Manhattan's Billionaire Bossholes

1. Piper

PIPER

Iabsolutely hated driving, yet here I was, sausaged in my roommate’s grandmother’s barely touched Toyota, gripping the wheel with sweaty palms as I navigated Manhattan’s morning rush.

I was a dedicated subway girlie, but my latest photography gig—product shots for a new bro-centric energy drink start-up that had names like Thunderball Throat Crusher and Ballistic Tea Bagger—left me no choice.

They couldn’t afford to rent a studio space for the shoot, so I, a freelancer desperate for work, had agreed to cart my backdrop and lighting rig to their office.

I started doubting my judgment by the time I finally navigated into the subterranean garage beneath their office.

They had promised I wouldn’t have any trouble finding a parking space, but they hadn’t mentioned that the driving lane in the garage was so ridiculously tight I could barely turn the corners as I descended deeper under the city streets.

I kept telling myself I was a good driver, that I wasn’t going to accidentally nick that Mercedes hanging too far out or scrape one of the massive cement support pillars as I crawled by. I needed to find a damn parking spot now, before my latent claustrophobia got the best of me.

I sighed in frustration. What the hell was I doing with my life? Why had I agreed to play pack mule for an entire studio’s worth of equipment to a shoot that barely paid for my gas?

Desperation. That was why. I had a dream and the drive, all that was missing were the dollars.

After spiraling down what felt like a dozen levels, I finally spied an open spot, mercifully right next to the elevator. There was a red sportscar idling beyond it that looked like it had just pulled out. Score! My day was looking up.

But maybe it was too good to be true? I quickly scanned the wall for a handicap parking sign or anything that would suggest the space was reserved, but there was nothing.

Yup. Lady Luck was finally smiling on me.

I cranked the wheel to make the ninety-degree turn only to get an air raid blast of a horn from the red car.

Huh? The space was clearly open for the taking, and that’s exactly what I was doing.

I eased closer, trying not to clip the parked cars on either side, not realizing the red car was backing up at the same time, until—

Crash!

I gasped in shock at the impact. The asshole actually hit me!

A figure got out of the car slowly, and based on his rigid vibe, he knew he’d fucked up. He inspected his car, and the furrows in his forehead etched deeper. A frown, a jaw clench…yeah, he was pissed. He met my gaze through the windshield, narrowing his eyes and—hold on, was he mad at me?

The main thought in my head was how someone so gigantic could fold himself into a car so tiny. It had to be a case of little car, big…attitude. He finally made his way over to my window, and I braced for a second impact.

“Do you not have eyes?” he growled at me, like he was barely containing his fury. “I was literally right there, and you drove right into me. What the fucking fuck? I’ll have you know this is a Bugatti Chiron.”

Oh absolutely not. There was no way I was going to take his revisionist history. I fumbled with the door handle, reducing the dramatic effect of the angry beatdown I was about to deliver, and finally managed to stumble out of the car.

Once I was toe to toe with him, I had to pretend I didn’t get a little shiver from his bright blue eyes boring into mine.

The man looked like one of those sexy villains you knew you were supposed to hate but couldn’t resist, all cheekbones and hard jawline.

He was in head-to-toe black, like a hate-fuckable Beelzebub.

Which, on any other day, would’ve been hella my type, but he ruined the effect by being such a gigantic dick.

So rather than drooling over that face and body the way I normally would, I was foaming at the mouth with fury.

I’d promised to be careful with the car, and now this demon in a black suit had ruined everything.

And made me late.

“Uh, look again, Satan. You hit me,” I insisted, pointing at the cars to underscore what I knew for a fact. “You saw me pulling in!”

“Into my spot,” he said as he pointed at the wall while still staring at me. “And I absolutely did not see you because I never assumed anyone would be stupid enough to take my spot.”

I glanced to where he was pointing. “I’m sorry, can you show me exactly where it says ‘asshole only’ parking? Or do you expect people to be psychic and just magically know that Mr. Big Stuff likes to park here?”

He opened his mouth to seethe at me again and froze.

“Where’s my goddamned sign?”

I walked closer to where the two cars were crunched together. “The sign that you need driving lessons? Right here.” I pointed to the destroyed bumper.

He blew out an angry breath. “This is my private parking spot. I own it.”

“Ha! You might think your fancy car gives you special privileges, but that doesn’t mean this little bit of cement actually belongs to you.”

“This little bit…” I was finally getting to him. “I’ll have you know I own this entire fucking building.”

I laughed in his face. “Oh my god, do you think I’m that dumb?

If you owned this building, you wouldn’t be fighting for a parking space in this subterranean hellhole—you’d have a chauffeur.

But you know what? I wish that was true, because then right now you’d be whisked right to the entrance to head straight to your private, no-peons-allowed elevator, and I wouldn’t be running late for my very important appointment. ”

“You’re late?” he scoffed. “What could you possibly be late for? It looks like you’re living in your car. If that’s the case, don’t even think about trying to camp out in this garage.”

He pointed at the equipment-filled car, and I fidgeted a little.

Okay, maybe it looked a little hoarder-adjacent, but I certainly didn’t look like one.

I was dressed for physical work, but I’d put make-up on and attempted to tidy up my hair for a change.

I’d felt cute when I left my apartment, but the way this demon was staring me down made it clear I must’ve sweated my mascara off during the drive.

I mean, the way he was watching me was downright unnerving. He never took his eyes off me, like he thought I was going to try to carjack him.

As if I’d ever want a car so stupid-small. Where would I put groceries? Hell, where would I put my purse?

“I’m late for real work,” he continued before I could defend myself.

“And what’s your ‘real work’?” Something that let him collect souls as payment, no doubt. “Divorce attorney? Crisis PR for athletes with drug problems?”

“Not even close.” He smirked at me. “In any case, this conversation is over. I’m having security sent down to deal with you.”

He pulled out his phone and punched the screen, then walked away without another word.

“Excuse me!” I screamed at his retreating form. “You’re just leaving your car smashed into mine? I need your insurance information. Don’t you dare walk away from me! What’s your name? I’m Piper Doyle; who are you, for fuck’s sake?”

I reached him right as the elevator doors opened.

“My name?” The stranger’s smile looked downright sinister. “Why don’t you walk your pretty little self out to the sidewalk and look up at the top of the building you’re standing in. It’s right there.”

Pretty? Did he just call me pretty? I felt a flush spread over my cheeks. Given how furious he seemed, complimenting me was definitely accidental.

Then the crash test dummy in black had the audacity to wink at me, right as the elevator doors closed.

VINCENT

I could finally breathe again. Now that security was on the way down to deal with the legally blind driver, I could focus on the rest of the stressors in my life. They could sort out who was in the wrong—I didn’t have the time or inclination to worry about it.

I’d given my driver Billy the day off, and I’d thought driving to work in my brand-new baby would be a nice kickstart to my day.

So much for that. Instead of showing up to work with my head clear, ready to take on the world, I was worked up, pissed off…

and horny as hell, all thanks to the freakishly gorgeous blonde spitfire who’d hit me and had the nerve to blame me for it.

I replayed the moment of impact in my mind. I was distracted, sure. Maybe I’d backed up without looking, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her, or anyone.

Vincent Forde didn’t make mistakes. Or rather, Vincent Forde couldn’t make mistakes. Especially not now, when everything felt so up in the air.

Truth be told, it wasn’t just the wildcat in the Toyota throwing me off balance today. Sure, the way she fought back did something to me, but I was in no headspace to spar no matter how beautiful—and annoying—my adversary.

I sighed and stared at the floor. I couldn’t stop beating myself up for not visiting Nana Dee in the hospital.

She wasn’t my blood relative, but after half a lifetime of her looking out for me it sure felt like she was.

My Cornell buddy Trent, her actual grandson, had sworn she had round-the-clock company, and her luxurious private hospital room was packed, but I still felt bad about not being there.

She’d been rushed to the hospital after a fall the night before, and I’d been worried sick about her all morning.

Nana Dee had been in my life since Christmas of freshman year, when she’d opened her home to a trio of teenagers—only one of whom was related to her—after a baggage handlers’ strike had closed all of the airports.

That holiday in Long Island with Nana Dee and my friends Trent and Aiden remained one of my most cherished memories.

So not driving out to check on her last night? Yeah, that was a mistake.