Page 1 of Her Billionaire Bossholes

1

CHARLIE

"Char-lie! Char-lie! Char-lie! CHARLIE!"

The crowd roars with anticipation as my name echoes through the hallways. The sound reverberates through my ears, filling me with a surge of energy as I embrace the familiar nerves and excitement that accompany stepping into the ring. The cheers of the spectators propel me forward, fueling my determination.

As I make my way down the hall, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension courses through my veins. The lights ahead grow brighter, casting a blinding glow that momentarily disorients me. Despite the dazed and confused feeling, I push forward, drawing on the muscle memory and mental fortitude acquired through years of training.

Stepping into the ring, the lights intensify, illuminating every corner of the arena. The intensity of the moment is palpable, and my heart pounds in my chest. I take a deep breath, centering myself amidst the chaos. The familiar scent of sweat and anticipation hangs in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I step into the center of the ring and am met with my opponent. Time stands still, and I contemplate how many hours we've both dedicated to be in this moment, seeking victory for ourselves or our beloved team. His eyes lock on mine as a smirk tugs on his lips. In an instant, it is like all other noise has vanished - only our heavy breath sounds remain amidst silence that speaks volumes between us without any words at all.

He grins devilishly as he watches me enter, boldly staring me down with an air of confidence and superiority. With each step I take forward, he laughs nervously at my expense and points at me.

"Is this a fashion show?" he barks mockingly.

I look down, realizing that I'm wearing a simple white dress with spaghetti straps that falls just above mid-thigh. His laughter is met with snickers from some members of the crowd who seem to share his amusement. Why the hell am I in a dress? Who goes to finals in a damn dress?

My face burns with embarrassment. I raise my chin, determined to not let his words or foolishness affect me any longer.

My thoughts are quickly broken when I hear the call of the referee and feel their presence behind me. My thoughts are quickly broken when I hear the call of the referee and feel their presence behind me. The bell rings, signaling the start of the fight. I do my best to fight in this dress, but stumble over myself with each punch thrown or kick attempted. My opponent takes full advantage, using my lack of mobility to continuously land his blows.

I stumble to the ground, cursing.

Getting up, I try to land a kick and tear a ligament in my knee, falling to the ground as I wail in pain. Tears well up as agony runs through me - this is it for me now. My life is over! The pain spreads up and down my leg like a forest fire.

"Agh! Augh!!"

I thrash around, tangled in sweaty sheets. I slowly become aware of my surroundings, feeling the familiar comfort of my bedroom. I frantically search for any trace of the fight and come to understand that it was just a dream.

Trying to regulate my breathing and heart rate back to normal, I pull off the covers and roll out of bed onto shaky legs that threaten not to hold my weight. My knee aches, a ghostly pain from the injury that ended my kickboxing career just moments away from the trophy I'd invested into that fight to win - hours, days and weeks preparing myself.

"Stop pouting," I mutter, heading into the kitchen for a quick breakfast before my routine morning workout.

Today is a new day, and I'm determined to make the best of it.

As I make my way down the hall, I observe a sense of determination mixed with apprehension. Though many years have passed since that fateful fight, the feeling is still there - motivation to push through in spite of fear and uncertain outcomes.

I grab a bowl of granola and my favorite banana, feeling the texture and sweetness between my fingers. Without giving it a second thought, I head to my homemade gym, aka the living room of my little apartment, and start stretching out. An array of weights are lined up against one wall with jump ropes in another corner along with exercise mats which are nowhere near comfortable enough for lounging.

I'm not much for lounging, anyway.

"One... two... three... four..." I grunt, curling the twenty-pound weight in my hand to warm up.

The same fiery passion stirs within me as it did then: refusing defeat no matter how bleak things seem; changing course when necessary but never giving up; believing success can be found beyond every trial. It's not like I just gave up when they told me competing wasn't an option anymore, though I was devastated. Life isn't easy when you're determined to make something out of your own two hands, but what fun is easy?

I pause my workout, setting down my weights, as my phone starts to ring. Curiosity piqued, I answer the call, not expecting the news that awaits me on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Charlotte Moore?" The voice on the line belongs to the secretary of BioCore Solutions, the company where I recently applied for a job.

I sit down and wipe the sweat from my face. "Yes."

"Miss Moore, I'm calling to inform you that you've been hired as the personal bodyguard of BioCore's CEOs," she informs me outright. "Can you start tomorrow?"

2

---