Page 11 of Bossy Bred

The next morning, I’m in my back office at the tutoring center, quickly checking my inbox before I move on to setting up the desks, when I see an email that makes me freeze.

“What?” I murmur under my breath. “No. This can’t be for real.”

I click on the email and stare at its contents in disbelief.A $10,000 donation.We’ve never received anything so generous. This has to be a fraudulent email, right? Someone must have hacked into the system and sent this as a joke.

But everything about the email looks identical to the ones we usually receive when a donation is made. Nothing about it aside from the absurd dollar amount raises a red flag.

My eyes fall to the name of the donor.

What the hell is Thorne Industries?

A quick internet search brings me to a website that leaves me even more confused. It’s impossible to even tell what this business does. The copy on their website is full of vague obscure jargon, likeinnovative ecosystemsandstrategic growth initiativesandagile transformation.

Then, like a light switch being flipped, I understand. I still don’t understandwhy, but I understandwho.I click on the Leadership tab in the navigation and, sure, enough, there’s his name.

Jake Magnuson, CEO.

5

JAKE

I’m in the depths of reviewing a contract when the intercom on my desk buzzes. Keeping my eyes on my computer screen, I reach out to punch the button. “What?”

“Mr. Magnuson, I’m sorry, I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed for the next hour. But there’s someone here who is insisting on seeing you.”

“Have him make an appointment.”

“Er—sheis being very insistent that she sees you right now.”

That fully pulls my attention away from the contract. “If byshe, you mean Miss Jones, let her in.”

I’m not surprised that Leta is here. I made no effort to hide where the donation was coming from when I initiated it late last night. I am, however, surprised to see how upset she looks as she storms into my office.

“I’m not here to take up your time,” she says, coming toward my desk in a t-shirt and wide-legged jeans. This is the first time I’m seeing her in something other than a dress, and it strikes mehow good she looks even when she’s not wearing something that clings to her curves. “I’m just here to give you this.”

She thrusts something out over the desk. I take it and see that it’s a screenshot of a cancelled, refunded donation.Mydonation.

“I thought you needed money,” I say, tossing the paper onto my desk.

“I can’t accept such a generous donation from you.”

“The reason being?”

“Given our arrangement, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with our arrangement. I saw how stressed out you were, and I chose to do something to fix the problem.”

Also, this is my roundabout way of saying I’m sorry.

“It’s not your problem to fix.”

I study her, befuddled by her stubbornness. “The donation is beneficial for both of us. The company gets to write it off, and you get to let go of that stress you’ve been dealing with. There’s no downside here.”

“No, there is. Accepting the money will make me feel like I owe you something.”

I lean back in my chair. “Would you feel comfortable with a lower amount? What about five thousand?”

“We aren’t doing this.”

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