Page 1 of Bossy Bred

1

JAKE

This better work.

It has to.

If it doesn’t, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.

I smooth a hand down the front of my suit as I walk into The Belmont, nodding to the doorman who’s holding the door open for me. As I walk in, the bustle of downtown falls away, replaced by the calm, cool, luxurious atmosphere of the hotel lobby. Italian marble gleams beneath my feet. A large, modern chandelier hangs from overhead. Soothing cello music whispers through the air, and a sharply dressed receptionist is waiting behind the front desk.

She greets me with a warm, professional smile. “Checking in, sir?”

I nod as I approach. “Reservation’s under Magnuson.”

She blinks at me, realizing who I am, then inhales a quick breath. “Of course. One moment, please.”

I drum my fingers on the stone counter as I wait for her to complete the check-in process. My eyes drift toward the entryway of the hotel’s lounge as I wonder if the woman I’m here to meet has arrived yet. I can only glimpse a sliver of the lushly decorated room. All I see is a couple sitting at a high-top, leaning toward each other over their cocktails.

“Here you are, Mr. Magnuson,” says the receptionist, pulling my attention back. “You’re all set.”

I palm the key cards sitting in front of me and slip them into my pocket. Absentmindedly saying my thanks, I turn and start toward the lounge. Jazzy, sultrier music is playing in there, and globe lights glow from their brass fixtures descending from the ceiling.

As I step into the lounge, the full breadth of it comes into view. One scan of the room and I spot the woman I’m here for. She’s sitting alone on one of the low, dark purple velvet seats, one plump leg crossed over the other, a thoughtful look on her face as she reaches for the ice-laden, cherry-topped drink in front of her.

The first thought I have when I see her is that she’s prettier than her profile photo. Soft brown hair frames her full-cheeked face. She’s just as curvy as I hoped she would be. It’s reassuring to see that she’s the girl I swiped right on an hour ago. I would have been pissed if she’d misrepresented herself and wasted my time.

As I walk toward her, I mull over what to say. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I used to be smoother at talking to women. But I haven’t had a casual hookup for years. I’ve been focused on work, consumed by one project after another.

Too consumed, apparently. That’s why I’m here.

Up until a few months ago, everything had been fine. I was focused, clear-headed, productive. Life was good: I’d won awards, I’d been on the cover of magazines. I had no complaints.

Then I started noticing things. Little things. Like zoning out for a few seconds during meetings. A slight uptick in my irritability. A strange twinge of restlessness when I was getting dressed in the morning for work.

The more that time went on, the worse it got. And then one morning, as I sat at my desk watching the number of unread emails climb higher and higher in my inbox, I found myself justsittingthere, doing nothing.

I wasn’t a man who sat at his desk doing nothing.

To be on the safe side, I made an appointment with my physician. I got a full workup done—including a scan, on the chance that whatever I was experiencing was being caused by a tumor in my head. It all came back clean.

When the doc suggested that maybe I was overworked and simply needed a break, I laughed. If he really knew me, he’d know I’d spend the entire vacation thinking about work. It wasn’t possible for me to turn that part of myself off for more than a few hours. Thorne Industries was my lifeblood.

So I tried other things. I booked deep-tissue massages. I went on several punishingly long runs. I tried some godawful detox diet that made me even more irritable and foggy-headed.

Then one night, as I was lying awake in bed, feeling like I was close to going out of my mind, it finally hit me.

What I needed was to get laid.

That little epiphany led to opening up an app I hadn’t touched in ages. Which led to swiping through photo after photo until I found one that made my gaze linger. Which led to a brief exchange of messages—and, consequently, to my suggestion that the two of us meet here at the Belmont.

As I’m crossing the lounge toward the woman I didn’t know existed until an hour ago, that buzzy feeling of being turned on spreads further through me. She’s gorgeous, this girl. If taking her up to a hotel room for a few hours of unbridled fucking doesn’t get me out of the funk I’m in, I don’t know what else will.

“Leta,” I say, her name rolling smoothly off my tongue.

She looks up from her drink, then pushes a strand of hair out of her face and rises up onto her feet. Her eyes sparkle as they take me in. “Hi.”

“You look nice.”

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