Falling for His Boss Read online

  FALLING FOR HIS BOSS

  Spinsters & Casanovas Series: Whitney and Darcy

  Rosie Praks

  Rosie Press

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Other Books in the Spinsters and Casanovas Series

  Also by Rosie Praks

  About the Author

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Copyright © 2017 by Rosie Praks

  All rights reserved.

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

  All rights reserved. This book was self-published by the author Rosie Praks. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without agreement and written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  The author can be reached at: www.rosiepraks.com.

  Prologue

  “Tell us why you think we should hire you? What can you bring to E Magazine to help it expand? What special qualities do you have that would benefit E Magazine?”

  Darcy ran his tongue across his suddenly dry lips and swallowed to appease his already parched throat. He didn’t know which question to answer first. All he knew was there was perspiration on his forehead. Not to mention his hands were also slick with moisture.

  He wiped them on his black chinos, the only ones he owned at the moment, since all his clothing was put on TradeMe, an online market in New Zealand, to earn enough money to pay for last week’s rent.

  Is this a job interview or an interrogation? he wondered. Because right now, he felt more like he was a suspect on a murder trial and he must give the right answer or be hanged.

  Darcy glanced at the panel of his four appointed interviewers. They seriously looked like they all belonged in the courtroom. One blond-haired lady with ample jowls was busy jotting down notes like one of those secretaries he saw on TV court shows. She looked quite sweet actually, glancing at him a few times between typing. Her name was Mary, as per the nameplate in front of her. He’d call her Sweet Mary.

  Next to her was an old man who looked to be in his seventies, with a full head of black hair, like a newly bought mop. It was so thick and shiny Darcy doubted it was real hair. Unlike his very own healthy copper-brown mane that was cut in a fashionable mohawk style, as advised by his new friend Hunter, whom he’d met at the salon.

  Darcy glanced at the man’s nameplate. It read “Head of Department of Finance, Mr. Stefan Halgo-Tatabe.”

  Mr. Halgo-Tatabe, Darcy spoke in his mind. It was so hard to pronounce and such a long name, too. Grandpa Mop would be a more suitable designation for him.

  Next to Grandpa Mop was a woman that literally had him sucking in his breath, not because of her beauty or anything, but because she frightened him so much. If he were to so much as breathe, she might sense he was here and then cast a spell to kill him.

  This woman wore a black gothic-style dress. Her hair was done up in a bun on top of her head, like two scoops of ice cream on top of each other, with the smaller scoop sitting on top of the larger one. She looked as if she had a black aura around her. Her stare was very unnerving, as if she had some sort of vendetta against him.

  But he’d never seen her before. He couldn’t imagine anyone having a grudge against him; he was such a nice, friendly, and handsome guy. But there was definitely no denying the look of hatred there in her eyes, and she was the one responsible for making this job interview difficult.

  He didn’t know what to call this gothic woman. There was no nameplate in front of her. Maybe ‘the witch’ since she wore all black and exuded that witch-like aura.

  Finally, next to the witch, Darcy saw a man that was the opposite of Grandpa Mop. He looked to be in his early forties but was bald around the top part of his head, in the shape of a horse’s shoe.

  Darcy wanted to snicker at all of his appointed interviewers. How could these four run such a successful magazine that literally took the world by storm?

  “Dar-cy,” came the high-pitched voice directly in front of him.

  Shit! Had he really snickered right in front of them? He hoped the witch didn’t catch him in action. Just in case she did, he disguised his snicker as a cough.

  “Would you like some water?” The witch glared at him through her black-rimmed glasses.

  Darcy gulped down excess saliva and blasted his contacts to hell for playing up at this time.

  Dry eyes, pure and simple.

  But he was only following advice. Hunter did say to ditch his glasses and opt for contacts instead, since it would make him more presentable. Not that he wasn’t handsome in the first place, but—

  “Dar-cy. Water?” that high-pitched voice said again.

  Shit! His mind was wondering off to La-la Land again.

  He gave the witch a smile, one that almost split his face in half.

  “No, no, I’m fine now,” he replied and cleared his throat again. Then he looked at all of them.

  A small interval passed by, the room cloaked in silence. Suddenly, he heard a tapping sound. His eyes were drawn to those long, claw-like nails tapping the tabletop. They belonged to the witch.

  His eyes were so mesmerized and freaked out by those nails that he almost forgot to breathe, let alone think. He didn’t hear or register anything until he heard his name being called, yet again.

  “Yes, yes,” he responded hastily.

  “Perhaps you need more time to answer the question, Dar-cy?” the witch asked, her eyes piercing him like a spear.

  His heart jumped in fright.

  “The question?” he asked like an idiot.

  “Yes, the question, Darcy. More time perhaps, or shall we end the interview altogether?”

  Oh shit! Yes! Yes! The questions. He totally forgot to answer the questions. Wasn’t that why he was here in the first place?

  His heart pounded again as he looked up at the witch. He shook his head to clear his mind and swallowed another glob of saliva.

  That was a close one, he thought. He almost got sucked in by those freaky nails. And then clearing his throat once, he started his answer, his voice trembling, “I believe…”

  It was a week later, the weather as crappy as his mood, when the result from his interview finally arrived from E Magazine via the mail delivery. The rain pounded like there was no tomorrow. Darcy had to put on his cap that he’d bought from the thrifty shop before heading out to the mailbox. The hat was old, but at least it did the trick of keeping that blasted rain from fogging his glasses.

  Once the letter was in his hands, he cuddled it like precious gold. In fact, to Darcy, this letter was worth more than precious gold. This letter, when he eventually came to open it, would determine the outcome of his life—whether he would continue to live in this rundown apartment that was infested
with rats.

  Darcy slipped the letter into his coat pocket and ran back inside before his gelled hair was damaged. Nothing was more important than his mohawk right now. Nothing! Well, maybe except the letter.

  Taking shelter under the veranda, he made small cuts, tearing open the letter with precision. He was so focused on his task that when his phone suddenly rang, his heart almost jumped out of his chest.

  “Who… who is it?” He flipped open the phone and stammered into it.

  “It’s me, little ducky. Did the letter come yet?”

  Thank God it was only his friend Macy.

  “Yeah, it’s here. I’m in the process of opening it right now.”

  “Ohhh, tell me. Quick, tell me.”

  “If you’d shut up and let me open it in peace, I’d be more than happy to tell you.”

  A man could only focus on one task at a time. He obviously couldn’t talk to Macy and tear open the envelop at the same time now, could he? And so when Macy continued to mutter and drill him, he snapped the phone shut.

  Sneaking the letter out of the envelope inch by inch, his heart competed against the thrum of the torrential rain outside.

  “Oh, Jesus, please, rescue this little ducky from drowning in this rat pool,” he prayed under his breath when the letter was finally out. “All he wants is a full stomach and a few pretty girls to sleep with.”

  When he did eventually open the letter, he almost ran into the rain and did a jiggy dance. Instead, he speed-dialed Macy.

  “Well, say congrats to me, Macy,” he shouted into the phone. “I’ll be joining your flock of beautiful birds at work soon. Come Monday, I’m officially an employee at E Magazine. Yeah!”

  “Congrats, little ducky,” Macy cheered on the other end of the line.

  “Hello, beautiful women. Bye-bye, abstinence.” He chuckled to himself.

  His sex life had hit a dry spell since he moved to Auckland from Wellington. He was so busy looking for a job that suited his degree and surviving on a peanut salary from his librarian job that he didn’t have time to satisfy his other needs. Like Jonathan, for example, his little brother downstairs, who’d stayed wilted and quiet for a few months now. Maybe he should go out tonight, celebrate, and bring a few girls home to make Jonathan happy again. If he were happy, then Darcy would also be happy.

  “So tell me about the place.” He got down to business. It was always good to stay one step ahead. Especially if there was going to be a platter of hot girls around, as all magazine publishing companies should be. “Any hot girls there?”

  “Plenty, little ducky. Plenty. Big ones, small ones.”

  “Are you referring to their breast size?”

  “No, you perverted ducky, their height. But you better watch out for one. She’s the mother of all tyrants. If you work under her, you’d be better off dead.”

  “She’s that bad, eh? But what’s her size?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a lesbian. I don’t go around looking at other women’s breasts. Brian would think I’m a lesbian.”

  “Okay, fine. Go on, then. Tell me more.”

  “Okay, if you’re under her, then you’re dead. That woman goes through men like flies. She uses them and then squashes them. In fact, I heard rumors that she keeps men’s ties in her drawers just so she can attack them and control them.”

  “Does she keep whips and chains, too?” he asked. If she did, then what a perfect deal. He was always into that Dominant/submissive stuff.

  “Are you into BDSM?”

  “What… uh… no… well… umm.” How do you tell your friend these kinds of kinky things anyway?

  “In your fantasy, little ducky.” Macy thankfully saved him from answering her question. “But be careful with this one. Make sure you don’t get in her radar.”

  “Yeah, I hope not. So I’m supposed to be a personal assistant to one of the bosses. Which journalist writes articles on destination? Who’s my boss?”

  “Oh, so you’ll be working under Whitney, then,” Macy said lightly.

  “Oh,” he chuckled in delight. “Whitney. That’s a nice name. Is she hot?”

  “More like hard to handle. But she does have a nice body. I envy her.”

  “If you’d cut down on those cakes and stop baking for Brian, then I’m sure you’d lose that weight, Macy.” He offered his kind advice to his friend.

  “Anyway, you should know her.” Macy dismissed his advice. “She’s one of your interviewers.”

  “Seriously? Now you’re giving me high hopes.”

  His heart swelled up when he heard this news. He wondered if Whitney was the blond chick who kept smiling at him during the interview. She was hot. But if she was hard to handle, too… Darcy chuckled at his own thoughts. He’d be sure to set that straight with fluffy handcuffs and a feathery whip. He was sure she’d come back for more, just like all his other women.

  “Is she the blond one?”

  “Blond? No, she has black hair.”

  “Black?”

  Darcy scratched his head, trying to recall who had black hair in the interview session. There was old Grandpa Mop, but he was a man. Plus, he was old. Well, apart from him, there was also… He rubbed his jaw and thought. There was only that gothic witch-like lady, but… No, that couldn’t be. Of course it couldn’t be her.

  “No, there was no one that was hot in there with black hair,” he said into the phone.

  “I’m pretty sure she was in there. Oh, wait, my memory’s coming back to me. She was the one who wore a black dress, black glasses. She had her hair in a bun that day. She’s the same woman I was telling you about before… eating men, ties in her drawer—”

  Darcy dropped his phone. He couldn’t continue to listen to Macy’s explanation anymore. His heart was thumping at a wild speed.

  Out beyond the horizon, the sun shone over the dark-grey clouds, showing a sliver of a silver lining. Darcy stared at it. He could already see his future right in front of him, the letter of acceptance in his hand. But now, hearing this news, his future, his perfectly constructed bright future, came crumpling down right before his eyes.

  “Oh shiiiittt,” he bellowed. “I just landed my dream job with the boss from hell.”

  Chapter 1

  Six months later…

  Beep. Beep.

  Darcy opened his eyes slowly, his mind a little hazy as he searched for the source of the sound.

  Beep. Beep.

  There it goes again, he thought. Bastard annoying ringtone.

  He rubbed his eyes to fend off the sleep. As reality finally sank in, his eyes landed on the screen of his cell. The light was flashing, indicating a text message waited in his inbox. He groggily flicked through the menu and lazily gazed over the message. His body still slouched in its sleeping position until he reached the end of the message.

  On the second floor. The WITCH is heading your way.

  “Holy shiittt!” Darcy swore and leapt out of his chair, almost toppling over backward in his sheer moment of panic, his heart racing a million miles a minute.

  He combed his fingers through his hair, taming it as much as possible to remove evidence of the sleep-tousled strands. When it refused to obey, he swore again, hoping for the witch to believe the electric hairstyle he sported today was just the result of the massive amounts of hair gel he used this morning. He ran his hands over his shirt and pants to smooth out any wrinkles created while he was napping.

  “Ah, dammit,” he swore again.

  Darcy closed his eyes and took one deep breath, then two, hoping to calm his nerves.

  Once he was convinced his heartbeat had returned to its normal pace, he strode toward the door in a manly, composed fashion, chest puffed out and back straight. But there was no denying his legs were shaking like he was on jelly land, and by the time he’d reached the door to open it, he almost collapsed from fright when it miraculously opened by itself to reveal Whitney Madigan—to him, the witch, to his colleagues, his boss, and to the outside world, the edi
tor-in-chief of E Magazine.

  “Hello, Darcy,” she enunciated his name slowly, her eyes scanning up and down his body, possibly looking for any faults, per usual.

  This action only served to remind him of the first time she laid eyes on him during that interview six months back. That whole experience was still traumatizing to this day. And back then, he thought he could play the dominant role, taming her with his whip and handcuffs. But now look who was playing the submissive role.

  “Miss…Miss Madigan?” Shit! He whimpered.

  Darcy kicked himself mentally, a firm reminder that he shouldn’t be a weakling in front of this woman.

  Show some power, Darcy.

  “Has the meeting finished?” he asked with more strength in his voice.

  No reply. Instead, the witch asked, “Did you get all your work done?”

  “Yes, Miss Madigan,” he answered immediately. “Almost there.”

  Darcy even faked a smile to go along with his answer, hoping to please her in some way. But clearly, the witch had no human emotion. There wasn’t even a single twitch of her facial muscles.

  She must’ve had Botox, he thought.

  There was no smile. Her lips were grim and her eyes glared at him. Straight into his. And Jesus, did it made his heart thump like there was no tomorrow. And if he didn’t blink a few times to stop his thundering heartbeat, he wouldn’t know where his soul would escape to.

  “I’m so sorry about that.” He tried to redirect their sour situation.

  He clamped his hands together, his head bent forward. The posture looked like he was begging for her forgiveness.

  Damn submission again. I am a Dominant! He cursed himself when he realized he was in this position and straightened his back once more.

  “You do know if this happens all too often, something will need to be done,” she threatened before handing him a clear file with more documents for him to go through.

  Jesus Christ, when will I be able to complete all this work? It’s an ongoing concern here.