Bossed

The boss. The temptation. The red-hot secret affair.
He's my grumpy employer. He's off-limits. So why can't I resist him?
I never expected to fall for Declan McDaid, the stern CEO of McDaid Security.
But one late night at the office changes everything.
Now, I'm caught between professionalism and passion.
Can our forbidden affair survive the complications of mixing business with pleasure?
Will I risk it all for a chance at love with the most unlikely man?
Sparks fly in this steamy office romance full of tension, red-hot desire, and unexpected emotions.

Bossed is the first book in the Spicy Bites series. This scorching short read proves that even opposites can attract when desire ignites. Don't miss out on this irresistible journey from explosive lust to profound connection. One-click now to experience the heat!

The McDaid Security lobby is a meat locker. The whole place smells like cold steel, lemon disinfectant, and the terror of the underprepared. I’m three minutes early, which is three minutes later than I like to be, but my commute was sabotaged by a Prius rolling ten miles under the speed limit in the fast lane. 
I take the stairs to the main entrance two at a time, boots hammering out a cadence on polished marble that Mrs. Thomas, the one true queen of admin before her grandbaby lured her into retirement, used to call my “goddamn war drums."
I still expect to see her behind the lobby desk, spine ramrod straight and reading glasses low on her nose, but it’s been nine weeks since she left, and in that time, a parade of temp PAs has cycled through. None lasted more than a week. I fired the last one on day two for confusing “urgent” with “eventually.”
I steel myself for whatever new torment the latest temp might unleash upon me. Last week, I could barely hold back the overwhelming urge to throttle the irritating little fucker.
The first thing I notice is a pair of very nice calves, legs crossed with military precision. Then, a tailored skirt suit in navy, fitted and appropriate but not apologetic. Finally, a woman who’s giving me the kind of up-down you reserve for a misbehaving Rottweiler. Oh hell. Lewis the incompetent is gone and a gorgeous angel is sitting in his place.
She’s fucking young. I’d say somewhere in her mid-twenties. Her hair is dark and wild at the ends, but smooth and pulled back at the top, and her heart-shaped face gives her the girl-next-door look. The suit and sexy ass round glasses perched on her button nose turn my cock to stone. 
She doesn’t rise when I stop at the counter, just pivots slightly to face me head-on, eyes level with my own because she’s sitting tall in the chair and I’m refusing to hunch down for anyone. Stand-off. I count five seconds. She doesn’t blink.
I try intimidation, which works on ninety percent of people in this building. I give her the stare I perfected during four years in the Marines, four years in private ops, and three years running this fortress with a rep for zero tolerance.
Her response is a slow, deliberate flick of her gaze to my boots, then up to my face. “May I help you?” The “sir” is omitted with military precision.
Shocked to have this gorgeous woman stand up to me, I let the silence stretch. “I’m Declan McDaid. I own this place.” I pause, letting her absorb that before asking, “Who the hell are you?”
She finally stands, heels clicking on the marble. She’s not tall, but she uses every inch to her benefit. Her posture is a lesson in “fuck you,” and she doesn’t break eye contact. “Natalie Hollister, Mr. McDaid. Your new PA.” Damn. She somehow manages to make my name sound like a swear word.
My jaw tightens. “I didn’t know I had a new PA.”
She cocks a brow. “You’ll have to take that up with your HR department, sir.”
The “sir” is delivered with the barest hint of snark. I remind myself not to take the bait, but my chest has that fluttering, pissed-off bird sensation I get before a fight. Fuck. I haven’t felt this alive in years.
“Where’s the temp I had last week?” I ask, figuring this little firecracker probably ate him for breakfast.
She shrugs, and the movement is so clean, I almost believe she’s relaxed. “He quit after you threw a stapler at his head,” she says, then adds, “He was worried your aim would improve.”
“I’d have hit the little fucker if I wanted to.” I defend my aim.
“Uh-huh.” She starts to turn away like the conversation’s over. 
“Wait,” I bark. Not a request.
She halts and pivots. “Yes?”
“Who gave you access to the building at this hour?”
“Your new Head of Facilities. Trey, the ex-cop. He vouched for me.” She waits, shoulders squared, daring me to contradict.
I feel the muscle in my jaw flex again. “Do you know what time it is?”
She checks her old-school analog watch, which is the first point in her favor. “Zero-six-zero-nine,” she says. “Four minutes off your usual.”
“Don’t get comfortable.”
Her smile is quick, sharp, and gone. “I never do.”
I lean in, just enough to make her tilt her chin to keep the eye contact. “My schedule. On my desk by six fifteen. Prioritize the congressional call, bump city council until after lunch. If there’s another meeting with those limp dicks at the public defender’s office, reschedule it to after hours.” I pause. “Got all that?”
She’s already pulling a tablet from the crook of her arm. “Congressional call at the top. City council after lunch. Public defender moved to post-close. Anything else?”
I want to say, “Let’s see how long you last,” but I bite it down. There’s no point in giving her ammunition.
“Just keep up,” I say, and walk past the counter. I don’t glance back, but I can feel her watching, measuring, running the same background check on me in her head. “And I might give you a chance to keep this position.”