Tempted by My Off-Limits Billionaire Boss

1. Leslie The PR Crisis Begins

Leslie: The PR Crisis Begins

The morning breeze is crisp against my skin, a sharp contrast to the warm, tropical sun I should be basking under right now.

I should be on a beach in the Maldives.

I should be sipping a margarita in a luxurious overwater bungalow, listening to the waves gently hitting the stilts.

I should be celebrating the fact that, after years of overworking myself into near burnout, I finally quit my job at Pinnacle Management and took a well-deserved break.

Instead, I grip my steering wheel and scowl at my phone as another email notification pops up.

We have received your cancellation. Due to the last-minute cancellation, we regret to inform you that—

I turn off the screen before I lose my mind and throw my phone out the window.

This trip has been three years in the making—three years of pushing through back-to-back projects and crises, working endless late nights, and watching my vacation get postponed over and over again by my former boss, Anthony Reeves.

“There’s a major issue, Leslie. Just this one last time. Your expertise is crucial for this, Leslie.”

“I’ll make it up to you with a fat bonus check, Leslie.”

Flattery and money. That’s how he kept me hooked every damn time.

And, of course, when the promotion to Head of Public Relations at Pinnacle Management was finally within reach—better pay, longer hours, more stress—my wake-up call hit.

I had a nightmare about growing old in my cubicle.

About my entire life passing me by while I was stuck fixing other people’s messes.

The next morning, I submitted my resignation to Anthony.

Almost immediately, Starz Management Group—who just lost a key member in their PR department—reached out to me with an attractive package including an assistant which I didn’t have at Pinnacle. I accepted their offer with only one condition: I would report to work after my vacation.

I had a plan: quit, take a well-deserved vacation, then start fresh at a new job.

But that plan went to hell the second Daniel, the VP of SMG, called me on my way to the airport.

I thought he was calling to wish me a nice vacation. Ha! How naive.

“Good morning, Leslie. We need you to come to the office now.”

I frowned. “Good morning, Daniel. I’m heading to the airport now. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Umm . . . Leslie, we really need you to come for an urgent meeting. We have a disastrous scandal on our hands. We cannot wait two weeks.”

“What? We had an agreement. And I have reservations, plane tickets—”

“I’m sorry, Leslie. Please. We need you here. We’ll reimburse everything. Plane tickets, hotel, excursions—you’ll get back every penny. And we’ll compensate you with triple the cost. I promise.”

I was so close. So close to the warm white sand, turquoise water, and an overpriced fruity cocktail served by some ridiculously hot bartender.

Instead? I’m here. Stuck in L.A. traffic, heading toward a six-story red-brick building downtown, where I’m about to walk straight into a PR dumpster fire. And the day is only going to get worse from here.

***

By the time I pull into SMG’s parking lot, my frustration is bubbling over.

Then I see it. A perfectly open parking space right by the entrance—like a tiny gift from the universe for my ruined vacation.

I pull in, kill the engine, and reach for my bag.

Then—

BEEP. BEEP.

I glance up as a sleek, black Aston Martin slows beside me. The tinted window rolls down, revealing a man in a sharp suit and an even sharper glare.

“You’re in my spot,” he says, voice clipped.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“That space is reserved.” His tone is dry, like he’s explaining something painfully obvious.

I glance around. No sign, no nameplate—just an empty parking space I legally claim.

“I don’t see a sign,” I say, arching a brow.

His eyes narrow slightly. “You will. Now move.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, that’s not happening.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture tightens. “You’re not seriously arguing about this.”

“Oh, I’m serious.” I cross my arms. “There’s an entire row of open spaces right there.” I gesture behind him.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point? That you don’t want to walk an extra ten steps?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. For a second, I think he’s going to argue further, but instead, he exhales sharply and reverses without another word.

I watch as he pulls into another spot—one literally two spaces away—and slams his door shut.

God, what a jerk.

I grab my bag and head toward the entrance, but just as I reach the elevator, I see him stride inside.

Oh no.

Our eyes meet for a split second before he turns to the panel. The doors start closing. I pick up my pace. “Hold the elevator!”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even pretend to reach for the button.

Unbelievable.

I break into a jog, but the doors snap shut right before I reach them. I stand there, breathing heavily, glaring at my own reflection in the polished steel doors.

Asshole.

With no other choice, I take the next elevator up. As I step out of the elevator, a woman appears at my side. She has a warm smile and an easygoing energy that instantly puts me at ease.

“You must be Leslie Hart,” she says. “I’m Mia, your assistant. Welcome to Starz Management Group!”

Relief washes over me. At least someone around here isn’t out to make me feel like an idiot.

“Come on,” Mia gestures for me to follow. “Your office is this way. Let’s get you settled.”

***

“This is you.” She gestures to a polished door with my name already displayed on a sleek plaque. Fancy.

I step inside, taking in the modern desk, plush chair, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the city.

I should be excited, but all I can focus on is how I let my vacation get ruined again.

Mia hands me a tablet. “No time to settle in. Mr. Donovan wants you in the conference room. Now.”

I groan internally but nod. “Lead the way.”

The second I step inside the conference room, it falls silent.

A dozen sets of eyes lock onto me, but my gaze lands on the man sitting at the head of the table.

My breath catches for half a second.

No. Way.

A tailored suit, a chiseled jaw, and an aura of authority that makes the entire room tense—

It’s him.

Parking-lot-asshole is sitting at the head of the damn table like he owns the place.

And judging by the way everyone is looking at him, I’m willing to bet he does.

He leans back in his chair, one hand resting on the table, the other adjusting the expensive watch on his wrist. Sharp blue eyes scan the room—assessing, calculating—before landing on me.

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face, gone too fast to name.

His suit fits like it was made for him, crisp against broad shoulders, the top button of his shirt undone just enough to hint at ease beneath the authority.

He must be Kyle Donovan, CEO of Starz Management Group.

And, apparently, the man responsible for the slow burn of irritation—and something else—I can’t quite shake.

Heat rises to my face, but I push it down. Focus.

“It’s about time, Ms. Hart.”

I step forward, putting on my professional smile. “Apologies for being late. Someone didn’t hold the elevator.”

A few people shift uncomfortably. Someone clears their throat.

Kyle leans back in his chair, entirely unfazed. His gaze flicks to me, cool and unreadable. “Make a better excuse next time.”

My jaw clenches. Oh, this is going to be fun.

I sit down and quickly scan the headlines flashing across the screen, each one more damning than the last.

Theo Bennett’s SHOCKING Scandal: Actor Caught in Explosive Controversy!

Theo Bennett Snubs Charity for Yacht Party With Bikini Models!

Golden Boy Gone Wild – Fans Furious Over Theo’s Reckless Behavior!

The pictures are even worse. Theo, grinning like an idiot, drink in hand, surrounded by barely dressed women. Meanwhile, cameras at the charity event captured disappointed kids waiting for an appearance that never happened.

Kyle’s voice cuts through the tense silence. “We need solutions. Now.”

The tension is suffocating. My pulse kicks up as I scan the room, every set of eyes waiting—expecting.

Then someone slides a thick file in front of me, and just like that, my focus sharpens. I exhale slowly. This is what I do.

I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders. “If I may,” I say, keeping my voice even.

Kyle’s gaze flicks to me, expression unreadable. He gives a curt nod. That is all the permission I need.

I flip through the file, scanning more headlines.

“Theo’s image is taking a serious hit,” I say. “The longer we let the public control the narrative, the harder it’ll be to salvage.”

Kyle crosses his arms, tone skeptical. “And how exactly do you plan to solve that?”

I don’t hesitate. “First, we get ahead of the rumors. A carefully crafted statement—not a denial, but something that acknowledges the situation without adding fuel to the fire.”

An executive nods. “That makes sense. If we control the narrative early, we minimize damage.”

Encouraged, I continue. “Second, we need to shift focus. Show Theo in a positive light—charitable work, family-oriented appearances, anything that reminds the public why they loved him in the first place.”

Another executive hums in agreement.

Kyle, however, doesn’t look impressed. “You make it sound simple,” he says coolly. “But controlling a scandal of this magnitude takes more than just ‘shifting the focus.’”

He leans forward slightly. “Tell me, Ms. Hart, what makes you so sure you’re up for this?”

I don’t flinch. “Because I’ve done it before.”

His brow lifts slightly, like he’s waiting for me to prove myself.

I meet his gaze head-on. “I know how these situations work. I’ve handled high-profile cases, some just as messy as this. And I’ve turned them around.”

I let the words settle before adding, “That’s why you hired me, isn’t it?”

A flicker of something—maybe amusement, maybe irritation—crosses his face, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

“I hired you,” he says slowly, “because I was advised to.” He tilts his head. “Let’s see if you live up to the hype.”

Ouch.

I press my lips together. “Then I guess your advisors knew what they were doing.”

A few executives chuckle. Even though Kyle’s expression remains unreadable, I know I’ve made an impact.

“Alright,” he finally says. “We’ll go with your plan. For now.”

I nod. “Understood.”

***

The meeting wraps up shortly after. Just as I reach for my notepad, I hear Kyle’s voice cut through the murmurs of the room.

“. . . won’t last a month.”

My stomach tightens.

I glance back, heart pounding, only to see Kyle speaking quietly to Daniel and staring at me.

Are they talking about me?

A cold wave of anger rolls through me.

I grip the tablet Mia gave me a little tighter and keep walking, heels clicking against the polished floor.

One month? Please. He’ll be eating his words in half that time.