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Boss On Notice (E-Book)

Boss On Notice (E-Book)

Contemporary Romantic Comedy Billionaire Romance

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This long-suffering assistant can't stand her terrible boss, billionaire Orion Lord. 

He's arrogant, unserious, and always takes her for granted. 

And sure, she lets him, and it's not because he's tall, handsome, and top-tier gorgeous. 

No.

It's not that.

Orion Lord can charm the panties off the Iron Lady.

He says jump, and somehow she replies, "How high!"

Ugh…

Such fool.

But on the day she's had enough and is ready to put the finishing touches on the rough draft of her "sayonara-to-you-horrible-boss" letter and shove it in his face, things change. 

There's something she does not know.

Orion has already read her "see-you-never" letter, and he's determined to do whatever it takes to keep her - even if it means turning their worlds upside down.

Packed with banter, angst, and a delightful mix of emotions, ''Boss On Notice' is a must-read for fans of captivating office romances featuring a boss and his assistant.

SERIES READING ORDER

The Lord Brothers of Manhattan

1 - Crossing The Line

2 - A Fake Love Deal

3 - Boss On Notice

BOSS ON NOTICE - LOOK INSIDE

BOSS ON NOTICE: THE LORD BROTHERS OF MANHATTAN - STANDALONE

CHAPTER 1

"Ding, ding, dum, dum…"

I awake with a gasp, my focus snapping toward the ringing of my cell phone.

"Ah…" I massage my temples, my head feeling as though it's filled with cement. It sinks deeper into my pillow. Last night, I spent time with my favorite cousin, Xena, and some friends I hadn't seen in ages. We danced. We drank. We danced some more. I had a fantastic time—the dull, throbbing headache I'm experiencing is undeniable evidence of that.

But as I lie here in my supremely comfortable bed, a nagging feeling tells me something is amiss. I'm not supposed to be nestled in bed still; the room is awash with too much daylight. I had planned to wake up extra early this morning to arrive at the office and tackle something important.

What was it?

What time is it now?

My phone is chiming for the fourth time. It will ring eight times before sending the caller to voicemail. Squinting, I attempt to decipher the screen.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath.

The caller is Orion Lord, my boss. The time displayed at the top of the screen stares back at me, relentless.

I wince as I force myself into a sitting position. It's 11:00 a.m. My plan had been to be at the office three hours ago—and suddenly, I remember.

The letter.

My heart tightens in a sudden panic. But then, relief washes over me as I recall Orion never arrives before noon on Fridays. So, I have nothing to worry about.

Feeling slightly more relaxed by the seventh chime, I snatch my cell phone from the nightstand, leaping to my feet. "Good morning, Orion," I greet, injecting an extra layer of cheer into my voice to create the illusion of working diligently at my desk.

"I've been calling you all night and this morning." His tone implies I've committed an unspeakable sin by not answering his calls. It was indeed unusual of me to disregard his after-hours interruptions. Yesterday afternoon, Xena convinced me to switch my cell phone to 'Do Not Disturb' mode and to leave the office before 5:00 p.m. I took it off silent before bed but forgot to set my alarm. My phone's ringing had failed to wake me up this morning as I was deeply asleep. Now, I can't risk him reaching the office before I do.

"Mm-hmm. Well, you've found me now." I laugh, a tad too high-pitched, then freeze midmotion. "Where are you?"

Orion usually doesn't pause for this long. He's the type of man who exudes an almost irritating level of confidence. It's as if he never has to deliberate over what to say or do because he views second-guessing himself as a weakness. Therefore, this pause signifies something is unquestionably off. I leap out of bed, moving quickly.

"On my way into the office," he finally says.

I move swiftly towards my closet, a bona fide walk-in in the heart of New York City. I reside in corporate housing—a perk typically reserved for high-ranking executives. The company I work for, owned by Orion's family, has provided me with an executive package to serve as his assistant. I earn every penny of it, given that Orion is exceedingly challenging to work for. The substantial compensation package is why I never express my grievances about him directly, even when he assigns me the most menial tasks.

"Okay!" I respond with exaggerated cheerfulness as I slip a navy blue shift dress off its hanger. "I'll see you soon."

I wait for him to reply. Orion isn't the type to end a call without a farewell or a 'see you soon' or even a 'thank you'. Despite being a challenging and often frustrating boss, he has impeccable manners and persuasive charm.

"By the way, you didn't send me my calendar yesterday," he remarks.

If I had the luxury of time, I'd likely freeze in place, but I don't. Instead, I hurriedly stuff my feet into my running shoes. "I know. Sorry. The power went out around four-thirty."

"Which is why I’m calling you."

I hastily pop three pieces of gum in my mouth—I can't brush my teeth since he'd hear the running water. "I know... Sorry." But I'm not, not really.

"Don't worry. I got it."

Now I freeze, my satchel halfway slung over my shoulder. "You did?"

No…

Please, God, no.

"Yes," he confirms.

Unable to afford another moment of inactivity while I grapple with my second panic attack of the morning—likely one of many before the day's end—I spring into action. Orion only knows how to access his calendar through my computer. As I jab the elevator's down button with my elbow, I find myself casting a longing glance back toward my apartment. I can't shake the feeling that I've forgotten something.

"How?" The question slips out before I can catch it, and I immediately chastise myself. That wasn't how I meant to phrase it. Orion may be superficial, but he's far from unintelligent. On rare occasions, he'll surprise me with bursts of brilliance. However, he has never been able to access his calendar remotely. Or, more accurately, I've long suspected he feigns ignorance about accessing his calendar remotely. Despite my countless attempts to guide him through the process, he eventually threw his hands up in surrender, insisting I push updates to his calendar to his devices three times a day during the workweek, and on weekends if any changes occur. And changes are practically a constant on weekends, typically as frivolous as most of the tasks he delegates to me.

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