Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss: A Fun Sexy Feel Good Billionaire Office Romance Read online

  Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss

  The Bound Series

  Hayson Manning

  Innes Field LLC

  Copyright © 2021 by Hayson Manning

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Published by Innes Field LLC

  Editor: Megan Records meganrecords.com

  Cover design: Regina Wamba of ReginaWamba.com

  Proof reading: Pat Anderson, Sherry Willingham, Amy Hart Proofreading, Jen Katemi

  Praesidio–Protect

  Ex boarding school brothers bound by a life shattering event and a vow to protect the vulnerable.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Playlist

  1. Asia

  2. Jason

  3. Asia

  4. Jason

  5. Asia

  6. Jason

  7. Asia

  8. Jason

  9. Asia

  10. Jason

  11. Asia

  12. Jason

  13. Asia

  14. Jason

  15. Asia

  16. Jason

  17. Asia

  18. Jason

  19. Asia

  20. Jason

  21. Asia

  22. Jason

  23. Asia

  24. Jason

  25. Asia

  26. Jason

  27. Asia

  28. Jason

  29. Asia

  30. Jason

  31. Asia

  32. Jason

  33. Asia

  34. Jason

  35. Asia

  36. Jason

  37. Asia

  38. Jason

  39. Asia

  Epilogue

  Introducing Holden/Dug

  Next Up

  Chapter One

  Find out where it all began and get a free book!

  Want to be part of Hayson’s ARC Team?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Hayson Manning

  Dedication

  To Sherry, Pat and Malvina

  You’ve been with me since the beginning, and I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Playlist

  ♫

  (in no particular order)

  All By Myself – Eric Carmen

  Love Yourself – Justin Bieber

  Tired Of Being Alone – Al Green

  Could You Be Loved – Bob Marley and the Wailers

  Can’t Help Falling In Love – Twenty One Pilots

  Gamble Everything For Love – Ben Lee

  Someone You Loved – Lewis Capaldi

  You Can’t Always Get What You Want – Rolling Stones

  Midnight Train to Georgia – Gladys Knight and the Pips

  Best Thing I Never Had – Beyoncé

  Disco Duck – Rick Dees

  Let’s Get It On – Marvin Gaye

  I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry – Norah Jones

  Alone Again (Naturally) – Gilbert O’Sullivan

  Comfortably Numb – Pink Floyd

  Only The Lonely – Roy Orbison

  Love On The Brain – Rihanna

  One Of These Nights – The Eagles

  Really Don’t Care – Demi Lovato

  Chapter One

  Asia

  “I need a fiancée.” My boss, Jason Johnson, glowers at his computer screen. “By Saturday.” More scowls. “And today is Thursday, or I don’t get the house,” he mutters.

  I, Asia Brown, personal assistant to commitment-phobic billionaire Jason Johnson, CEO and evil mastermind behind Johnson Incorporated, smile inwardly. No, I snort, then gulp air like I’ve swallowed something awful. Maybe a toad.

  Good luck.

  I place a triple-shot espresso on his desk—no caramel frappalatte for Jason Johnson.

  He asked me to arrive before him so I could have his coffee ready, but I flat out refused. If he wants a coffee, he can haul his well-muscled ass out to the machine in the break room and learn how to make it himself. Or visit Starbucks like regular folk. He’d shuddered.

  I’m not getting in at five am. Six is barely tolerable. Catching the metro is impossible in Los Angeles.

  I put on my blank face as I place the coffee on his desk. “Mr. Johnson, I’ve moved your four to four-thirty. The presentation folders for the Galbraith acquisition are complete.”

  By me at eleven-thirty last night.

  “Lunch will be in the boardroom at midday. Here’s a personal list of facts for the key players in the meeting.” I hand Jason the paper I’ve spent long nights researching and phoning around the secret phone tree of personal assistants I joined two days into the job.

  I slip the folders onto the polished table. “Jack Galbraith plays golf every Wednesday, followed by a massage which comes with a happy ending that his wife Jacqueline turns a blind eye to.” I flick through the next sheet of paper in my mind. “Jack Chase, the CFO, has a controlling interest in two offshore properties which violate his non-compete and is therefore in breach of contract.” I pause and give him a pointed look. “Emma Galbraith has a political history degree, is ruthless in the courtroom, and detests you.”

  Emma lasted four weeks with Jason and thought an announcement was on the horizon, but Jason did what he always did and gave her the, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, leaving me to order a tennis bracelet from Tiffany’s, flowers, and be the shoulder to vent or cry on.

  “You were overseas for two weeks, but she saw it as a sign she was the one who’d finally captured your dark heart,” I say. “She was picking out ‘save the date’ cards and a dress.”

  Jason swears.

  I cock my head. “I know, right? How dare she think she meant something to you.”

  “I don’t know why I hired you.” He squeezes the back of his neck.

  Yeah, well, we both know.

  Twelve months ago, when I’d interviewed for the job, I’d sat next to California girls with glossy manes, size D boobs, killer shoes, and clothes I could only dream would end up at Goodwill where they’d be altered into my apparently signature ‘hot school ma’am’ look, according to my bestie Darlene. The Callie girls ignored me and spoke in hushed private school vowels. There I was, the poor cousin from Hicksville in the navy but awesome ankle-grabbing skirt I’d sewn, and a white shirt I’d snagged from the sale rack at Target.

  I’d clutched my resume to my chest, worrying my inner cheek with my teeth, after having chewed my way through rolls of antacids.

  I’d been planning my next interview—a data entry job in Torrance, Los Angeles. I mean, being a personal assistant, and the money it paid, would be a dream job, but I was realistic about my chances.

  “You.”

  I’d ignored the deep, rumbling voice that could strip panties from bodies knowing it would be targeted toward one of the Barbies.

  I’d been working out the Metro system on my phone when an all-male spicy scent rippled over me. I stared up at six foot plus of tight sculptured muscle. A black business shirt rolled to his elbows showed
golden skin. Tousled, thick dark brown hair that you itched to run your hands through. Cheekbones that were sharp, sculptured, and could possibly cut paper and diamonds. A forehead that looked permanently creased like he’d never smiled in his life. Puffy lips that should look feminine highlighted his face. And his eyes? Jesus, his eyes. A deep, stormy brown.

  “You’ve got the job.”

  When I’d asked later why he’d hired little old me, feeling quite proud of my resume, his words struck like a slug to the chest.

  “I figured you’re here for work and not my assets.”

  While I’d stood there like a moron, he’d waved an impatient hand. “You wouldn’t want to bang me on the boardroom table.”

  I blinked, then what he meant took hold, and boy did it take hold.

  Translation. I don’t want to bang you on the boardroom table because you’re ugly and short.

  What every girl wants to hear.

  A look of dismay had crossed his face before I scuttled away with my face on fire. Admittedly, it looked like he’d started an apology, but there was only so much humiliation a girl could take in one day. I was not going to stand around and listen to him dig a deeper hole.

  When I first started, I’d thought there must be more to the man. No one could be so cold, so detached, so unfeeling, as in, totally devoid of human emotion. I’d spent way too much time hitting up Doctor Google, punching in his personality type, only getting returns on Jeffrey Dahmer, the Son of Sam, and a guy in India who likes to pickle human feet.

  How do you find discarded human feet anyway?

  Not that I thought Jason would ever harm anyone or pickle random body parts. The only time I’ve seen any capacity for emotion is if he loses a deal, which is rare. He takes to hurling things against walls when that happens.

  I’m itching to crank open his head and see if circuit boards and wires are powering him. I made him a birthday cake last year with his name—minus the N, as I’d run out of room. I’d found the cake in the trash, not a slice eaten. That hurt like little knife nicks to the heart. I’d stayed up all night making it, thinking maybe my world-famous (in my head) chocolate butterball cake could thaw his soul.

  Nope.

  The man didn’t have a soul—his words. I’ve seen moguls white-faced and wiping their eyes after leaving his boardroom.

  Jason turns a pen over in his fingers; something glitters and works behind his dark, coal-wrapped-in-thunder, dipped-in-molasses, then flung-into-outer-space eyes.

  “I’ve shifted the seating so Emma Galbraith will be away from you in case she’s brought knives or sharpened pencils—HBs can inflict damage. If she’s into voodoo, I can’t help you. I don’t have enough time to study up on the dark arts.”

  Jason says nothing. He stares at me until all the little hairs on my neck stand to attention.

  He’s got his weird eyes on. Something's up.

  I know this look. He gets it when he’s going in for a major negotiation, but since the Galbraith meeting is a done deal—to give him his due, Jason is a master negotiator—I don’t know what else there is to negotiate.

  “Take a seat,” he says in his rich, bedroom, and ultimately bored voice.

  “Why?”

  “I want to negotiate something with you.” The Montblanc pen he’s been twiddling like a conductor’s baton now lies still in his fingers.

  “Be my fake fiancée for ten days.”

  “No.” The word whooshes out of me on a shout of laughter as I rocket to my feet.

  Sure, I enjoy needling him with a fake horoscope and song of the day, but we’re not besties. Hell, we aren’t even friends. We have a barely functioning boss/employee relationship. All I know about him comes from the internet (serial dater, wickedly handsome, richer than God, and born without a heart—his words). He’s never asked a single thing about me in the year I’ve worked for him.

  He rakes a hand through his thick, messy hair and stares out the window. “I’ve lied to my grandmother about having a fiancée. She hates my lifestyle, and in a hasty move, I told her I’d met someone and asked her to marry me.”

  My eyebrows reach for my hairline. “You lied to your grandmother?”

  Wow, he’s reached a new low.

  His perfect features pucker into a scowl. “I lied because I adore her, and I don’t want her worrying about me. She’s got high blood pressure, and apparently, I’m part of the cause, so, yes, I lied to her.”

  I’d give anything to have my grandmother back from the grave. I get the devastated look that flashes across his face. I adored the woman who raised me too, but the choice of living my own life and making my own decisions, right or wrong, is a freedom I’ll never give up.

  “Asia?” His voice lands me back in the room.

  I stare straight into his stormy eyes. “Why me? Surely there must be some woman in the known universe you haven’t pissed off, shunned, or ghosted?”

  Something flashes across his face, and I fight the flinch.

  Not one I’d bang on the boardroom table.

  A girl has some pride. This girl has a lot of pride. “Sorry, I’m washing my hair.”

  “For ten days?”

  “It takes a long time.”

  It does, it really does. No product can tame the mess. Well, none CVS stocks.

  He paces around his office, his long legs eating up space. “Asia Brown, I’m stuck. You’re my employee, so, you know, HR and rules.”

  “I’ll check, but I don’t think there’s a section in the HR manual entitled ‘taking your assistant to be your fake fiancée for ten days and the rules and regulations that entails’.”

  He looms over me, his scent reminding me of a forest after a summer shower, all woodsy with a hint of spice and him. If I breathe deep, I’ll get lost for a second.

  “Asia, please. It’s perfect. You’re my employee, which is a line I never cross. Think of it as a vacation. A country vacation. You don’t want to see my grandmother die, do you?”

  “Cheap shot from the balcony seats, Mr. Johnson. I’m not the cause of your grandmother’s blood pressure, nor am I going to spend ten days with you outside of work, so the answer is a definite no.” I stand. “Your horoscope for today is: Words that seem harmless will come back to bite you. Act at once. Song of the day is ‘Gamble Everything for Love’.”

  I smile at his growl and start planning ten sweet days without my boss.

  Chapter Two

  Jason

  “Are you sure this is the right address?” I crane my head. Not where I expected my assistant to live. Actually, I don’t know much about her apart from she doesn’t take my crap, works hard, has a smart mouth which irritates and occasionally makes me smile, and dresses like a sexy librarian–all high neck, nothing fitting dresses, skirts and shirts in navy, gray, brown and black. Be it a sexy librarian, I imagine bending over to stock the bottom shelf.

  I recheck Google Maps and the address from the file I pulled from HR this afternoon. Compton isn’t a part of LA I frequent, but then again, I hate all parts of LA, from where I live in Santa Monica to my office in the downtown district. Give me the smell of grease, lubricant, put a wrench in my hand, and I’ll die a happy man. Car engines are my crack.

  But I’m a man on a mission. My grandmother’s email stipulated that her house, the house I grew up in (that I need, but she thinks is the root of all my problems) will be gifted to some ridiculous charity unless I show her I am settling down and, in fact, have a fiancée and my past doesn’t haunt me. Ok, so maybe I’d rather sing the national anthem decked out in Buffalo Bills gear on the Patriots side in Orchard Park than admit I have skeletons in my closet—two, to be exact.

  Besides, Cynthia has issued a summons that I must attend her soirée. She doesn’t issue direct orders very often, so when she issues this one, I have no choice but to show up with a sparkling fiancée on my arm and looking like a well-rounded human being.

  “This is it,” Gabriel Pederson, my driver and Stamford Brook brother confirm
s. His driving skills are legendary. He’s part of a tight knit brotherhood who attended the same boarding school on scholarship. Our ties go deep, our loyalty deeper, and our love deeper still. We will drop whatever we are doing for a brother in need.

  Gabriel is taking a career break after a stint in the marines, figuring out his path. He needed a job, I needed a driver. A perfect match. I’ll miss him like shit, but know that he’ll eventually move on. Driving a billionaire asshole (his words and I agree) is not a career path for him.

  I glance at the building. Not what I expected. I pay well, so why is Asia living here?

  “Do you know Asia?” I ask Gabe, trying to get some sort of inside scoop on her.

  “Yeah, everyone knows Asia.” He swivels his head. The man is grinning like a fool.

  “Have you got a thing for my assistant?” My eyebrows shoot up.

  “Everyone has a thing for your assistant.” He shakes his head. “She’s smart, funny, gorgeous, and kind.”

  I ignore his comments. “Quick, give me the scoop.”

  He pats my arm like a child. “You’re on your own on this one, brother. You’ll have to get to know her.”