Boss Man Bridegroom

Book 3: The Bromance Club

by Meghan Quinn

Genres: Billionaires Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy; Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

How did I get here? My assistant, bent on one knee, holding my hand, her expectant face waiting for an answer... Just...how? How did I go from being insulted by Charlee Cox to hiring her to be my assistant? How is it that she’s chaos in color—making me crazy and my life better at the same time? I never thought I would be staring down at her bright blue eyes begging me to go along with the ridiculous scheme I suggested. Yes, I suggested it. Like the idiot I am, I thought hey, why not start an HR nightmare and have my assistant ask me to marry her? Confused? Don’t worry, so am I. But try to follow along, because this is how I became Boss Man Bridegroom.

Release date: January 23, 2020

Publisher: Hot-Lanta Publishing, LLC

Print pages: 404

Sample

Prologue

RATH

“Rath Westin, my boss, my commander in chief, my Gucci Governor—”

“I don’t wear Gucci.”

“Go with it.” She winks and clears her throat. “Mr. Big Shot, Barking Britches, and Irritable Ira—”

“Jesus . . . Christ.” I rub my hand down my face.

“Will you do me the great honor . . .” She wobbles on her bent knee and clutches my hand to steady herself. “Will you . . .” She tears up, her voice becoming shaky. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.”

“I sure as hell hope not,” I say through gritted teeth.

“And I didn’t think I’d get emotional either.” On a deep breath, she finishes, “Will you do me the greatest honor of all time and be my bridegroom?”

Christ, nothing is ever simple with her.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Did I not do it right?” she mumbles to herself. “See, I knew I was doing something wrong.”

“No, why did you say bridegroom?”

“Oh, well, that’s what you would be. You see, that’s what they used to call men who were soon to be married . . . a bridegroom. But then somewhere along the way they shortened it to groom. But if you marry me, I would give you the dignified pleasure of retaining the honorable title of bridegroom.”

“Don’t call me bridegroom.”

“Boss man bridegroom?” she asks with a cheeky grin.

How the fuck did I allow myself to get in this position? With my quirky and sometimes annoying but mostly efficient assistant, kneeling in front of me . . . proposing.

Proposing to me.

In a pair of belly-covering slacks and suspenders, hair pulled back into a tight bun like she often wears it, looking up at me through her red-framed glasses, her bright blue eyes shining past the lenses, begging me to go along with this ridiculous scheme I suggested.

Yes, me.

Like the goddamn idiot I am, I thought hey, why not start an HR nightmare and have my assistant ask me to marry her?

Confused?

Don’t worry, so am I.

Where do I even start? Maybe from the beginning?

Here is a quick rundown: my ex, who used to work with me, left me for bigger and better things. We don’t talk about her, ever, because she took my heart with her. Instead, I buried myself in my work. I became a hermit in my office, firing one assistant after another because they weren’t good enough or their voice annoyed me, or they thought salt was sugar and gave me one bad cup of coffee that ended their career at Westin Enterprises—that mistake was on them.

In my spare time—not that there’s much—but when I do have spare time, I follow my two idiot friends around the city, helping them avoid fucking up their lives. But now that they’re both in loving and committed relationships, one planning a wedding with my sister as the bride, I have much more time on my hands.

Maybe they’re to blame for my demise, for this ridiculous charade I’m now a part of.

What does this have to do with my assistant proposing to me?

Well, you see, I was in the market for yet another new assistant, and that’s when one of my best friends, Bram, suggested I lean on his assistant, Linus, to help me find someone. Side note: Linus is a gift from God, and I’ve offered him huge pay raises many times to jump ship and join my company, but his loyalty lies with Bram . . . unfortunately.

So Linus helped me find an assistant, and that’s where it started to go downhill.

The minute I saw her, I knew it wasn’t going to be a good fit.

Why?

Because she’s too goddamn beautiful.

Because she’s far too bubbly.

Because with every smile and checklist she devises, she makes me want to bend her over my desk and make her mine.

But, since I clearly don’t know how to make any decisions worth a shit, I hired her, right there on the spot.

And that was the beginning of the end.

Need to know more? Well in case you are on pins and needles about my answer to her proposal, I said yes.

Here’s the story of how I became Boss Man Bridegroom.

 

 

Chapter One

CHARLEE

 

My grandma once told me, if I want to show someone my true being, my inner joyful soul, I should surround myself with things I love.

Meaning: if I want someone to see the best side of me, I should meet them in my most comfortable and jubilant surroundings.

So if I like to cook, go to cooking classes.

If I’m a reader—and I do partake in a historical romance once a week—bury myself in a library.

If I find rocks particularly fascinating, help out at the quarry . . . or something like that.

You get the idea.

Not that I’m trying to meet someone at this point, since I’m unfortunately “celebrating” my three-year anniversary of being left at the altar—yay, that was fun—but you never know when you’ll have that special moment with someone.

Therefore, I’m surrounding myself with the one true thing that makes me happy, that gets me high on life, that makes my toes tingle with excitement: organization.

Hands clasped together, I stare at the banner hanging above the convention center entrance.

Second Annual Office Supply Con, NYC.

I am home.

Turning to a random stranger walking by, I say, “Pardon me, sir, will you take my picture in front of this magnificent sign? I love commemorating moments like this.”

Dressed in a finely tailored suit, a tie cinching tightly around his neck, he stares at my phone for a second and then takes it from me, huffing in frustration. Not hiding his irritation, he steps back and gets in position.

“You don’t have to, if it will be troublesome,” I say, giving him an out, since he’s clearly annoyed.

“I have your phone, so just take the damn picture,” he snaps.

Sheesh.

Clearly he’s not in his optimum space.

Ignoring his obvious annoyed demeanor, I spread my arms wide and look up at the sign, a smile on my face. I count to five before I look back down. “Did you get it?”

“No, someone walked in front of you.”

“Oh, okay. One more time.” I do the same pose and when I count to five, I ask him again, “Did you get it?”

“Another person.”

“Criminy.” I chuckle and then do some traffic control. I put my arms out to passersby and say, “Please hold for one second, I’m trying to take a picture under this wonderful sign. Thank you.” Once the coast is clear, I give the angered man the go-ahead with a wink and an airgun.

I commit to my pose one more time.

“Here,” he says, walking up to me and handing me my phone.

I thank the people who were waiting and then ask him, “Would you like me to take your picture too? With your phone, of course. That would be weird if it was mine, unless we dropped images into our phones. We could do that. Then again, if you already have your phone out, I could just use that to take the picture. So, what do you say?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Picture?”

“No.” He gives me a quick once-over and then looks around, buttoning his suit jacket.

“Do you need help finding something? I have a map.”

“Of course you do,” he mutters.

“You don’t have to be rude,” I say before I can stop myself. I might be nice and bubbly, but I also don’t take crap from people. “If you didn’t want to take a picture, you didn’t have to. You could have said not right now and kept walking.”

His sharp blue eyes bore into me, an intimidation tactic I’m sure works in the boardroom, but I’m used to the signature boss man look. I’ve dealt with my fair share of “intimidating” businessmen so to me, it’s the same stare, a different day.

“You bothered me, not the other way around. I don’t need your attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude; you do,” I shoot back, hands on my hips. “I just wanted to commemorate this moment and you’re ruining it.”

“You’re at a goddamn office supply convention, what’s there to commemorate?”

“Everything.” I wave my hands to the side. “Don’t you feel the excitement buzzing in the air? This is the mecca of all pens and paper. Products like the erasable pen were first found here, and whiteout tape . . . don’t even get me started.”

He blinks.

Stares.

Blinks.

Finally. “You’re deranged.”

Insulted, my eyes widen as I clutch my hand to my chest. “You’re offensive.” Standing tall, I take a step forward and poke the man in the chest.

Poke.

Flex.

Poke.

Yowser. That’s a strong pectoral.

Shaking my finger out, I continue, “Just because you seem to have a small-minded brain and rotten heart, doesn’t mean you need to extract the joy out of everyone else’s life. If everyone here is so beneath you, why even come in the first place? We don’t want your negativity bringing down the pure excitement of this day.”

“So you’re the spokeswoman now for the convention?” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“As a matter of fact”—I cross my arms too—“I am.” I hold my hand out. “Gwendolyn Havershire.”

I know it’s stupid to pretend to be someone else, let alone the queen bee of the office supply convention, but is this suit really going to know who she is? He clearly doesn’t want to be here, so I’m sure he has no idea the organizer of the convention is none other than the beautifully wonderful and highly organized Gwendolyn Havershire.

Anyway, he needs to be put in his place, and I’m ready to take on the task.

He stares at my hand but doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks at me, his brows narrowing.

“You’re telling me, you organized this entire thing?”

I smoothly take my hand away and stuff it into my pocket. “Yes, I am. So, if you don’t mind, we would prefer for only excited people to be here.” I point to the doors behind us. “I’m sure you know your way out.”

“As much as I would love to leave, Gwendolyn, I have a very important meeting to attend and you’ve delayed me.”

“You delayed yourself by arguing with me.”

“You shouldn’t have asked me to take a picture.”

My voice rises. “Well, excuse me for thinking there are decent people in this world who will take a second of their day to help capture a moment for another human being.” My breathing starts to become labored. “Heaven forbid you ever need a favor or someone to lend a hand. I hope they don’t treat you the same way you treated me, like a giant . . . turd nugget.”

He doesn’t react. The only reason I know he’s surprised is the small, rapid blinking of his eyes.

“Are you . . . are you calling me a turd nugget? The dignified Gwendolyn Havershire is calling me, a turd nugget?”

“Well”—I brush my hand down my pants—“we all have our low moments. Now, if you’ll excuse me, since I’m the head of this convention, I have more important things to do than to stand around arguing with a peon.”

“A peon?” The corner of his mouth twitches, but I don’t see the rest of that possible smile before I take off, leaving him in my dust.

Self-righteous turd nugget.

Pffft. It’s men like him who think they run the world when it’s really the people behind them who are pulling all the strings.

“Well, at least I have my picture,” I say to myself as I post it to my Instagram feed with some very flavorful hashtags.

#ConventionCommemoration

#PenMeccaMadness

#BeStillMyOrganizationalHeart

Pleased and attempting to move past Mr. Moody Pants, I keep my phone close in case I need to take any more pictures and walk through the arch into office supply heaven.

Booths displaying the latest and greatest printers, paper, pens, planners, chairs, desks, pretty much anything you see in an office, are scattered through the large convention center giving me an overwhelming sense of excitement.

I open my map and scan my highlighted sections. Since I don’t need to look at the printers and computers, I avoid that section and head straight to the planners.

I’m a sucker for a planner.

Planners and notebooks.

Planners with stickers!

And pens. Oh my goodness, let’s not forget about pens.

Or Post-it notes.

Oh God, I need to catch my breath. Just thinking about all the different kinds of Post-its I might see today has my pulse racing at an uncomfortable rate.

Circles, and squares, and hearts, and cat shapes, and maybe a cactus, because the cacti of the world are trending right now.

Whoa . . . I feel lightheaded.

Settle down, deep breaths. You have the entire day to explore and an empty backpack for the swag you’ll pick up along the way.

The last convention I went to, I brought a wheelie cart to haul my most prized possessions, but I got in trouble for having one because apparently in a crowded space, they don’t want people tripping over wheelie carts.

So this go around, I decided to keep it simple, not go too crazy on free samples, and to only take what I absolutely needed. The bare essentials.

And since I’m between jobs at the moment, I have business cards for prospective employers I might run into and I have an envelope of cash, to control the amount of money I spend.

My last company was bought out in a merger. I received a very nice severance package that has lasted me six months—my old boss loved me—but with my severance dwindling at a rapid rate—thank you, NYC rent—I need to be conservative and find a job soon. That’s why I decided on a set amount for today that will give me some freedom, but not too much where I’m regretting my decisions later.

I follow the map around the kitchen supply area, which piques my interest because I can smell free coffee, but I’ll catch up with those booths later. I want to make sure I get to the Daisy and Dot booth first.

Daisy and Dot has the best planners you will ever use. Efficient, task oriented, with stickers and fun clips to hold down important items, they’re the only planner I ever want to use, and they have a new prototype out today.

God, I know, how exciting.

I blow past a few suits, my agenda simple: get the planner then peruse.

I can see their canary-yellow and white polka-dot branding, with their cute cursive font, and I make a beeline, eyes fixed up ahead—

Ooof.

Clunk.

Boof . . .

From out of nowhere, I collide with a tall, lean frame sending me flat on my ass. My map scatters to the ground and then is kicked by oncoming traffic. 

Noooo, that was color coordinated.

On my hands and knees, I crawl to reach for it just as it’s snatched from the ground. I look up in a panic to find kind eyes staring back at me as well as an out-stretched hand.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you coming.” I take the man’s hand and smile politely.

He hands me his map and says, “I was so fixed on the new Daisy and Dot planner I completely forgot all social protocol.”

I chuckle. “Me too. I want to know what this new calendar print is all about.”

“Their social media posts have been an absolute tease.”

“Gah, I know. It’s like show us already,” I say in an irritated screech.

We both laugh and then the man holds his hand out. “My name is Linus and I’m obsessed with office supplies.”

Taking his hand in mine, I say, “Charlee, I’m borderline institute worthy over office supplies.”

“Charlee . . .” He looks up at the ceiling and then back at me. “Where do I know you from? Your voice is very familiar.”

“You know, now that I think about it, I don’t know many Linuses besides one.” I tap my chin. “Do you work for Bram Scott?”

“Yes.” Linus grips my hand tightly. “You’re Charlee Cox from Harold Danver’s office, aren’t you?”

“Yes. That’s me. Oh my gosh, it’s so nice to finally meet you in person.” We give each other a hug.

When I was working for Harold Danver before the merger, I worked closely with many assistants given our bosses were too busy to set up meetings. We’re the ones behind the scenes doing everything for them. We kind of have a secret phone club where we chit-chat, getting to know each other before we interrupt each other’s boss’s schedules that we’ve meticulously planned out.

Harold and Bram did a lot of business together, therefore I spoke to Linus quite often. When I was with Harold, I would say Linus was in my top three people to work with when it came to scheduling. He was always so efficient.

“This is amazing.” He frowns. “Ugh, I was so mad to hear about the merger, especially when I knew I wasn’t going to be talking to you anymore.”

“I know, but the severance package as the executive assistant was quite rewarding.”

“I’m sure. Mr. Danvers adored you.” He glances at the booth and says, “Want to go check it out together?”

“Of course, unless, are you here with anyone?”

“Do you really think there’s anyone else who would want to go to this with me?” Linus asks on a laugh.

“Same here.” I smile. “If that’s the case, want to be my date and take awkward pictures in front of some of the world’s greatest office supplies with me?”

“Sounds magical.” He winks and links my hand in his, guiding us toward the booth line. We take our place and he turns to me while we wait. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing much. Kind of taking a break. You know how being an assistant can be. Crazy hours, hard work.”

“Yeah, but the benefits are worth it.”

“That’s if you get a good boss,” I point out. “Before Mr. Danvers, I worked for a witch of a lady. She was awful to me and at least once a week I would walk in on her with some flavor of the week, doing it on her desk. It got to the point where I think she was doing it on purpose.”

“She sounds like a treasure. Please tell me you stayed as far away from her desk as possible.”

“If I ever needed to touch it for some reason, I had hand sanitizer at my desk. If only I had sanitizer for my eyes, I wouldn’t have been as scarred as I was. Trust me when I say, I can never look at a meatball sandwich the same again.”

He cringes. “Do I even want to know?”

I shake my head. “You don’t.”

“Even though I’d never tell, I almost wish I had some freak story about Mr. Scott. But he’s as clean-cut as they come. Nothing that’s even worthy of gossip.”

“Not even with his fiancée? Not that I’m asking for details, but that’s surprising.”

“If there is, he’s not doing it in our office.”

“That is upsetting. Does he still get milkshakes to reward himself?”

Linus chuckles. “Yup. I had to cut him off for a while because whenever he got a milkshake, I was required to drink one with him and it was starting to show how many I was having.”

I chuckle. “Mr. Danvers brought me chocolate every Friday. I had to kindly insist I needed a break, because all my spare time was being spent in the gym when I’d rather have been practicing my hand lettering.”

“Are you still doing that?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’ve gotten into raunchy hand lettering.”

He laughs out loud, his head falling back. “What do you mean by raunchy?”

“Well, I started out with inspirational quotes, because that’s what all the books teach you. I like to write on blank cards and send them to people. Well, ‘Believe in Yourself’ was getting boring, so I took up more raunchy sayings. You know how ladies are now cross-stitching swear words? Consider that me, but with a calligraphy pen.”

“That’s amazing. Tell me one of your favorites.”

We move forward in line as I think about it. “Well, last night I made a sign for my bathroom, which reminds me I need to get a frame for it. It says, ‘Please don’t do coke in the bathroom.’”

Linus chuckles. “That’s a reasonable request.”

“I sent a card to my brother that said, ‘Don’t be a douche canoe.’ I drew a little canoe in the middle. He liked it a lot. There’s just something special about using pretty handwriting to say rotten things.”

“I think I might need to commission you to do something for me.”

“I did one for Mr. Danvers.”

“Seriously?” Linus’s eyes pop open. “What did it say?”

“Oh, it was boring. Something about house and home and love. I desperately wanted him to ask for something like ‘Home is where no pants is.’ I think his wife might have had a stroke though. She’s very prim and proper.”

“Such a wasted opportunity.” We move up again. So close. “Are you looking for work?”

I nod. “I told myself today I need to find a job soon because I’m living on money fumes. And my grandma, who is my absolute best friend, is starting to fret over my situation. Mr. Danvers gave me one hell of a recommendation with cards to his personal cell for employers to call him directly. I know I’ll be able to find a job, but I want to find the right one. Working with Mr. Danvers felt like a dream. He was so kind and appreciative. I want the same experience and given how much weight his name holds in New York City, I hope I can get a job sooner rather than later.”

“How do you feel about much sooner?” he asks. 

Interested, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Well, one of Mr. Scott’s best friends is in desperate need for an assistant, and he asked me to help him find someone to fill the position. He trusts me and since his last few assistants have been awful, he’s relying on me to find a gem.” Linus shakes his head. “Since I have to work with them often, and I mean . . . a lot, I’ve been looking far and wide for the perfect person for him because technically, his new assistant would be my co-worker.”

“It’s really been that bad?”

“Yeah. Really bad.” Linus cringes.

“Is he a tyrant?”

“No.” Linus shakes his head. “He’s really quite sweet. Always says he’s going to steal me away from Mr. Scott.”

“So why can’t he find someone who will stay?”

“He has high standards. He’s incredibly intelligent, works long hours, and needs someone who can keep up with him. He owns multiple companies with varied purposes, New York City commercial properties, a mortgage brokerage, and his baby, his foundation that supports underprivileged children. His pay is”—Linus blinks a few times—“phenomenal. Free health insurance, car service, optional apartment near the office if you want to move, gym membership, so many bonuses, and his retirement plan is unlike anything I’ve seen. Bram is always trying to match it for me, but instead, he apologizes with a key to his Hamptons house for the weekend, every time he realizes he falls short.”

I chuckle. “Well, I’m sure that makes up for it.”

“It does. Seriously though, if I were to work for anyone in the city, it would be for Bram Scott or Rath Westin.”

“Mr. Westin. Oh, I’ve scheduled a few meetings for Mr. Danvers with him before. He was always nice.”

“See?” Linus says as we take one more step forward, one couple away from the new planners. “He’s a great guy and I know you would be amazing for him. What do you say? Can I introduce you?”

New planner.

Possible new job.

Looks like this day is turning out to be better than I expected.

“Feels like I bumped into the right person today.”

 

***

 

I wipe my eyes and take a deep breath. “I need to pull it together.”

“Yes . . . you do,” Linus says on a laugh.

“I’m sorry, but I was so nervous I wasn’t going to make it to the booth in time, and they were short on stock. I didn’t know we were going to get the whole new year package for free. I’m still in awe. I can’t believe they knew you.”

“Pretty sure Mr. Scott had something to do with this,” Linus says. “Because they’re taking money from other people.”

I look behind us and see them swiping cards. “Seriously? You think he called ahead?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him. He’s always doing little things like that to show me how much he appreciates me. Mr. Westin would do the same for the right assistant.”

“Wow.” I clutch the planner package full of new pages, stickers, and pens to my chest. “The more I think about it, the more I’m leaning toward yes. I think I took too much time off and now I’m at the point of borderline desperate.”

“No need to be desperate, I can—” Ding. Linus looks down at his Apple Watch and then smiles. “Guess who’s here?”

I pause and give it some thought just as my pulse skyrockets. “Oh my God, is it Mr. Erasable, the mascot for all whiteboard markers?”

Linus throws his head back and laughs. “No.” He shakes his head at me. “You need to get out more. Mr. Westin is here. He had a meeting and has finished. Mr. Scott told him I was here. He wants to say hi. I can introduce you.”

Mr. Westin is here? Why does that make me suddenly nervous?

“I don’t know.” I glance down at my casual wear. “I’m really not dressed to meet an employer.”

“Please, he’ll appreciate you’re here, dedicated to such things as office supplies. Shows how committed you are to our line of work.”

“Not just committed, but love it,” I say and then shift on my feet. “You don’t think he’ll mind?”

“Not at all. He’s by the café. I sent him a text that we’re on our way and that he needs to meet you. Let’s go. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Gahh . . . but . . . I’m not ready.

Linus takes my hand and weaves me through the crowd of people, toward the café, nerves blooming in the pit of my stomach from how quick this is all happening. I’m at the pinnacle of my happiness, surrounded by things like inkjet cartridges and the latest and greatest organizational holders for Keurig cups and even though I should be my most happy, I’m feeling very unprepared and oddly scared.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I say to Linus, trying to dig my feet into the floor. “I mean, I should really meet him in a more professional capacity.”

“Mr. Westin is really casual, the least uptight guy I know. Trust me, this will be fine.”

Fine for Linus, but this feels like a recipe for disaster for me.

“Oh, I spot him,” Linus says. “And look, he’s already grabbed drinks and treats for us.”

“You know, I really think we should give this more thought.” I try to pull my arm back, but he doesn’t let go.

“Stop it. You’ll love him. He’s the best, and I’m sure he’s excited to meet you.”

Oh, yup, these high-powered men are always “excited” to meet assistants. Now that I think about it, Linus might be high this very minute, and not high on office supplies like me.

I try to look around Linus’s tall frame, to catch a glimpse of Mr. Westin, but with his height and the crowds, I can’t see anything until we stop dead in our tracks at a table off in the corner, away from the crowd.

Linus pulls me up front and says, “Mr. Westin, it’s so great to see you.”

My eyes fall to the man in a tailored suit, crisp white shirt, top few buttons undone just enough so I can see a hint of muscle. His broad shoulders pull at the fabric of his suit jacket. Therefore, even though he’s a busy man, he still finds the time to go to the gym. My eyes travel north to his firm jaw, full lips, chiseled nose, and sharp, angry eyes.

Wait, angry . . .

Oh God.   

I know this man.

He’s the man I argued with this morning.

The man I lied to.

The man I called a peon.

The man I . . . oh God . . . the man I called a turd nugget.