Seduced By The Boss
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KATE HARDY always loved books and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve and decided this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: www.katehardy.com
Initially a French/English teacher, EMMA DARCY changed careers to computer programming before the happy demands of marriage and motherhood. Very much a people person, and always interested in relationships, she finds the world of romance fiction a thrilling one and the challenge of creating her own cast of characters very addictive.
CHANTELLE SHAW enjoyed a happy childhood making up stories in her head. Always an avid reader, Chantelle discovered Mills & Boon as a teenager and during the times when her children refused to sleep, she would pace the floor with a baby in one hand and a book in the other! Twenty years later she decided to write one of her own. Writing takes up most of Chantelle’s spare time, but she also enjoys gardening and walking. She doesn’t find domestic chores so pleasurable!
Seduced by the Boss
Billionaire, Boss...Bridegroom?
Kate Hardy
His Boardroom Mistress
Emma Darcy
Acquired by Her Greek Boss
Chantelle Shaw
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09776-5
SEDUCED BY THE BOSS
Billionaire, Boss...Bridegroom? © 2016 Pamela Brooks His Boardroom Mistress © 2003 Emma Darcy Acquired by Her Greek Boss © 2017 Chantelle Shaw
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Billionaire, Boss...Bridegroom?
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
EPILOGUE
His Boardroom Mistress
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Acquired by Her Greek Boss
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
About the Publisher
Billionaire, Boss...Bridegroom?
Kate Hardy
The boss’s proposal
Gorgeous, rich CEO Hugh Moncrieff might be his office’s reluctant heartthrob, but he does not date employees! Until he needs a fake date for an upcoming engagement and decides his quirky new graphic designer Bella Faraday is the perfect candidate...
Except Bella is anything but the unsuitable girlfriend she’s supposed to be playing! Charming Bella’s life might have been shattered by her ex, but with Hugh she feels all the pieces starting to fit back together...
For Charlotte Mursell and Sheila Hodgson—
with love and thanks for letting me
have so much fun with this story. x
CHAPTER ONE
I’m coming to get you, Bella texted swiftly. Hold on.
For once, it looked as if she was going to be the rescuer instead of the rescuee. With her new job to boost her confidence, she thought she might just be able to handle it. For once she would be the sister who was calm, collected and totally together instead of the flaky, ditzy one who always made a mess of things and needed to be bailed out of a sticky situation.
She glanced around and saw a black cab waiting at the kerbside. Relieved, she rushed up to it and jumped in.
‘Can you take me to the Bramerton Hotel in Kensington, please?’ she asked the cabbie.
There was a dry cough from beside her, and she whipped her head round to discover that there was already a passenger sitting in the back seat.
She’d been so focused on getting to Grace that she hadn’t even noticed the other passenger when she’d climbed into the taxi.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. Look, I realise that you were here first, and technically I ought to leave right now and let you get on with your journey, but I really do need to get to the Bramerton as quickly as possible. Would you mind finding another taxi and...and...?’ She waved a desperate hand at him. ‘Look, I’ll pay for your cab.’ It’d mean extending her overdraft yet again, but what were a few more pounds if it meant that she could return the favour for once and help Grace? Besides, she was about to start a new job. Next month, her cash-flow situation would be a bit better.
‘Actually, I’m heading towards Kensington myself,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop you off at the Bramerton.’
Relief flooded through Bella. She’d found the modern equivalent of a knight on a white charger: a man in a black cab. She wouldn’t have to let her sister down. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ She gave in to the impulse, leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the cheek. ‘You have no idea how much I appreciate this.’
‘What’s so urgent?’ he asked as the taxi drove off.
‘It’s a family thing,’ she said. It wasn’t her place to tell anyone about her sister’s situation, let alone tell a complete stranger.
‘Uh-huh.’ He paused. ‘Did I see you just come out of Insurgo Records?’
She looked at him, surprised. The man looked like a businessman on his way home from a late meeting, and he was hardly the target market for an independent record label—even though Insurgo’s artists were a real mixture, from folk singer-songwriters to punk and indie bands, with a few oddities thrown in. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Are you one of their acts?’
In her black jeans and matching plain T-shirt, teamed with a shiny platinum-blonde bob, Bella knew that she probably looked as much like an indie musician as she did a graphic designer. ‘No,’ she said.
But the man had been kind enough to let her share his taxi, so she didn’t want to be rude to him. Besides, making small talk might distract her enough to stop her worrying about whatever had sent her normally cool and capable big sister into meltdown. She smiled at him. ‘Actually, I’m a graphic designer, and I’m starting work at Insurgo next week.’
‘Are you, now?’
Something about the way he drawled the words made alarm bells ring in the back of her head. But he was a total stranger. She was making something out of nothing. ‘Yes, and I’m really looking forward to it,’ she said with a bright smile. ‘I’ll be designing website graphics, album covers and band merch. Actually, I’m still trying to get my head round the fact that I’ve just been offered my dream job.’ In an ideal world she would’ve preferred to have Insurgo as a client rather than as her employer, but working for someone full-time again meant that she’d have a regular income for a while—and right now she needed a regular income rather more than she needed her freedom.
‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ he asked.
‘Other than a stranger who’s been kind enough to let me share his taxi? No,’ she admitted.
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said, leaning forward out of the shadows and holding out his hand.
Bella caught her breath. He was gorgeous. Dark hair that was brushed back from his face, cornflower-blue eyes, and the kind of jawline that would’ve made him a hit in any perfume ad. She really had to resist the urge to reach out and trail her fingertips down his clean-shaven cheek. And that mouth. Almost pouting, the sexiest mouth she’d seen in a while.
Almost in a daze, she shook his hand, noting how firm his handshake was. And she studiously ignored the fact that her palm was tingling; after the way Kirk had let her down, she was officially off men. Even if this one was very easy on the eye and was wearing a beautifully cut designer suit, what looked like a handmade white shirt, a silk tie and highly polished Italian shoes.
No involvement.
Full stop.
Because she was never going to let anyone make her feel as foolish and useless as Kirk had made her feel, ever again.
‘Hugh Moncrieff,’ he said, and he waited for the penny to drop.
It took five seconds.
‘Hugh Moncrieff—as in Insurgo’s Hugh Moncrieff?’ Bella asked in horror.
‘That would be me,’ he said. And he looked as if he was enjoying her reaction.
He was her new boss? ‘But—you can’t be.’ Even though it would explain why he’d asked her if she was one of the artists; he must’ve thought that his second-in-command had signed her up in his absence.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you—you—’ She gestured to his suit. ‘You don’t look like an indie record label owner. You look like a stockbroker.’
‘The bank always likes the company’s MD to wear a suit,’ he said mildly. ‘If I’d turned up to the meeting in ripped jeans and an avant-garde T-shirt, with funky hair, they’d have seen me as less of a professional and more of a risk.’
The bank? That nasty feeling got a lot worse. If he’d been to the bank for a meeting, all dressed up, at this time on a Friday evening, did that mean the company was in trouble and her job would be over before it had even started?
Her fears must’ve shown on her face, because he said, ‘It’s our annual review, and I went for a drink with a business contact afterwards. Don’t look so worried. So you’re my new graphic designer?’
‘Bella Faraday,’ she said. ‘And I’m very good at what I do.’
‘I expect you are, or Tarquin wouldn’t have hired you,’ he said dryly.
‘So what are you doing in a taxi, when you own a record label? Why don’t you have your own car, or a limo or something to drive you around?’ The question was out before she could stop herself and she groaned inwardly. Way to go, Bella, she thought. Just grill your new boss, two minutes after you insulted him by saying he didn’t look like the owner of an indie record label. Carry on like this and you’ll be picking up your cards on Monday morning instead of starting your job.
So much for never letting herself feel foolish again. Right now she felt like a prize idiot.
‘That’s an easy one.’ He smiled. ‘My car happens to be in the local garage, having something fixed. I’d rather put my money into the business than waste it by hiring a flashy limo to do little more than wait around for me all day. Hence the taxi.’
Bella could feel the colour swishing through her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not my place to question you. Look, um, please ask the cabbie to pull over and drop me off, and I’ll get out of your way and find myself another taxi.’
‘You said it was urgent—a family thing.’
‘It is.’
‘Then let me get you to the hotel. Tarquin obviously overran with the interviews and made you late in the first place, so it’s Insurgo’s fault.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she said. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But right at that moment she was more worried about Grace than about making a good impression on her new boss, so she’d accept the offer. ‘But thank you for the lift. I really appreciate this.’
‘No problem.’
She texted Grace swiftly.
In taxi now. Wait for me in Reception.
Finally the taxi driver pulled up outside the Bramerton Hotel.
‘Thank you again, Mr Moncrieff,’ she said politely. ‘How much do I owe you for the cab fare?’
‘Nothing. You’re practically on my way,’ he said.
‘Thank you. Really. And I’ll work late every night next week to make up for it,’ she said, and left the taxi before she could say anything else stupid.
When she walked into the reception area, Grace was waiting there, white-faced and silent. And there was no sign of Howard. Why wasn’t Grace’s fiancé waiting with her? Had something happened to Howard? No, of course not, or Grace would’ve said something in her texts. Not just that single word: Help, followed by rejecting Bella’s call and sending a second text: Can’t talk now. And now Bella was seriously worried. What on earth had happened?
But Grace had been right about one thing. They couldn’t talk about it here. Not with Howard’s parents’ golden wedding anniversary going on in one of the function rooms. Whatever it was, Bella had her sister’s back. And they were leaving. Now.
‘Come on. Let’s get out of here,’ Bella said softly, put her arm round Grace and led her out of the hotel.
Back in the street, she looked around for a taxi.
Then she realised that the taxi that had dropped her off was still waiting at the kerb, exactly where she’d left it. And Hugh Moncrieff was still there too, though he’d moved seats so that his back was to the cabbie. He wound the window down and beckoned them over. ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’
‘But—’ she began.
‘Everything’s clearly not OK,’ he said softly, looking at Grace, ‘so I’ll drop you and...your sister, I presume?’ At her nod, he continued, ‘I’ll drop you where you need to go. What’s the address?’
Bella definitely didn’t want to leave Grace alone tonight, and her own flat wasn’t big enough for two. Biting her lip, she gave him Grace’s address. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘We both really appreciate this. Especially as you didn’t have to wait.’
‘No problem.’
She helped Grace into the car. Grace still hadn’t said a word. Worried, Bella took her hand and squeezed it; but Grace didn’t return the pressure. And this time nobody seemed disposed to make any small talk. With every second, Bella felt more and more awkward.
Then, just as the taxi turned into Grace’s road, Grace threw up. All over Hugh’s posh Italian shoes and suit trousers.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled.
She looked almost as mortified as Bella felt—and Bella had no idea what to say. What could you say when your sister threw up over your new boss? Apart from an equally apologetic, ‘I’m so sorry.’
Hugh brushed it aside. ‘These things happen. Do you need help getting her indoors?’
‘Thank you, but no—I think you’ve done more than enough to help us, this evening.’ Bella took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’ll pay for valeting the taxi and I’ll pick up the bill for dry-cleaning your suit and replacing your shoes.’
‘We’ll sort it out later,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you can manage?’
‘I’m sure,’ Bella fibbed. At least she had Grace’s spare door key, so actually getting into the flat wouldn’t be a problem. ‘And thank you. And sorry. And—’
‘Just get your sister safely inside,’ Hugh cut in. ‘We’ll sort out everything later.’
‘Thank you. And I’m sorry,’ Bella whispered again, and helped Grace out of the taxi.
This really wasn’t how Hugh had expected to spend a Friday evening. Or how he’d expected to meet the newest member of his team.
The poor woman had looked horrified when her sister threw up everywhere.
Did Bella often rescue her sister like that? he wondered. Funny, the other woman had been dressed so soberly, in a navy linen dress and sensible shoes. Looking at them together, most people would’ve guessed that the younger woman was the one who partied too hard and would be most likely to throw up in the back of a taxi and need looking after.
Or maybe Bella’s sister hadn’t been drunk. Maybe she’d been ill. But then surely Bella would’ve said that her sister was ill, or even called an ambulance?
But it was none of his business. He should just take a step back and ignore it.
‘I’m sorry about all that,’ he said to the driver. ‘If you can drop me home, I’ll pay for the cost of valeting the taxi and lost fares.’ He gave the driver the address.
Though he still couldn’t get Bella Faraday out of his head. Especially the moment when she’d kissed his cheek; it had felt as if he’d been galvanised. And then, when she’d shaken his hand, every nerve-end had been aware of the feel of her skin against his.
Hugh was definitely attracted to her. More attracted than he’d been towards anyone in a very long time.
But.
After the whole fiasco with Jessie, he’d learned his lesson well. Hugh would never, ever mix work and pleasure again. As Tarquin had just hired Bella as their new graphic artist, it meant that she came firmly under the category of work. So he’d have to just ignore the pull of attraction in future and treat her just the same as he did every single one of his colleagues—by keeping her at a professional distance.
Even if she did have the sexiest mouth and sparkliest eyes he’d ever seen.
No involvement.
No risks.
This time, he’d stick to the rules.
‘I’m so sorry I was sick everywhere,’ Grace said once they were sitting down inside her flat.
Bella frowned. ‘Didn’t you eat anything to line your stomach before you started knocking back whatever it was that made you throw up?’
‘Champagne. No,’ Grace said miserably. ‘My stomach was tied in too many knots to eat.’
And Grace hardly ever drank. It wasn’t a good combination. Not to mention really worrying—what had been so bad that Grace had had to get drunk? She took a deep breath. First things first. She needed to get Grace sober. ‘Right. First of all you’re having water—lots and lots of water,’ Bella said. Then she looked through Grace’s cupboards. Please let there be something that she could actually cook. Or, failing that, cereal to soak up all that champagne.
Then she spied the box of porridge oats. Perfect. Even she could follow the instructions on the box and make porridge in the microwave.
While the porridge was cooking, she took a banana from Grace’s fruit bowl and chopped it up. She added it to the finished cereal and put the bowl in front of Grace, who immediately pushed it away.
‘I can’t.’
‘Eat it,’ Bella said firmly. ‘Your electrolytes are all over the place and bananas are great for sorting that out, and oats will help because they’re bland carbs which will raise your blood sugar without upsetting your stomach.’
‘How do you know all this stuff?’ Grace asked, looking bemused.
Bella smiled. ‘Remember I dated a doctor a couple of years back? He gave me the lowdown on the best food to eat for a hangover.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Grace said again. ‘Was the taxi driver very angry?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Bella said airily. ‘My boss is sorting it.’
Grace did a double-take. ‘Your boss?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Bella flashed her sister a grin. ‘Guess what? I got the job.’
‘I—oh, my God. Are you telling me that I just threw up over your boss before you even started the job?’ Grace asked, looking horrified as Bella’s words sank in. ‘Oh, no. I’ll talk to him and explain, so he doesn’t sack you or—’
‘Gracie, it’s fine,’ Bella cut in.
‘It’s not fine at all! I’ve messed things up for you. Look. I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning.’
Bella smiled. ‘I already told him I’d do that, and I said I’d pay for valeting the taxi as well.’
‘My mess, my bill,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll pay.’
‘Gracie, just shut up and eat your porridge. I don’t want to hear another word from you, young lady, until that bowl is empty.’