Page 1 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

Chapter one

Everleigh

Iwill never get over Bradford Anderson the Third.

Yes, so he also happens to be my boss, and I’m just the lowly admin person. This isn’t some rags-to-riches story. I’m just one of his assistants with hopes of being, well, of being not.

And by that, I mean promotion. I have no aspirations for the man himself. The company promotes from within. They try and give people who are already here an opportunity if they can. I saw my chance last week when an entry-level position in the accounting department came up. I couldn’t decide whether applying showed ambition or would make me look malcontent, but I sent my resume in anyway.

It’s been a week of literally sitting on pins and needles because I have this thing where when I get super nervous, my butt cheeks become slightly numb. Having a numb butt for seven days now has been uncomfortable, to say the least. It’s gotten worse now that I’ve received the call. You know, the one where the said god of a boss gets on his office phone, calls your direct line, then asksyou to please come to his office. Totally unscheduled. For no reason whatsoever.

Thatcall.

The numbness is spreading. I’m walking, and I’m doing it all funny—it's like my legs are all jelly and butter, and there’s no toast or anything substantial to hold me up and keep me together. I’m that nervous. I’m a wreck. I’m probably sweating through the white blouse my mom still has to iron for me because I’ve never figured out the art of making it look good, and she’s a pro, and we can’t afford dry cleaning. I’ve already knocked on the door, so it’s too late to lift my arms and check, but in any case, I’ll keep them pressed to my body.

Breathe, Everleigh, breathe. Don’t breathe messily, and don’t pant. Just breathe normally. In, deep, out, push. In and out. Soothing breaths. Here we go. You’ve got this. You need this. Oh god, what if he fires me because he thinks I’m not happy here because I applied for a different position? What if he thinks I’m a huge ingrate, and if I’m not dedicated to my job, then I shouldn’t have a job? Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I can’t afford to lose this job. Not now. Not ever.

Bradford is there in his palatial office behind his throne. I mean his desk. He’s sitting all casual and gorgeous. He basically defines beauty, and his suits might be the three-thousand-dollar bespoke kind, but they only look so stellar because they’re on him—all six foot three godly, manly inches of him. He has perfect sandy hair, and it falls just the right amount over a strong forehead. His eyes are a glittering green, and the lights in here only enhance their strange shade. He’s also got a carved-out jawline, strong lips, and all the typical too-gorgeous-to-be-real features of a god-made man through some unfortunate and humbling accident that happened in a parallel universe before he was even born.

“Good morning, Everleigh.” He motions to the chairs in front of him, and because he’s a king and I’m just a lowly peasant, and the entire lower half of my body is now numb, I fall into one of them rather less than gracefully. It takes me a second to rearrange my wooden legs and pull down my cheap pencil skirt. I pray he doesn’t notice that it’s not designer and that I got it on sale at a thrift store. Yes, onsaleat athriftstore. I manage to keep my arms tucked at my sides just in case of sweat emergencies, and then I raise my head and gulp.

“Good morning, Mr. Anderson.” My stomach ties into a horrible, tight knot. If only this man knew how desperately I’d fallen for him. I’ve been working as his assistant, which was basically landing the job of a lifetime, for two years now. I only got the job because I have a friend from college who used to work in the mailroom here but now works in marketing and knows people who know people who know people. And they needed someone urgently back then.

I’m distracted when the sun comes out from behind the clouds outside, and a beam of golden sunlight slants through the huge windows in the office and straight onto Bradford. He’s not only gorgeous, but he’s good. He runs this place like it’s his birthright, which it basically is because he comes from a long line of Andersons—the third in his name should give that away—but also from old, old, old, ancient family money. Despite his mountains of gold, he gives back to this city in ways that most people don’t, and he really does care. He’s an inspiration, which is why his name has been in so many magazines and newspapers and generally all over the internet. It’s not my job to handle his PR, thank goodness. That takes a whole department. Literally. He’s turning thirty next month, and it has led to a whole slew of requests for things like the top thirty under thirty, blah, blah, blah. It’s been a scheduling nightmare, and unfortunately, I do handle that part. Just saying.

“We know each other quite well, don’t we?” Bradford’s eyes glint as he looks at the closed door, then slowly back at me. I’m melting into the chair in front of his desk, and my god, it isn’t comfortable. Bradford, on the other hand, doesn’t have a hair out of place. He’s always so insanely perfect.

Oh yes. You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about you swooping in and saving the day.

“Uhhh, yes, I’ve worked for you for a few years now.” The sensation of those eyes, almost catlike, glancing over my skin makes me shiver in a way that makes my nipples nearly slice through my bra, and warmth starts spreading through my numb legs.

Now I know why people call him the Lion of the Andersons. I always thought it was his golden mane of hair, perfectly golden skin, muscular frame, flawless, chiseled appearance, or all that power he has at his fingertips. But, nope, it’s definitely the eyes. I can feel my face starting to burn up along with the rest of me. My hair is done up in a tight twist, and I can feel the sweat not just under my blouse but prickling along my hairline as well, both above and below the twisted updo.

This man is so damn regal that even sitting down, he seems to tower over me. I don’t feel any better that we’re somewhat on a more even footing. Wearen’ton even footing. He has the advantage in every way. He’s not normally intimidating, and I don’t think he’s trying to be now. I’ve never even heard him raise his voice before. Everyone always comments about what a nice person Bradford Anderson is.

God, it’s been silent in here for too long. Why isn’t he asking me a follow-up question? Those green eyes are piercing through me. They won’t leave me alone.

Get a grip. You’ve known this man for two years. He’s kind, harmless. Even sweet, on the right day. Sure, he has all the power and could crush Philadelphia with his feet, but hewould never do that because he’s amazing, and he’s good. He’s not going to throttle you because you applied for a different position so you could better yourself. Not at all. Nope. His eyes are just regular intense. This is nothing new.

“I have a hair problem, it so happens.”

My jaw drops, but my ability to speak comes back to me rather quickly, thank goodness. “Umm, your hair?” This guy gets like thousand-dollar haircuts every other week. He’s perfectly shod. I mean shorn. I think? Right now, my brain is scrambled cheese. I mean eggs. “Your hair looks amazing, Mr. Anderson. It always does. If there’s an issue with your barber, I can find you a new one. And if there’s a scheduling thing, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

His eyes narrow, but then they crinkle at the corners, and his strong, masculine lips curl up in the signature Anderson smile that has the entire world eating out of whichever hand he deems fit. “Sorry, not hair. An air problem.”

“Oh, the air.” I point toward the ceiling, where the vents are. “I know. I’ve noticed that it’s been freezing in here. It's like people haven't noticed winter is coming. I’ll call someone to come look at the central air. I’ll tell them it’s glacial in here, and there must be something wrong with the setting.”

He clears his throat. His eyes scan over me like I’m an imbecile, but then that glint in them is gone, and he’s smiling again, and I probably imagined that annoyance I saw flash across his fine, godly face. The most beautiful face of all faces. Ugh, it’s simply unfair how stunning this man is. I never stood a chance. On day one of this job, I think I lost my mind to his hotness.

“No, Everleigh. Not my hair or the air. Anheir. As in, a baby.”

Now I’m blanking. Everyone knows Bradford doesn’t date. That’s why he also made the top thirty under thirty eligiblebachelor’s list this year for something like the sixth year in a row. “A—a—baby?” I couldn’t have heard that right.

He’s had a secret tryst. A lover’s thing that he didn’t tell anyone about. And now there’s a baby, and there’s going to be a wedding. It’s probably someone and something his rich ass family doesn’t approve of, but he’s going to marry her anyway, and it will be the wedding of the century, which will take him off the market forever, and oh god, the pain, the pain, the pain.I never thought I stood a chance, just for the record, but this still sucks. My white knight fantasies are dying a brutal death right now.

I’m treated to the full intensity of that green-eyed stare. “Yes, a baby. As it happens, I need one.”

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