Hitched To The Boss (Part One)

  Hitched To The Boss (Part One)

  Paige North

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 by Favor Ford Publishing

  All rights reserved.

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

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Want To Be In The Know?

  Hitched To The Boss (Part One) by Paige North

  1. Caetlyn

  2. Dante

  3. Caetlyn

  4. Dante

  5. Caetlyn

  6. Dante

  7. Caetlyn

  8. Dante

  Want To Be In The Know?

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  Hitched To The Boss (Part One) by Paige North

  Caetlyn

  “Caetlyn, you are screwed.”

  I look over my cubicle wall to my neighbor Alexis.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I say. “They already told me about Roger.” That’s the guy who I was originally hired to work for. He was a marketing executive here at Inferno Partners, and yesterday he was fired.

  So, yeah. I’m screwed.

  “No, that’s not the worst of it,” Alexis says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  A message pings through on my computer. I look at it.

  DF: Please see me in my office immediately.

  “Oh, crap,” I say, my stomach dropping. “Guess who wants to see me? Dante Farris.”

  Another message pings through: I don’t tolerate being kept waiting.

  “I gotta go. Wish me luck.”

  “Godspeed!” Alexis jokes as I rush to his office.

  Dante Farris is the CEO and founder of Inferno Partners. Highly successful, highly intimidating, and yes, highly gorgeous.

  When my boss was fired, HR told me they’d be looking to place me with someone as soon as possible. It just so happens that Dante Farris is in need of a new assistant, so lucky me.

  I knock on Dante’s imposing door, glancing at the empty desk just outside his office. His previous assistant lasted only six weeks. And the good ones, the ones who have been executive assistants to some of the biggest CEOs in New York City for decades? The longest any of those have lasted was six months.

  Basically, if I have to work directly for Dante, my lifespan at the company has just been reduced to fruit fly levels.

  I’ve barely spoken to the man. I think he nodded hello to me once. That’s about it. People here don’t talk to Dante Farris. They take orders from him. They fear him. They get fired by him. And now I have to work for him?

  “Come in!” his sharp voice calls, and I go inside.

  Dante Farris stands in front of his city-views, ceiling-to-floor windows angrily jabbing at the tablet in his hands. He barely glances up at me. “About time. Come. Sit.”

  I walk across the office—bigger than my studio apartment—and sit in the sleek leather chair before his desk.

  “So,” he says, turning to face me but not look at me. “I need you.”

  “Here I am,” I say, and immediately regret it because it makes him look up at me. He takes me in for a moment, and my breath catches. Even from across the room I can see how his black eyelashes encase his emerald-green eyes. I feel pinned to the chair under his gaze, unable to move. I swallow hard.

  “We leave in two hours for the convention.”

  “Con…convention?” I manage to sputter.

  He sighs without looking at me. “Catherine, did you check my calendar before you went home last night?”

  “It…it’s Caetlyn…”

  “Or this morning, when you arrived?”

  “I was just told I should…”

  “Because if you had, you would have seen this. The tech and entertainment convention in Las Vegas. You’ve worked here longer than a day, correct?”

  “Y-yes…” But I haven’t worked for you for more than thirty seconds! I want to scream.

  “Then this should be no surprise. I go every year and it’s one of the most important events for Inferno Partners. And I need you. I don’t suppose you packed your overnight bag?”

  I shamefully shake my head no.

  Dante sighs again. “Go home.”

  My shoulders slump. This must be a new record—fired in under five minutes.

  “Pack your bag. Meet me at the airport, and Caetlyn—you better be on that flight.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, and quickly turn to go.

  I splurge on a cab home and have the driver wait as I throw together a small bag of clothes. I check myself in the mirror, smooth down my hair, and then I’m racing to catch his plane at Teterboro Airport.

  At last I arrive and am walking up the steps of his private jet. Inside, Dante is sitting at a desk by the window working on some papers scattered in front of him. His eyes dart up when I set down my small bag, which is immediately scooped up by a flight attendant. The door is closing, and I’m being told to take a seat. Must have just made it in time.

  I hesitantly take the seat across from Dante, and it’s not until I’m buckled in and the plane is moving that I finally allow myself to let out a deep breath. That’s when I realize what is actually happening.

  I am going on an overnight trip to Las Vegas with Dante Farris. Yeah, it’s a work trip, but holy hell, when I look at him across the small table from me as the plane races toward takeoff, it’s impossible not to be freaked out by what I was too frazzled earlier to process. I suddenly realize that I am beyond terrified of this guy. He is ridiculously smart, has a relentless pursuit of perfection, and all the women he’s dated—and there have been many—were all magnificent bombshells.

  It’s not like I want to be romantic with the guy—he’s my boss, for one, and did I mention extremely intimidating? It’s just that, sitting so close to him, just being in his presence, it’s impossible not to think about sex. Or maybe I’m not trying hard enough to think about other things.

  Like…my mind is a blank.

  His eyes dart up to me again and I flash a nervous smile. His jacket and tie are gone and the white dress shirt he wears fits his body so perfectly I’m sure it’s a custom fit. I can see the muscles of his arms through the fabric, which somehow molds to his body but doesn’t pull at the buttons down his wide chest. I tug up my blouse, suddenly worried that it’s too low cut. The way his eyes keep flashing to me, I’m sure he thinks I’m dressed inappropriately for a work trip.

  “You should know that my last assistant was fired because she was unable to do simple tasks for me,” Dante says, his eyes down on his papers again. “When I ask you to do something—anything—I expect it to be done perfectly and quickly. Understood?”

  I say yes, I but I don’t think he hears me.

  “I should hire an assistant whose sole job is to train the new assistants. Nightmare. Look, I hope you’re well organized and appreciate an attention to detail. Because I can’t have another mishap like that one assistant two or three ago, who booked me a standard room with no late checkout. I need you to stay focused, and do everything I ask of you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Professional and personal. I certainly don’t intend for you to know the details of my personal life—as far as you should be concerned, I don’t have one—but from time to time you will have to take care of my personal needs. Is that a problem?”

  “No, of course not.”

&
nbsp; “Because I just need things to go smoothly. Understood?” The more he speaks, the more agitated he gets. I can only nod my understanding.

  Dante sits back in his chair and runs his hand over his face. He rolls his head to look out the window. “Most people can’t handle the level of care I require. For your sake and mine, Caetlyn, I hope you’re qualified.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I manage.

  “And let’s hope that’s good enough. Now get out your laptop. We need to make sure you know all my important accounts and contacts.”

  So now I’m feeling kind of like crap. I want to do a good job, but he’s already assuming I’ll fail. But if there’s one thing I know from growing up with a mother who was a type-A overachiever, it’s that I will always do my best, but I’m not really keen on being chastised for it. Got plenty of that from Mother dearest.

  Once we’re at cruising altitude and Dante has taken a break from putting the fear of God in me, he closes his laptop. The flight attendant quickly appears, asking him if he’d like something to drink. She must be well trained to know the signs of Dante Farris in need of something. Maybe I should ask her for pointers.

  “Soda water with lime,” he says, and she starts for the galley to get it. “No. Wait.” Dante turns his eyes on me, and there’s something much lighter in them than there has been all morning. Something…nicer. “Champagne,” he finally says. “Two.”

  “Oh, no,” I say. “I’m fine, really. Thanks.” This is probably some sort of test and anyway, the last thing I need is to not be one hundred percent focused on everything I’m doing in this new job. Dante’s schedule is ridiculously intricate, and that’s on a normal day. One false move and the whole thing goes tumbling down, and that, as he’s already reminded me, could cost him millions.

  “Look,” Dante says, leaning forward. Having him even inches closer to me makes my breath catch. I can see his shirt stretching across his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps ready to pop through the fabric. I quickly look back into his eyes, but that’s almost worse. “There’s a lot that’s going to happen during this convention. So many people I need to connect with, people who need something from me and from whom I need things from to keep my business on top. So why don’t we indulge just a little bit before the chaos begins? Take the edge off.”

  A smile plays up on his lips—a crooked smile that is all devil and delight.

  “Okay,” I finally say. “Sure, why not?”

  Dante sits back in his seat. “See? You’re already attending to my needs. You just might last after all.”

  Dante

  “To a successful working relationship,” I say, and clink my glass to Caetlyn’s.

  “Cheers,” she says.

  I watch her as she tips the glass to her lips and takes a slow swallow of champagne. When I told Barbara, the elderly office manager at Inferno Partners, that I required a new assistant who wouldn’t make my complicated life any more complicated, I didn’t know she’d send me Caetlyn Navarro, who looks more like a 1950’s pinup girl than a top assistant. It’s like the old gal is testing my resolve to keep my work and personal life separate. As soon as I saw Caetlyn walk in my office this morning in that tight skirt and heels, her curves winding down her body like ribbon, all I could think about was what those curves would look like out of that sexy skirt. Maybe still in the heels though.

  But that’s not going to happen. The convention is a major component of my company, and I intend to make the most of my time there, cram in as many meetings as possible, make tons of deals and a shit load of money. Always be on top—that’s all I care about.

  For now, though, a little bubbly to help ease the tension surely never hurt anyone. It’s a long flight and the truth is, my last assistant took care of the hotel and scheduling details so there’s not much for us to do until we arrive. So, champagne it is. And when Caetlyn takes another sip, I can’t help but stare as her throat takes down that golden liquid.

  “Tell me about yourself, Caetlyn,” I say. I don’t normally care about my assistants—only that they get the jobs done—but this one seems different. She’s beautiful, at least. “How long have you been with Inferno Partners?”

  “Just a few months,” she says. I can tell she’s nervous. She keeps fingering the stem of her champagne glass, her delicate fingers stroking the glass up and down, up and down. Christ, she has no idea the thoughts running through my mind. I clear my throat and shift in my leather seat.

  “You seem a bit young to have been working as a high-level executive assistant, but I heard good things about you.” That’s not a lie. Old Barbara said she was stellar at her first job with my company even though she worked for a rat that I had to fire the same week I fired my last assistant.

  “I graduated from college a couple of months ago,” Caetlyn says.

  “And now look at you. Working for the hottest company in tech and entertainment. Not bad. Have you been to Las Vegas before?”

  “No,” she says.

  “So on our first full day working together, we take a trip to Sin City. I hope you’re not too nervous.”

  She eyes me for a moment, almost as if she knows I’m being playful. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be just fine,” she says. I watch mesmerized as her full lips smile at me, and her resolve turns me on even more. “The champagne helps,” she adds, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Cheers to that,” I say, and we clink glasses again and finish what’s left of them. They’re quickly refilled, and we’re brought a board of charcuterie, which we begin eating rather indelicately. Caetlyn’s tongue slips out from between those full lips to capture a thin slice of prosciutto, and I want to explode in my pants.

  I shake off the thoughts. I hate starting over, and I don’t want to lose Caetlyn Navarro for the simple fact that I might want to see her naked. I need to keep her as a solid, reliable assistant—with her clothes on.

  There’s definitely something about her, though. An innocence with a touch of steely resolve.

  There’s also the V-cut of her top, which exposes just enough of her cleavage to stay professional, but only makes me hungry to see an inappropriate amount.

  “So how did you start a whole company when you were just barely older than I am now?” Caetlyn asks. “You look more the athletic type than the business type. I mean, shoot, that sounded wrong.” Her cheeks are pink—probably from the champagne, maybe from her comment. “I didn’t mean that you don’t look like you could be good in business or that…I mean you’re fit but you’re also…oh my gosh, I have to stop talking.”

  I laugh. Jesus, she’s adorable.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I was an athlete.”

  “Wait, let me guess,” she says, already forgetting her embarrassment. “You were captain of the football team.”

  I chuckle. “I wasn’t captain, but I played.”

  “I knew it! I was going to say basketball but I wasn’t sure.”

  “Played that too,” I say.

  “I don’t play anything,” she says. “I used to run track, but I quit. I hated it so much I’d get stomach cramps before every practice. And anyway, I wasn’t very good.”

  I shrug. I don’t like quitters, but a person also shouldn’t waste time doing something they don’t like. “School was always more important than basketball and football. Cornell did as much for me as anything else. I worked my ass off, kept my GPA perfect and, once I graduated, I won the Brighton Grant.”

  “Whoa, you got the Brighton Grant? That’s like, the most prestigious grant you can get for start-ups.”

  “I’m aware,” I say, and she tucks her chin to her chest, embarrassed. After a moment, she takes another sip of champagne. “It started as just advertising, but I always had a vision for what I wanted. I knew that by adding an entertainment element and working with pro athletes and major entertainers, I could produce a company that was unlike any other. The way we market, our viral videos and the creative stunts we’ve done over the last four years,
we’ve been able to grow—”

  “Faster than any other start-up in recent memory,” Caetlyn finishes. “I’m aware.” A slow smile spreads across her face, and our eyes lock for a moment. Then she laughs. “Sorry, I mean, I know how incredible you are—your company, I mean. Oh my gosh, maybe I should eat more.”

  “We’ll get you some sparkling water, maybe a little bread,” I tell her.

  Although she does get the water, once that second bottle of champagne is popped all thoughts of slowing down go out the jet’s proverbial windows.

  “I can’t believe you were just a year older than I am now when you started,” she says, her barely-touched water in front of her, her champagne glass in her hand. “It’s incredible. It’s ambitious. Look at all you’ve achieved.” She swirls her hand to indicate the private jet, and in the process, sloshes some bubbly on the table. “Oops!” she says, quickly moving to sop it up. “I’m so sorry! It was that turbulence we hit.”

  “Sure,” I said with a laugh.

  “It was!”

  We both laugh, and in that moment, I’m unable to remember the last time I’ve felt so relaxed.

  By the time we touch down in Las Vegas some five-and-a-half hours later, I’m pretty sure we’re both feeling no pain.

  The car takes us from the tarmac to the hotel, where we’re whisked up a private elevator to the floor that is entirely mine for the duration of the convention.

  “Your room will be down here,” I tell Caetlyn, showing her down the long hall that’s practically the length of a city block. Even though her room is within my bigger, massive suite, she has her own key card. I’m guessing her room is bigger than any hotel she’s ever even dreamed of staying in. I know this because of the look on her face. Wide-eyed, taking in everything from the dozens of vases of fresh flowers towering on glossy counters, tables and bars, and how she almost trips as she walks past one of the enormous windows that looks out over the strip.