’t very high up, but I was deathly afraid of heights, and he knew it. As he held me, he smiled that predatory smile of his, not relenting until I’d apologized probably a dozen times. And even with that, he still called me by my dreaded nickname—Alabama—for the entire next week.

But that was Donovan. For any offense he got, he always hit back twice as hard.

He was not a man that mere mortals like me should mess with. That incident alone should have told me never to tangle with him again, but I wasn’t a very smart teenager.

Instead, I’d fallen in love with him.

And given him everything.

Only to somehow be surprised and blindsided when he destroyed me with the same callous disregard as he did with most things, leaving pieces of me shattered on the floor.

I’d certainly learned my lesson after that. I picked up the pieces and moved on with my life, started my own successful business, and tried to forget everything to do with Donovan Dresden.

For five years, it worked.

But here I was again.

My brother was probably right. Charging in to see Donovan again without a meeting was undoubtedly a bad idea, especially as he’d only gotten more powerful in recent years, acquiring wealth like none of us imagined. If accounts were to be believed, he’d also become a lot more ruthless, crushing both the small and mighty to get what he wanted.

But I came because he was the only one who could help me. I’d exhausted all my other options and found myself on the side of the barrel. The only choice out of my current predicament was to tangle with the shark once more and somehow win.

“I’m going in,” I told my brother once I was in front of the building. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, Georgia.” My brother’s sigh was a heavy exhale. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I don’t have a choice, Garrett. Not unless you somehow have exactly two million four hundred and five dollars lying around.”

My brother was silent for a few beats. “I don’t. You know I would give it to you if I did.”

Familiar guilt pricked at my conscience, and I released a breath. It wasn’t fair of me to take my anger out on my brother. He tried his best to be a good older brother even though he didn’t always succeed. He’d given me some of the initial investment to start my business in the first place. It hadn’t been a lot of money—only a small fraction of the inheritance my parents left him in charge of—but I’d been able to make it into something.

Which was good because Garrett had quickly blown through the rest of the inheritance with some poor life decisions. His business was not doing as well as he had hoped. So he definitely couldn’t afford to loan me millions at this point.

But to a man like Donovan, two million was spare change.

And wewereold friends…or something like that.

All I had to do was play one of his sadistic games for a little bit, and he’d probably let me have the money at the end.

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