Renee Rose Lee Savino
Copyright © February 2024 Big Bad Boss: Midnight by
Renee Rose and Lee Savino
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Published in the United States of America
Midnight Romance, LLC
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!
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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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Contents
Big Bad Boss: Moon Mad
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Prologue
Madi
Harvard wants me. Yale accepted me. Even my alma mater, Princeton, says they’ll have me back for graduate studies. I should be wrenching my shoulder to pat myself on the back.
I don’t know why I can’t get excited about any of it.
“You’re telling me you’re not sure you’re going to accept one of these offers?” Aubrey, my best friend, picks up the letter I just opened from Harvard and rattles it underneath my nose. We’re in the kitchen at my mom’s Jersey apartment where we pretty much grew up together. Latchkey apartment kids are as tight as family.
“I should,” I groan. “I know I should want this, but I just… don’t. I’m burnt out. I’m done with believing the lie that if I just keep my head down and study hard, I’ll eventually fit in with the one percent.”
“I think the minute you got that degree from Princeton, you became the one percent.”
I spread my hands around my mom’s small apartment, the one I had to move back into after I graduated last week. “Yep, living the dream, baby.”
“This must be another scholarship offer.” Aubrey tears open another envelope.
I glance at the envelope. “No, that’s Brayden’s.” My stomach tightens on behalf of my younger half-brother. He wasn’t able to attend a prep school like I did, which means he didn’t get into any Ivy League. He was accepted to NYU, but their financial aid package sucks, so he’s hoping for this scholarship.
“Oops. Well, it’s open now. Should we look?” Aubrey unfolds the letter without waiting for my reply. “Oh, damn.”
“What is it?” I snatch it from her to scan.
He didn’t get it. This was his last hope.
“Fuck.” I throw the letter down. I hate this. I hate that I had opportunities Brayden didn’t. I hate that he thinks he’s not as smart or not as capable as I am.
“Are you calling Brayden?” Aubrey asks when I whip out my cell phone.
“No. I’m calling my mom. I don’t want her to be disappointed in front of Brayden. He doesn’t need that added to his disappointment.”
My mom is an English teacher at the prep school I attended, and she’s teaching right now so I leave a message. “Hi, Mom. Brayden didn’t get the scholarship. I just wanted to give you a heads’ up so you can downplay it when he finds out. And…don’t worry. We will figure out a way for Brayden to go.” I glance at Aubrey as I realize I have the solution. “Give me a week. I’ll get his tuition figured out.”
When I end the call, Aubrey raises her brows. “How are you going to come up with that kind of money in a week?”
I square my shoulders. “I figure I need to make about ten thousand a month to cover his expenses. That’s doable.”
“How?”
“I’ll get a job.”
“No duh, Captain Obvious. I meant what sort of job? You have a sociology degree. I thought you wanted to be a social worker.”
“I still can be, once Brayden’s graduated.” I gnaw my lip. “Right now the only job that will pay me enough will be on…” I pause to prepare for Aubrey’s reaction. And also because I feel a bit queasy just saying it. “Wall Street.”
I fully expect her to pluck a brown banana from the fruit basket and lob it at me, but Aubrey props a hip against the kitchen island and nods slowly. “You could definitely get some kind of a job on Wall Street with your degree and contacts.”
“Would you still be my friend?”
She flashes a grin. “Actually, I’m all for it. I can definitely see this working out.” Her brown eyes sparkle with that wicked intensity that tells me she has another wild idea. Like the time she convinced me to dress up and go nightclubbing with fake IDs at age thirteen. Or ditch prep school to take a Greyhound to D.C. to protest the newlyelected president.
My brow furrows, trying to decipher the direction she’s headed with this. Aubrey is not the type to advise me to go climb a Wall Street ladder. I mean, this is the girl who dragged me to Occupy Wall Street protests way back in middle school. She wears t-shirts that say Eat the Rich and dreams of owning a tiny house in Vermont.
She’s my non-Ivy League friend who has a nose ring, paints murals, and works in a coffee shop as she finishes her degree in Women’s Studies at City College.
“Really?”
“Yes! Listen. This could be perfect. You should do this. You can quietly use it as your sociology research. Just think of the insight you could gather on the one percent. Or the book you could write! You’re exactly the kind of person who could topple empires. Exact true social change.”
I narrow my eyes. “How would my working on Wall Street exact true social change?”
“You will burn it down. I don’t know how exactly, but someone like you could infiltrate the entire structure over there. You can quietly research the shit out of them. Then write the book that shows all the corruption and back-slapping that happens. Prove how rigged it is for the rich to get richer as the poor become poorer. You could do this!”
“Why would I want to?” I ask, but her enthusiasm is starting to catch. The idea of infiltrating and studying the inner workings of Wall Street–not as the hardworking brainiac from Jersey who needs to
put her brother through college but as an undercover researcher–has a certain appeal. I’d be playing a role, knowing it was only a role. There’s freedom in that.
“Think of the good you’d do with that kind of salary! You wouldn’t have to live with your mom and brother anymore.”
“With the right position, I might even be able to cover all of Brayden’s college tuition.”
“Totally!” Aubrey slaps her hand down on mine. “You could help me pay my college tuition. I’m just kidding.”
“We could move in together,” I offer, already starting to see the plan. Aubrey has also been living at home for the last year and a half to save money.
“I would love that!” She beams at me. She points at my open laptop on the coffee table. “Go find a job.”
“I can’t believe you, of all people, actually want me to work on Wall Street.”
Aubrey waggles her brows as she nods enthusiastically. “This is going to be great. Epic. This is better than Occupy Wall Street. It’s “Infiltrate Wall Street.”
I look down at the acceptance letter from Harvard. “I could write and ask for a deferral. Tell them I’m starting my sociology studies on the ground on Wall Street. They will either love it or hate it. Either way, I’m being authentic for once.”
“Ooh, the irony. Your most authentic moment is when you fake a Wall Street hard-on. Perfect. I freaking love it!”
I sort of love it, too.
I flip open my laptop and start the process.
Wall Street, here I come.
BChapter One rick
The view from the Moon Co.’s executive suite would make a lesser man, a human, dizzy. The building is so tall, it sways in the wind. But that’s the price of tasting rare air, and having all of Lower Manhattan at your feet.
Up here, it’s easy to forget you’re mortal. Up here, it’s easy to feel like a god.
A shadow falls across the glass as Billy, my second in command, comes to stand beside me.
“We’re almost there,” he says quietly. I know he’s referring to the vow we made years ago, in our dorm at Yale, on the worst day of my life. The day my father was murdered and our enemies destroyed everything he’d built.
“Almost,” I growl. We both stare at the building across from us. The building our enemies erected to taunt us.
“We’re close.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “The Adalwulfs won’t know what hit them.”
I pivot and take a seat at the head of the conference room table. Billy heads to open the door, to signal that the meeting is about to start. The rest of the executive team starts to file in.
That's when it hits me. A sweet scent, both bright and citrus-y but complex like nutmeg. Mouthwatering.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to cuss and ream someone out. Perfumes and colognes of any type are banned from the premises. It’s stated clearly in the employee handbook, practically on the first page. Billy takes great joy in firing the new hires that forget.
But it’s not perfume. It’s someone’s natural scent. But whose?
There, by the elevator.
New Girl.
I fired my assistant Friday, which means her assistant, Indira, moved up the ladder, and there’s a new starry-eyed college grad in Indira’s place.
A young woman coolly surveys the top floor. She’s no different than any other administrative assistant. Young, professional. She has a short dark brown bob and bold red lipstick.
But her scent…. I pull it through my nostrils, savoring the flavor. Nutmeg and oranges. Maybe a hint of something exotic, like Frankincense.
“Who’s that?” Billy flops down in his chair and leans back, making it balance on the last two legs, a display of strength no human could pull off. At my glare, he lets the chair fall to all four legs with a thump. “Your new secretary’s secretary?”
He was there when I fired my former assistant Friday. I go through assistants like Billy goes through hookups.
“Must be.”
“You want me to call her in?” he asks.
“Yes.” Normally, I would say no. Normally, I wouldn’t give her the time of day until I wanted something. But I need to examine that scent up close.
Billy looks at Indira and points at New Girl. He makes a beckoning motion, like he’s irritated that Indira didn’t already come in to introduce her. He’s almost as skilled as I am at making employees jump and tremble with fear.
New Girl doesn’t look afraid, though. I watch as she follows Indira in. As soon as I get a nose-full of her scent, I want to lick her from toe to clit.
Odd reaction to a human.
She’s not even pleasing to the eye. I mean, she’s pretty, but there’s nothing soft and yielding about her. Something in the carriage of her neck, the lift of her chin, in the way she doesn’t flinch when I glare in her direction, makes her look like she has a chip on her shoulder. With ten years added to her, she’d look like one of those power executive types. A female powerhouse, born to dominate every office. I employ a handful of women like her. You have to be strong to make it around here.
She assesses me right back, somehow managing to appear respectful and receptive, yet completely unafraid, even though it’s her first day here.
Part of me wants to rip her a new one right from the start. Especially because I heard her murmur to Indira, “So that’s the Big Bad Boss” before they walked in. Of course, she couldn't know that there’s no conversation out of my hearing range on this floor.
The closer she gets, the more her scent infiltrates my senses. It’s too pleasing to make me want to attack. Fates, is my dick getting hard?
I stand. “You are?”
“Mr. Blackthroat, this is–” Indira begins.
“Madison Evans.” New Girl sticks her hand out for me to shake, saying her name at the same time as Indira. She meets my gaze steadily. There’s no challenge to it, just attentiveness. She’s reading me. I want to find something to criticize, but I can’t. She’s the right mixture of confidence and humility. Not overly bold, not cowering. There’s something annoyingly appealing about her manner.
I already hate her. I accept her handshake. Her skin is soft. For some reason, my thoughts flick to the fact that her scent will now be on my palm. Not that I’m going to review it later.
“I go by Madi.”
“I will call you Madison, ifI remember your name. I’ll expect you to answer to Assistant, Secretary, New Girl or whatever else I hurl at you at the moment.” I release her hand.
Far from being taken aback, I see a trace of amusement in her expression. “I will answer to all of those,” she assures me with a
bow of her head.
“Good. Now take our coffee orders.” I flick a brow like she should have already known to do this even though it’s her first day. To Indira, I say, “Where are the financial reports?”
Madi
Rule number one of dealing with a Wall Street alpha-hole: Don’t show weakness.
Blackthroat is staring at me. He’s more good-looking and intimidating than the rest of them put together. His sleek suit accentuates the width and breadth of his powerful shoulders and chest.
I raise my chin and meet his gaze square on. “What kind of coffee can I bring you, sir?”
His eyes are dark. He’s got a close clipped beard, and the lines around his eyes make him look older than his thirty-some years.
The second stretches to infinity. Mr. Blackthroat’s glare intensifies. For a moment, a bright sheen flares around his pupils. Must be a trick of the light.
“Triple Espresso.” The deep growl of his voice wraps around my body and squeezes me.
I nod.
I’m still reeling from the fact that I am working for the Brick Blackthroat. Or, rather, Blackthroat’s assistant, Indira.
My boss is the same age I am–just out of undergrad. She told me herboss got fired Friday, and she was bumped up the line. She’s only been here three weeks total, herself.
At the moment, she is hurrying around her desk area, picking up and searching through folders. I suspect she doesn’t even know what reports he’s talking about.
It’s probably some kind of test.
Well, I’ll make sure we pass it right after I handle their coffee orders.
I don’t plan on either of us getting fired today. Or tomorrow.
Good thing I know how to navigate the waters of the one percent of the one percent.
Rule number two: act as if you belong.
So I pretend I’m not unnerved by the six good-looking assholes in ten thousand dollar suits sitting around a giant table. I recognize them as members of the executive team. I memorized the employee roster, as well as the three hundred and fourteen page handbook on the way to work this morning.
Rule number three: Always be prepared.
“I’ll have a large red-eye, extra cream, no sugar,” an exec says in the Queen’s English. He must be Nicholas Cavendish, the seventh. “Nickel” transferred from Oxford to Yale, Blackthroat’s alma mater.
Then there’s Vance Blackthroat, CFO. A cousin to the king. He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Flat white. Tall.”
“You aren’t going to write this down?” William “Billy” White wears a smirk, like he thinks I’m about to bomb this test. He sports dimples in his cheeks and chin and has playerwritten all over him.
“No, I’ll remember,” I assure him brightly. I’m not using a pen and paper or entering it into a text on my phone as a matter of pride. I have an excellent memory and intend to keep it honed, even if all I’m doing with my Princeton degree is serving a bunch of entitled assholes their coffee. I use the memory device of picturing me setting each paper cup with the label printed with their exact drink in front of them.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll have a caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino with whip.”
“Got it.” I look politely at the next guy, but Billy interrupts, changing his mind. “No, actually, make that a tall, decaf mocha with only two pumps of chocolate.”
I take two more orders when he changes it again. “Wait, hold up. I’d like a large latte breve with an extra shot. Got it?” The cocky bastard has the nerve to wink.
“Got it.” I turn politely to get the last of the orders and leave the conference room.
I find Indira frantically clicking the mouse at her computer. “I had to get IT to get my former boss’ password. Hopefully I can find the reports he needs. Are you okay to get the coffees? Just hit the cafe outside the building.”
“No problem. Good luck with the reports. I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes later, I’m down the block waiting in line to place the order. I should have ordered ahead on the app. I try not to get fidgety about getting raked over the coals for taking so long. There’s nothing I can do at this point except apologize if I’m called out.
When I finally make it back with the two loaded trays of drinks, I have to set one of the carriers on the floor to open the door to the conference room.
Indira’s inside, handing out the reports.
I serve the coffees, and Billy says, “What is this? Where’s my flat white?”
My mind spins as I try to figure out if he’s screwing with me.
He’s frowning like he’s pissed, but I catch a lip-twitch from Vance.
He isscrewing with me. He totally is.
I’m sure of it when he says, “You really should have written down the orders.” He shoots a glance in the direction of Blackthroat, as if he’s a hunting dog delivering a tasty morsel at his master’s feet.
I’m the morsel in this scenario.
“No, I’m good. I’ve got them all up here.” I tap my temple. “You ordered a caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino with whip, then changed it to a tall, decaf mocha with only two pumps of chocolate and then a large latte breve with an extra shot.” I wait a beat before I say, “But I’m happy to go back and get you something else.” There may or may not be a tinge of snark in my tone. I lean my hip against the giant, thick slab of polished mahogany that makes up the table. “Or were you just trying to trip me up? It takes more than a coffee order to confuse me.”
He doesn’t smile, but I hear a snort from across the table and a light chuff of laughter from Vance.
I reach across the table to adjust Billy’s coffee cup, so the label faces him. “Were you a bully in high school, too?”
The very serious, professional, haughty looking execs suddenly turn into frat boys in a lounge. Or maybe that’s what they’ve always been, but the suits deceived me. “Ohhhhh, she’s a mouthy one,” one of them cackles. “Serves you right,” Nickel says.
“Are you going to let her get away with that?” Billy turns to Mr. Blackthroat.
What the actual F? Compared to the corporate culture I’ve seen everywhere outside of the board room, the familiarity within this group shocks me. But then, Blackthroat formed the start-up with his cousins and friends from college, so I suppose it makes sense.
“Am I going to let my secretary’s secretary hand you your ass when you try to slip her up?” Blackthroat folds his arms across his chest.
Dear Lord, they are very fine arms, thick and corded with muscle. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He turns to me. “Sit in the corner with Indira, that memory could be useful.”
I find Indira seated in the shadowed corner by the door and pull up a rolling office chair beside her. “At first I thought I was being sent to the corner as punishment,” I murmur under my breath.
She rolls her lips inward to keep from smiling.
Mr. Blackthroat’s gaze flicks to me for a moment, and my belly flips. I doubt he heard me. My flutters have nothing to do with fear over losing my job. It’s more like… excitement over his attention.
Scoreonefortheassistants.
Chapter Two
Brick
I don’t know why I told New Girl to stay in the room, but her muttered comment about it being punishment makes me sprout a chub. I’d definitely love to punish that one. Fold her over my desk and smack her ass while she moans for more. Of course, I wouldn't.
I don’t do humans, and my employees are off-limits. You don’t hunt what you can’t eat.
I pick up the report and start running through it.
I need Indira here to answer or research any questions that arise from it, but there’s no reason for her assistant to stay. No reason I can come up with for asking New Girl to stay other than the fact that she amuses me. And then there’s her exquisite scent. It fills the room, simultaneously stimulating and soothing me.
I like how she looked me in the eye.
I was born dominant. An alpha in the making. I’ve only lowered my eyes for my father, and after I shifted the first few times, he was careful not to demand submission from me, in case I went for his throat. Even as a youth, my wolf was a monster.
I send a glare around the room. No one else meets my eye. They’re my top wolves, my business partners, closer than brothers.
And even they know not to challenge my wolf.
New Girl did what no creature–human or shifter–should be able to do. And my wolf let her. Not only did he let her, but he’s not upset at all. No, he’s intrigued.
I run through the reports Indira passed out, then I dismiss the two humans to conduct the more sensitive business.
Pack and family-related business.
“The Adalwulfs–” Vance begins, and I snap my focus back to where it should be.
“What about them?” I snap.
The Adalwulfs are our sworn enemies. A pack and business rival organization from the earliest days of the colony, the Adalwulfs were always second-best until I was eighteen.
When they stole the fucking throne.
“Nothing confirmed, but there’s a new bidder in play for Benson Insurance. We don’t know who’s behind it, but word on the street is it’s–”
“Aiden Adalwulf,” Billy spits the name of my cousin and nemesis like a curse.
My wolf surges to his feet. The room turns red–my wolf giving me a vision of it painted with our rival’s blood. If only.
“I thought Benson was a done deal?” Nickel says.
“Not yet,” Vance says. “Benson Senior is dragging his feet. Now we know why.”
I stop grinding my teeth long enough to ask, “What’s the offer?”
“No news on that, but if I had to guess? Twice what we did.”
“Fuck that,” Billy says. “He’d be overpaying by a couple bill.”
“Adalwulf Associates can afford it,” Vance says. “You know Aiden’s just doing this to mess with us.”
“Why are we getting into insurance anyway?” Billy scoffs.
“Stability,” Nickel says more patiently than I would. “After this acquisition, we’ll have exposure in all major sectors.”
“So start from scratch. Who needs a fusty old company like Benson when we can build a new, improved, more agile one? Give Jake and I a weekend. We’ll code something that makes Geico look
like a dinosaur.” Billy grabs a stress ball and lobs it at Jake, who catches it without raising his head from the report. “Right?”
Jake, our resident coding genius, shrugs. “I could do it.”
“No,” I say. “Purchasing Benson was more about access to the insurance sector. It was about balancing our image.”
“The new and the old.” Nickel steeples his fingers. “The modern and the legacy. We prove we’re not some snotty nose tech upstart who surged the crypto wave.”
“But we did surf the crypto wave,” Billy says.
“That’s how we started. But we’re more than that,” I say. “Acquiring Benson is further proof.”
“It would be a feather in our cap,” Nickel says. “And losing it to the Adalwulfs will make us look weak.”
He’s right. Normally, I’d be willing to let a deal go. But now that the Adalwulfs are involved, we have to win. Because when you’re a wolf, dominance isn’t about a gold medal or a worthless trophy.
It’s survival.
My mother is an Adalwulf. Because of her betrayal, they stole the crown from the Blackthroats, but they don’t get to keep it. It’s my job to take our rightful position back. I’m the alpha. Taking the bull of Wall Street by the horns is both my destiny and my duty.
“We stand our ground.” I order. “We sweeten the pot. Golden parachutes, Moon Co. shares, whatever it takes.”
“I’ll have a new proposal option on your desk by noon,” Vance tells me.
“I’ll get my team digging to see if there are any details to be had on what Adalwulf offered,” Nickel’s already tapping on his phone, rallying his troops.
“I want this in the bag before the charity ball,” I add. “Call a meet ASAP.”
“On it,” Billy launches from his chair. He’s not afraid to give pushback, but he’ll be loyal to the direction his Alpha sets.
“It’s delicate,” Nickel calls after him. “Send someone who can sweet talk them a little.” He knows Billy can’t stand humans.
“I can play good cop,” Billy parts his lips in a Joker’s smile. It’s horrifying, not charming. Jake and Sully snort.
“Not quite right, I’m afraid,” Nickel clips. “Send someone else.”
Billy flips him off and exits the conference room to harangue my assistants to set up a new meeting with the heads of Benson. My shifter hearing catches all of it.
“Of course. When?” Indira sounds breathless.
“Yesterday,” Billy barks.
I don’t know why I’m still listening. What I’m waiting to hear.
“Consider it done.” New Girl’s voice is quiet and authoritative.
Fascinating.
I have to fight my compulsion to corner New Girl and start making demands of her. Demands that go far beyond her job description…
Chapter Three
Madi
After work, I take the subway to Brooklyn. I will my brain to stop thinking about the job. Stop analyzing and categorizing everything I saw and heard today. Then I pass a guy in a suit reading the paper. A black and white photo of Brick Blackthroat glares up at me from the business section, and I’m suddenly back in that boardroom. IexpectyoutoanswertoAssistant,Secretary,orNewGirl. So offensive.
Yet, for some reason, it turned me on. Maybe it was the deep, growly voice. Or the fact that Blackthroat is panty-meltingly hot.
Or maybe it’s just that I love a challenge. I’m determined to keep this job. Not just because I have to–which I do–but because I refuse to lose this game.
By the time I reach La Résistance, the cafe where Aubrey, my roommate and childhood best friend works, I’m ready to throw my high heels into the dumpster that partially blocks the view of the mural Aubrey painted on the side of the building. It’s a depiction of the Occupy Wall Street protests with the words Resist Much,Obey Littleoverlaid in a giant script.
The coffee shop is full but not busy, the transition from busier day crowd to the more laid-back evening live music set still in progress. It’s been around since the early 70s, a meeting place for artists and political activists.
As soon as I step inside, the tension in my shoulders melts away. Coming here is a good idea. The ground is solid under my feet, unlike on the top floor of Moon Co.’s high rise.
This is where I belong.
The AC is running, but it’s August and hot in the cafe, and I wish I was out of my work dress and heels and wearing a tank top and shorts like Aubrey.
“Hey, there’s our rising star, fresh off Wall Street!” Aubrey puts her fist to her lips to make a bugle sound.
“Shh,” I caution.
She points to the photo taped to the bulletin board behind her of the two of us with our signs and t-shirts at the last event. The board is a haphazard collage of social protest bumper stickers and photos dating back to the cafe’s origins when the owner Caroline and her now wife cut their teeth as activists. Their cafe has been the meeting place for changemakers ever since. “Guess I shouldn’t send that to your boss, huh?”
“Probably not.” I give her a grin.
“So.” Aubrey sets a vanilla latte in front of me. “How was your first day?”
I take a sip of my drink. No caffeine hit because it’s after hours, but it still tastes like ambrosia. “Insane. You’re looking at the new assistant to the assistant to Brick Blackthroat.” I pep up my announcement with ironic jazz hands. “I got to serve him coffee.”
Aubrey snorts. Her opinion of heartless capitalists and the patriarchy is lower than mine. “Welcome to Wall Street, where they require an Ivy League education to fetch their drinks.”
“I know, right?” I grimace. “But my first paycheck comes in three weeks, which is just in time to make Brayden’s first tuition payment.”
Aubrey’s face softens. “You’re a good sister.”
“It’s only fair. I had my tuition covered by my anonymous sperm donor.”
Aubrey doesn’t comment. She knows my complicated feelings about the rich douche, identity unknown, who knocked up my mother and left us both to struggle, to survive.
Another pretty rich boy leaving destruction in his wake.
A customer steps up to the counter, and Aubrey drifts off to help him. The man puts in his order, his voice surprisingly deep. He’s handsome in a boyish way, with long hair and John Lennon glasses. He catches me looking and raises his brows, as if inviting my approach.
I turn away. All I can think about is Brick Blackthroat and the deep rumble of his authoritative voice.
This isn’t like me. Perving on a Wall Street billionaire. My last fling was with a wannabe poet who dropped out of college to build his own tiny house and run a community garden. About as opposite to Brick Blackthroat as you can get.
Aubrey returns with a chai for herself. “So…Wall Street. Dudebros. Making money.”
“Making a lot of money. And they’re horrible.”
Objectively, they’re horrible. Pompous, wealthy frat boys running a company. For some reason, though, I don’t dislike any of them, even Billy.
I especially don’t dislike Brick Blackthroat.
“I’m sure.” Aubrey.
I think of the boardroom, the charged atmosphere. Blackthroat was abrasive as I expected but even more good-looking than his press photos made him appear. Handsome in a way that makes you hate him even more. Like those villains in movies who seem even more dangerous because of their good looks.
My entire body came alive in proximity to him. His power is palpable and addictive.
In my research into this job, I dug up his origin story. Brick Blackthroat came from money, but his father died when he was eighteen, and the family business tanked. The six of them–Brick, his two cousins, and their closest friends–started their first company together in their frat house. They caught the crypto wave with their own coin and then trading platform, MoonShot and MoonBase, but
Blackthroat didn’t stop there. He took a big bet investing in a semiconductor company, and that’s where he made his first solid billion. That’s when the world stopped laughing at the frat brothers playing with Monopoly money and started calling Brick Blackthroat the next Warren Buffett.
“They’re bossholes, for sure,” I say. “They’re the baddest boys on Wall Street, but I guess they have to be. That’s the game they’re playing.”
Okay, fine. I admire the hell out of them for what they created.
“Good thing you have lots of practice dealing with the rich and pampered.” She means my time at Landhower, rubbing elbows with the polo-playing set who walked around the oak-shaded campus like they owned it. Their last names were on the old stone buildings, in honor of the sizable donations their families had made to the school, so they kind of did.
“Good thing.” What bothers me is how much I’m looking forward to seeing Brick Blackthroat up close and personal again. I should be immune to rich douchebags.
“What?” Aubrey leans in. “What’s that look on your face? You can tell me.”
“My boss is hot.”
“Ooooh,” Aubrey taps her silver nose stud. “You’re into Wall Street bros now.”
“Hell, no.” I rear back so fast I almost spill my latte. “I don’t date rich guys.”
“I didn’t say ‘date’.” Aubrey runs a finger along the rim of her mug. “I’m just saying…if the conference room’s a-rocking, don’t come a-knocking.”
“Gross,” I say, but I smile. The images flash through my mind as if they were waiting for permission: me laid out before my boss like a buffet offering, Blackthroat looming over me, glacial eyes pinning me to the conference table as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his shirt sleeves. What sort of muscles are hiding under his suit?
No, no, no. No drooling over my boss. “I need this job. I need money, not to get laid.”
“Maybe you can get both. A couple of orgasms and a nice payout to keep Dick Blackthroat’s name out of the tabloids.”
I choke on my latte.
“That’s how I’d play it.” Aubrey’s smile is wicked.
“Plan Z, then. If I get fired.”
“You won’t get fired. You’re a quick study.”
I am more than a quick study. I am as capable as an assistant could be, and I plan to make myself indispensable to Brick Blackthroat. Indira and I will keep those jobs, and Brayden will get his education.
Aubrey reaches below the counter to retrieve a flier. “They’re having an 80’s band night next door.”
“No,” I groan before she can even ask.
“Come on,” she wheedles. “It’ll be fun.”
Eighties girl bands are everything to Aubrey. They always have been. We spent most of our early teens either learning to play or choreographing dances to The Bangles, The Go-Go’s and Banarama.
“I can’t. I need to prep for tomorrow, and it might be an allnighter.” After the mornings’ conference meeting, the office was buzzing about the Benson deal. I need to know every detail before morning.
Rule number three: Always be prepared.
“It’s not tonight. It’s in a month,” she says. “And I may have already signed us up to play.”
“To play?”
“Please? Please, please, please? It will be so fun!”
“Aubrey–”
“I can’t do the Go-Go’s by myself. I need you.”
“You need someone with real talent, and that is not me.”
“It is totally you. There are four bands playing, and we would be second. I got my friend Erica to play drums. We just need you on bass. No rehearsals required–I know you’re busy.”
“I’m not playing without a rehearsal. We literally haven’t performed since tenth grade.”
“Yeah, but I know you. You never forget anything. I’ll rehearse with Erica. You just have to show up that night and play.”
“Fine.” I open the calendar on my phone and enter the date. “I’ll do it. For you. Just let me get my sea legs with this job. I might need to pull some all-nighters to stay one step ahead.”
“Those billionaires don’t deserve you.”
“No. They do not.”
Aubrey scampers over to the espresso machine. “Before you go, I’ll make you a latte. Full-caf this time.”
“You’re a goddess.” I take a moment to check my work phone. There’s already a hundred new emails, and a few frantic texts from Indira over the meeting with Benson we’re trying to schedule “yesterday.”
Sure,boss.Letmejustbuildatimemachinerealquick.
Aubrey hands me a to-go cup. Twenty ounces of caffeine, bless her.
I salute her and head out. I’ve got emails to answer and a corporate takeover to conquer. And Brick Blackthroat? I’ll treat him like any other rich jerk. Impress his suit pants off as Professional Madi, cash my paychecks and spare not a thought for him outside of anything strictly work related.
I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Boss.
BChapter Four rick
The next morning, I have my driver drop me off a couple miles from Wall Street and walk the rest of the way in. I’ve been itchy to run ever since leaving the office last night. I refuse to believe it’s because of New Girl. I don’t get hot for humans.
Still, I have an excess of energy, so walking it off before I go in and rip everyone around me a new one is probably for the best.
My phone buzzes, and I shove my earpods in to take the call. It’s my sister, Ruby. She’s five years older, but we’re close. Especially because she has two pups now with Eagle, my lead counsel, and I’m crazy about my niece and nephew. Also, we had a fucked-up upbringing in an even more fucked-up family, and we’re now the leaders of the Blackthroats.
“What’s up?” I answer curtly. Even with family, I’m stingy with words.
“I talked to Mom.”
I suck in a sharp breath. Every mention of our mother makes me want to thrash someone. Not her… because she’s still my mother and as much as I hate her, I’m too damn attached. Some core of me–maybe it’s the alpha wolf instinct–is still protective.
“She, uh, she said Uncle Odin is dying.”
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interests, but only with facts. We should not ask: ‘Will it be popular?’ ‘Will it seem orthodox?’ but simply, ‘Is it true?’ ”
And in just as much as the theory of moral duties deserves the name of a science, the exponents of that science would gain, rather than lose, by the adoption of the same maxim. “Religion,” in the traditional sense of the word, needs to be purged from an enormous [160]percentage of spurious elements, before its ministers can be acquitted from the guilt of tempting their disciples to associate the ideas of Ethics and Imposture, and thus reject the basis of morality together with the basis of an Asiatic myth. “Truth is the beginning of Wisdom,” “Justice is Truth,” “Mendacity is the Mother of Discord,” would be fit mottoes for the ethical Sunday-schools of the Future. “What is Truth?” asks Pilate; yet even in religious controversies the fury of sectarian strife could be obviated if we would truthfully admit the uselessness of disputes about the unknowable mysteries of supernatural problems. Still, we cannot hope to eradicate the roots of discord unless we resolve with equal frankness to reject the interference of Supernaturalism with the knowable problems of secular science. Evident Truth can dispense with the indorsement of miracle-mongers, and “evident Untruth,” in the words of Ulrich Hutten, “should be exposed whether its teachers come in the name of God or of the devil.”
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