Beauty and the Bosshole

Chapter One

Reese

"Why the hell is the warehouse at full capacity? Get Robert on the phone."

"You don't have time to talk to Robert," Olivia Johnson says, placing a resume on top of the stack of paperwork on my desk. "Ava Matthews is here for her interview."

"What interview?" I growl, glaring at the cousin I've been trying to fire for the last three years. It never sticks. My mother hired her behind my back, but she's fucking useful. It pisses me off. "HR handles interviews."

"Yes, well, you should have thought of that before you fired Alexa." Olivia leans a hip against my desk, her hazel eyes full of familial judgment.

"She threw a coffee mug at my head, Olivia."

I'm still not sure exactly what I did to piss her off. I didn't care to find out after she threw my favorite fucking mug at me. She had to go. A man can only take so much at eight in the morning on a Monday.

Losing my favorite mug before I even had my damn coffee was the limit.

"Be that as it may," Olivia continues, "her two o'clock is here."

"Get someone else in HR to handle it," I growl. I don't have time for interviews today. Judging by the stack of things on my desk, I won't have time for dinner, either.

"This is Porter, not Vegas, Reese. Your HR Department consisted of her."

"Fuck." I pinch the bridge of my nose and then snatch up the resume, skimming it. It smells sweet. What the fuck? Did she spray something on it? "What position is she interviewing for?"

"Your assistant."

"She has no experience." She's twenty-three. She graduated a year ago. Her last job was working in marketing for a local salon. I doubt she knows anything about my company or what I need in an assistant.

As the CEO of the biggest sex toy company in the United States, the list of shit I have to do every day is endless. I need someone to make the job easier. Not someone who will make my life infinitely more difficult. Training someone who doesn't know how to approve photo proofs and send only the best through to me or compile a report or flag data will be a pain in the ass.

"Again, this is Porter, not Vegas," Olivia says. "There are like two thousand people here. No one has experience working for a multi-billion-dollar company. And no offense, but they aren't exactly lining up to work for you."

"Prudes," I mutter. Apparently, moving a sex toy company to small-town Texas has everyone up in arms. I knew it wouldn't be an easy transition, but my crazy mother decided she absolutely needed to live here. I still haven't figured out why. But I don't trust her as far as I can throw her. Left to her own devices, she'd take over hell.

The last thing I need is her causing problems in Texas while I'm in Vegas. It's hard to keep two eyes on someone from states away. So, here we are.

"Ha! That has nothing to do with it, Reese. They think you're Satan."

"Because they're prudes."

"Or," she says, drawing the word out, "maybe it's because you threatened to buy up every inch of land and business in this entire area of the state if the mayor and city council didn't approve your building plans?"

I shoot her a dark glower. "Just send in whoever the fuck I'm interviewing before I decide to fire someone else today."

"You can't fire someone you haven't even hired."

"I wasn't talking about her."

"You can't fire me either. I'll tell Aunt Nina." Olivia smirks before spinning toward the door. Her heels click on the porcelain tiles and her dark braid bounces against her back. "And you need to hire this girl. She's the only one in town willing to put up with your cranky ass."

"Just show her in."

The door whispers closed behind Olivia, leaving me in silence. Finally. My cousin is a pain in my ass. I need to fire her again. It's the only way I get any peace around here. Everyone else who works for me gives me a wide berth. I'm not an asshole. I just have a low tolerance for bullshit and don't beat around the bush. I like things a specific way. You can either meet my expectations, or you can't. Most people can't.

But Aurora—the company—is what it is today because of the standards I set. When people hear our name, they don't titter behind their hands as if what we do here is salacious gossip. They're fucking impressed. We brought luxury to the everyday woman and made self-pleasure a revolution.

We didn't do it with a piss-poor work ethic or standards anyone could meet. I want only the best working here. And I expect the best from every employee who walks through the doors. I don't care if this is Porter, Texas. If they want to work here, they'll meet my expectations.

I skim the girl's resume again and then set it aside. There's nothing of interest on it aside from the sweet aroma wafting from it.

A few seconds later, the girl taps on the door to my office.

"Come in," I growl, ready to get this over with so I can send her on her way and get back to the important shit. Like finding out why Robert hasn't released the latest product shipments from the warehouse.

The door slides open.

I glance up from my desk, prepared for the ordinary, nondescript girl who matches the resume. Instead, I find a petite little bombshell with a bright smile and sparkling green eyes. Her short black hair frames her round face. Her modest black dress skims her curves, hinting at the gorgeous body beneath.

My dick stiffens in my pants as she stares at me, smiling like a dirty little angel come to make all my fantasies come true. Fucking Christ. I guess it's a good thing I fired our HR person this morning because I'm fairly sure having dirty thoughts about your employee is number one in the handbook of shit not to do.

Except… she's not my employee.

And she doesn't have to be , a little voice whispers.

I ruthlessly quell it, refusing to even consider the notion.

"Are you going to stand there all day or are you coming in for this interview?" I demand, eager to get this over with so she can go back to wherever she came from. I don't have time for entanglements. Especially ones that look like her. I've got a company to run and a crazy mother to wrangle. The last thing I need is another complication in my life.

But damn. She's tempting.

A flash of annoyance dances in her eyes before her smile grows even bigger.

"It's so nice to meet you, too, Mr. Donovan," she says, her voice saccharine. She pushes the door closed before picking her way across the office, her heels clacking across the porcelain floor. She walks as if she isn't used to wearing them, one careful step at a time. "My name is Ava Matthews."

"I'm aware." I pluck her resume up from the desk. "I have your resume in front of me."

She stops in front of my desk, smiling so big her cheeks probably hurt. Somehow, she still manages to look like she wants to bite me. She's spirited. Likely to throw a coffee mug at my head? Perhaps. But I get the feeling she's too polite for that.

The same sweet scent from her resume wafts toward me, and I realize she didn't spray anything on her resume. It's her scent, transferred to the paper where she handled it.

"I wasn't sure since you weren't prepared for the interview."

"Who says I wasn't prepared, Ms. Matthews?"

"Your HR person, Alexa, isn't here," she says. "No one else seemed to be aware that I was scheduled to come in today. Since that's the copy of my resume that I gave to Olivia five minutes ago, I wasn't sure you'd had time to look at it."

Well, hell. She has me there. But I'm not going to tell her that.

"Tell me why you want to work here, Ms. Matthews."

"I believe in what you do here."

"You believe in what we do here?"

"Absolutely."

I hold her gaze, mine inscrutable. But her answer intrigues me. "We make sex toys, Ava. We're not saving dolphins."

"Oh, I know! May I sit down?" She doesn't wait for me to answer. Instead, she slips into the seat across from me. "You may not be saving dolphins, but Aurora does promote sexual health, intelligence, and intimacy. I think that's important, too, don't you? Women should be allowed to love their bodies and know how to give themselves pleasure."

Jesus Christ. I'm not going to survive this interview.

"Are you familiar with our products?"

Heat climbs up her cheeks. "That's an awfully personal question, Mr. Donovan."

"Not if you're going to work here, it isn't."

"I'm very familiar with your brand," she says. "But if you're asking me if I use them, that's between me and my nightstand. I won't be answering that question, not even for this job."

"Fair enough." Her response told me everything I need to know anyway. If she owns a vibrator, she doesn't use it often. She's inexperienced in more ways than one.

Why the fuck do I like the thought of that so goddamn much?

"Why should I hire you, Ava?"

"I'd make an excellent assistant, Mr. Donovan," she says. "I'm organized, efficient, and friendly. I know everyone in town and can make your life here a lot easier. Plus, I have a background in marketing, so I'm used to working with an array of different types of people and on different projects. I have an eye for detail and never have to be told to do something more than once. Oh! And I make the best coffee ever."

Come for me. Now.

"The position has been filled," I lie abruptly, trying to end this here and now. Tempt not a desperate man and all that bullshit.

"No, it has not," she says, narrowing her eyes on me. "Olivia just told me that no one wants to work for you because you're cranky."

"Olivia talks too much."

"You don't want to hire me." Ava crosses her arms, which pushes her breasts up and reveals more cleavage. I try like hell not to look, but I can't help but notice. "Why not?"

"You aren't suited to the position."

"You don't even know me."

"You have no experience."

"I learn fast."

"You're argumentative."

"Clearly, someone needs to argue with you. You're a despot," she huffs at me. "This is Texas, Mr. Donovan. In Texas, we treat people with kindness. We don't growl and snap and act rudely. We don't lie, either."

"I'm from Vegas. In Vegas, we don't have time to spare worrying about everyone's delicate feelings. We're busy getting the job done."

"Well, you won't be getting it done here when I tell everyone that you're an even bigger jerk than they already think you are," she snaps at me. "They like me. They don't like you."

"Are you trying to blackmail me into giving you a job, Ava?" If so, she's ballsy. I'll give her that. If anyone else were threatening me, I'd be pissed. But the fact that it's coming from her is just… amusing. She's a kitten hissing at a lion.

"Nope. I'm just telling you that everyone in town knows I'm interviewing for this position. They're going to have questions, and I'm going to answer them truthfully." She bounces up from her chair, her little chin thrust up into the air in a show of superiority. "You may be a liar, but I'm not."

She's cute when she's pissed.

She may also be right. If I don't hire her and people in town really do love her, I may be drawing a line in the sand here. I've already stepped on too many toes just moving the company here and trying to get the damn building approved. The last thing I need to do is piss off everyone else.

I need to win them over. If hiring Ava gives me an opportunity to do that… maybe that's exactly what I need to do.

What's the worst that can happen? I'm smart enough to keep my hands to myself. I don't think that'll be a problem anyway. She clearly doesn't like me much.

And if I have to fire her later? Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

"By the way, your profit margins fell last year because of your Every Body campaign," she says over her shoulder on the way to the door. "The sizing was off on the lingerie line, and everyone had to size up. No one wants to feel like a company is telling them they're even bigger than they already feel, especially when they're buying pieces meant to make them feel confident and beautiful."

"Stop," I growl before she can slip out the door. "Right now."

"If you want to appeal to every woman, you need to consider every woman's feelings when you're designing lingerie for their bodies."

"Ava, I said stop." I hop up from the desk, circling around to cut her off before she can slip out the door. I slap my hand against the hard wood, slamming it closed before she can slip out. "We're not finished here."

"Yes, we are."

"We're not."

"You already said the position is filled," she says, tipping her head back to look up at me. "Kindly move your giant freaking arm and let me out."

"You're right about the campaign."

"I know. I was a marketing major and, last I checked, I'm a plus-size woman. I'm kind of uniquely qualified to understand these things, Mr. Donovan."

"Reese."

"What?"

"My name is Reese."

"Regardless, my point remains."

"You're going to be a pain in my ass, aren't you?"

"If I worked here? Probably." She shrugs, not the least bit afraid of me or my reputation around town. She's ballsy and outspoken, but somehow cute as hell and funny at the same time. "It's slim pickings here in Porter, Reese. You get what you get."

"The job is yours."

She blinks those pretty green eyes at me. "Excuse me?"

"I said the job is yours."

"You already said the position is filled."

"I lied."

"Why?"

"Because you and I are going to be fire and ice, Ava. The last thing I need around here is another woman driving me up the wall," I mutter. "But fuck it. If you want the job, it's yours."

"Just like that, huh?"

I laugh abruptly. "No, not just like that. This was the worst interview I've ever endured."

"But you're hiring me anyway." Her brows furrow as a frown overtakes her expression. "I'm not sure who's crazier, Reese. You for hiring me… or me for accepting."

"Me. It's definitely me."

Her bright, cheery laugh has my dick throbbing like the bastard he is. "You're right. It's definitely you."

"Mother, why in God's name are you dressed like that?" I ask, staring at my mother in horror as I pop in to check on her before heading to my own place for the night.

"Reese, dear!" she cries, setting down her glass of wine to spin in a circle. "Isn't it darling?"

"No. It's atrocious."

"Reese!" She swats me on the shoulder, laughing up at me. "It's a dressing gown."

"Yes, from the 1880s." The damn thing has frills and lace and puffy sleeves. It looks like it belongs on a mannequin in a British museum, not on a sixty-five-year-old woman in modern-day America.

"Oh, pah!" She waves a hand at me. "It is not ancient. I just bought it."

"From an antique shop?"

She laughs again, ignoring the question. "Why are you here so late?"

"Just checking in before I head home. Seriously, where in God's name did you find that thing?"

"A little store here in town." A tiny smile plays at her lips as she settles back into her chair, reclaiming her glass of wine. "I bought several of them."

"Jesus Christ. They really are from the 1880s."

"I heard you hired an assistant today."

"Olivia talks too much."

"She wouldn't have to talk so much if you talked more, dear. You never tell me anything."

"I tell you plenty." I just avoid any and all topics with a high probability of her interfering. She means well, but my father was the only person who could ever talk sense into her. Without him to reel her in, she's a loose cannon. She meddles and causes chaos and generally makes my life as difficult as fucking possible at the absolute worst times.

I love her beyond reason, but the woman is insane. Two years ago, she decided I needed a wife. She took out ads in the local papers. Except she made me sound like a goddamn gigolo. I got so many calls, I had to change my phone number.

Last year, she decided I needed to relax and booked an appointment for me at a "spa" that turned out to be a brothel. When I skipped it, she sent three prostitutes to my office.

We were in the middle of a stakeholder meeting.

Porter may be the worst place in the world for a sex toy company, but it may be the one place in the world where she can't cause me any number of major problems on a weekly basis.

She snorts indelicately. "I'll stop by to meet her. When does she start?"

"You don't need to do that."

"Nonsense. I want to meet her."

I know she does. But the last thing I need is my mother, Olivia, and Ava in the same room. Actually, the last thing I need is any two of them in the same room together. It's bound to be a fucking problem for me.

"Let her settle in first, will you?" I ask, trying to stall her for as long as humanly possible. "She's shy. I don't want to throw too many new faces at her all at once. I don't want to send her running for the hills."

I'm full of shit. Ava Matthews doesn't have a shy bone in her body. But if I want to win over the town, I need her on my side. And that means keeping her in the position for as long as humanly possible. I've already made up my mind that I need to see it through.

If my mother gets involved, God only knows what'll happen. I need to avoid that at all costs.

"Oh, fine," my mother says. "I suppose I can wait a few days to meet the girl."

I exhale a relieved breath. Maybe this won't be a complete shitshow, after all.