Coldhearted Boss by R.S. Grey

Coldhearted Boss

Coldhearted Boss by R.S. Grey
English | 2019 | Romance| ePUB | 382 Kb

Coldhearted Boss : I’m desperate and destitute when Lockwood Construction rolls into my small town with an offer too good to pass up: high wages to any able-bodied man willing to join their crew.
Say no more. I throw on baggy clothes, tuck my long hair under a baseball hat, and apply for a job. Unfortunately, my half-baked idea of disguising myself as a guy is flawed from the beginning. As Shakira says, these hips don’t lie.
Still, I like to think I might have pulled the whole thing off save for one thing:
I know my boss.
Last month, we met at a bar, and after a fiery first encounter, it seems we’re destined to be sworn enemies.
Ethan Stone is ruthless and arrogant, a man I never would have crossed had I known how much he likes to toy with his prey.
He should just fire me and be done with it. Instead, he decides to make me his personal slave. Oh right, I think they’re calling it personal “assistant” these days.
It’s torture, all of it—his bad attitude, his ruggedly chiseled face, his desire to grind me into dust.
Every one of our friction-filled battles burns hotter than the last.
A girl can only hold out for so long. Soon, I’m bound to go up in flames.
My objective? Survive the heat long enough to send home a paycheck.
My real objective? Stop having X-rated fantasies about my coldhearted boss.

“How’s your mom?” he would have asked.

“Two years sober next month.”


“Still getting straight As and better now that she’s on a new medication.”

“Ah, so it’s just life in general getting you down then?”

I’d have aimed a rueful smile his way. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

He would have laughed at that and then gone on to serve another customer. There are never many in here. Most locals can’t afford marked-up alcohol, which means the bar mostly caters to the travelers staying in the motel next door.

I glance over my shoulder at the group of suits that were here when I first walked in. There are four of them, as fancy as they come, definitely from out of town. These men are used to smelling rarified air, not trailer trash.

Comparing our lives would be comical.

I’ve bounced from odd job to odd job since high school. Currently, I make $7 an hour working as a maid at the motel. That’s below minimum wage, but our manager doesn’t care. He says with tips, it should all break even. It doesn’t. I can’t complain, though, because there are already five of us splitting shifts, and if I don’t like it, there’s someone else ready to take my place.”

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