He’s a grump. A grouch. A huge jerk with an even bigger...ego.
He’s also been my crush and the subject of just about every fantasy I’ve had for the last ten freaking years.
And now he’s my boss.
Think you’re having a bad day? How about accidentally flashing your...everything to your gorgeous a-hole of a new boss after spilling coffee all over him, on your very first day of work?
Yeah, check mate.
Plenty of finance guys in New York like to call themselves the “wolf.” But only Barrett King commands the title of “Demon King of Wall Street.” Arrogant, demanding, and the kind of hot that makes girls forget how to talk.
Years ago, the Grump King himself was my older brother’s best friend from the wrong side of the tracks. That was before my wealthy family set Barrett up to take the fall for a crime he didn’t commit.
Now, he’s one of the richest, most powerful, and most gorgeous men in New York. He’s also my new boss, and believe me, he hasn’t for one second forgotten what my family did to him.
Barrett doesn’t just want me working under him. He wants me working, well, under him. There are rules, of course. I have lines I won’t cross. But those lines are blurring by the second, and the rules are starting to crumble.
Now, New York’s most eligible arrogant bachelor—the man with everything—wants something he can’t have: me.
The only problem is, I’m running out of excuses for why he can’t.
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You’d think that spilling half a latte on my skirt, twenty minutes before starting my new job, would be the low point of my day. Except, you would be wrong. Because thankfully, two seconds later, the coffee spill has been utterly obliterated by the torrent of slush and icy snow that the plow truck just drenched me in.
“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me?!”
I scream. I don’t even care about the people staring at me on the sidewalk like I’m crazy. Right now, I feel crazy. I feel like I’m about to lose it completely. It’s bad enough that I’m nervous starting work today at my dream job at King Equities. The youngest new financial analyst on Wall Street, and I happen to be female? Yeah, no pressure. None at all.
All of that should have me acting crazy on its own. The coffee spill doesn’t help. But then it’s the plow asshole zooming past me and drenching me from the waist down in icy gross New York City street slush that makes me lose it.
“FUCK!” I yell again. I close my eyes. I want to cry. I might, too, if I wasn’t freezing my ass off—literally. The freezing cold slushy ice mush has soaked through my skirt, pantyhose, and underwear. And it is currently very cold in places that I’d really, really like to not be cold.
The panic is rising. I have seven minutes to be inside, at my new desk. Billion-dollar firms do not care if you’re having a wardrobe malfunction. They don’t give a shit that you need to make a quick run to Macy’s for something presentable to wear.
I glance up the street anyways. There’s a Nordstrom’s two blocks away. I glance at my watch. Six minutes now. Shit. There’s no way I’m running two blocks in heels, buying a skirt, and running back in six minutes. The tears start to well as the panic begins to rattle me.
“Oh! Ms. Laurent!”
I blink rapidly and whirl. My heart drops. I’m suddenly face to face with the freaking Vice President of King Equities.
“Ms. Hammerschmitt!” I force a smile through my chattering teeth. “Good morning!”
It feels weird to say it but thank God it’s only the VP. Helen Hammerschmitt is one of the most bad-ass women on Wall Street. She’s tough, she’s a ball-buster, and she’s very no-nonsense. But at least she’s not him. At least I’m not standing here with slush in my underwear face-to-face with Barrett King himself.
Helen might be tough. But Barrett is a legend on Wall Street. Plenty of cocky finance assholes have declared themselves the “Wolf of Wall Street” after the movie came out. Only one unquestionably holds the title “Demon King of Wall Street”.
In case it’s not obvious, that isn’t a term of endearment, either.
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