My Protective Boss (Alphas in Charge #2)

Chapter 1

brEE

“It’s official. I’m ready to die a happy, contented woman,” Nana says as we step off the smallest plane in existence. She stands on the runway of the coastal airport, inhaling the crisp, refreshing Alaskan air, a gigantic smile spread across her face as she takes in the mountainous view.

“Maybe you want to wait until after you’ve had a chance to see the place,” I point out as I extend the handle of my carryon to roll it.

No way I’m hefting this thing all the way across the runaway when it has wheels.

I probably went a little overboard on monitors and extra electronics, but I want Mr. Barnes to know I came prepared.

“Good point,” Nana agrees as we follow the line of passengers toward the single story building ahead. “I first need to see a moose.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to look for one while I’m working,” I remind her, scanning the scenery as we continue forward.

Because I’m shivering from the chilled air and my coat is in my bigger, checked suitcase, I force myself to focus on the snowcapped mountains that stretch toward the heavens, their slopes green with early summer growth.

I can’t help but wonder what the view is like from their peaks.

I bet you can see the ocean for miles from up there.

“I do hope you’re not planning to work the entire time,” Nana says as we step inside the airport terminal.

Though, calling it a terminal is a bit of stretch.

It’s a single room with a counter on either side, a coffee stand in one corner, and a couple of dozen chairs in the middle littered with people.

There’s just as many passengers waiting for their flight as there are deplaning, and yet, the single room doesn’t feel crowded.

“Tony wasn’t kidding, was he?” Nana says over her shoulder. “This place is tiny.”

When my brother called me less than thirty-six hours ago to tell me that his former coastguard buddy needed a website designer on site immediately, I’d never even heard of North Haven, Alaska.

Because of the urgency of the request, I barely had time to Google where I was headed before I was on a plane.

“Do you see Tony’s friend anywhere?” Nana asks, lifting on tiptoes in search of the man we’ve never met.

I scan the room, but don’t see anyone who looks out of place or like they might be waiting for us. I asked Tony to send me a picture of his buddy so I knew who to look for once we landed, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet when we boarded the final puddle jumper a couple of hours ago.

I check my phone now, but just as it was right after landing, I still have no signal.

“Maybe he’s not here yet,” I say.

“In that case, I’m going to grab a cup of coffee,” Nana says, handing me her floral tote bag that’s stuffed to the brim with who knows what. It may as well be some sort of Harry Potter bag with no bottom for the sheer number of things she’s been known to fit in there. “Want a cup?”

Though iced coffee is my go-to caffeine addiction of choice, I’m still shivering from the chilly, crisp air outside. “Something warm,” I tell her. “And loaded with sugar.”

Thankfully, I screenshotted the email Mr. Barnes sent me with a bullet-pointed list of instructions.

The itinerary made down to the minute, however, is still marked unread in my inbox.

My brother warned me that the guy was meticulously detailed, almost to a fault.

But so is Tony, so I suppose it’s a military trait.

Before I can successfully navigate to my camera roll, signal returns to my phone, and a series of notifications flood my screen.

A handful are emails from clients, most singing my praises, one requesting changes—I star it to attend to as soon as I’m hooked up to Wi-Fi. There’s the endless junk emails with coupons I may or may not take advantage of when I’m late-night doom scrolling and in an impulse purchase kind of mood.

But it’s the series of Instagram notifications that gives me a shudder.

Chad.

Nana warned me to avoid men named Chad.

I thought it was ridiculous that all men named Chad could be bad news. That’s what I told myself when I agreed to one Tinder date. In my defense, he had a dog on his profile, and I was suckered right in.

Turns out it wasn’t even his dog.

He spent most of the painstakingly long date talking about himself—his job, his obsessive love of golf, and his mother.

Right when I was about to politely excuse myself to use the restroom and hopefully crawl out the window to make my quick escape, he finally asked about me.

I humored him because he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.

Until he told me I’d have to give up my little website making hobby when we got married because he wanted a trad wife.

I thought throwing my iced coffee in his face would send a clear message. But apparently, it only encouraged Chad further. What a waste of precious nectar.

Looks like the creeper’s made a new Instagram account, and with it, he’s commented on every post I’ve made in the last month. There’s also a dozen DMs.

I sigh, blocking him yet again.

“I got you a Moose Juice,” Nana says, shoving a coffee in my face.

“A what now?”

“The gal promised me it was the sweetest coffee on their menu, and it has an extra espresso shot to help with the jet lag.”

I take a cautious sip. “Hmm. Not bad. What did you get?”

“The Wild Alaska.” She holds up a cup twice the size of mine. “It’s strong, chocolatey, and a bit nutty, just like I like them.”

“Nana, you don’t mean—”

“Speaking of nuts, is that handsome fella our Mr. Barnes?”

I follow her nod to a tall, muscular man in a soft blue button up shirt and navy suit pants. His blond hair is military regulation short, but long enough to have a bit of swagger to it. As though he ran his fingers through it a couple of times. I feel my own fingers itching to do the same.

Down girl.

“If you’re not going to tickle those nuts, I will.”

“Nana!” I hiss, a flush heating my neck and cheeks as eyes bluer than the clear Alaskan sky lock on mine. His lips curve into the gentlest of smiles, drawing my attention to the neatly trimmed beard that frames that delicious mouth.

“Bree Harper?” the man calls, revealing a deep timbre that has my nipples pebbling beneath my hoodie.

When I pictured the former coastguardsman who served with Tony, one now living in Alaska, I expected a man in flannel, Carhart pants, and a miner’s beard.

Nolan Barnes—my new boss—may as well have just left a board meeting.

“That’s us!” Nana calls back, shoving her coffee cup into my hand before grabbing her tote bag and rushing across the room, leaving me to follow.

“I’m Katherine, but you can call me Kat.

” Nana practically grabs the man’s hand in her own.

With the way she looks up at him, I picture cartoon hearts swirling about her head.

Nana’s in love.

And judging by the very persistence tingling between my legs, I’m in heat.