Falling in Love with my cocky Boss
img img Falling in Love with my cocky Boss img Chapter 2 Two
2
Chapter 6 Six img
Chapter 7 Seven img
Chapter 8 Eight img
Chapter 9 Nine img
Chapter 10 Ten img
Chapter 11 Eleven img
Chapter 12 Twelve img
Chapter 13 Thirteen img
Chapter 14 Fourteen img
Chapter 15 Fifteen img
Chapter 16 Sixteen img
Chapter 17 Seventeen img
Chapter 18 Eighteen img
Chapter 19 Nineteen img
Chapter 20 Twenty img
Chapter 21 Twenty-one img
Chapter 22 Twenty-two img
Chapter 23 Twenty-three img
Chapter 24 Twenty-four img
Chapter 25 Twenty-five img
Chapter 26 Twenty-six img
Chapter 27 Twenty-seven img
Chapter 28 Twenty-eight img
Chapter 29 Twenty-nine img
Chapter 30 Thirty img
Chapter 31 Thirty-one img
Chapter 32 Thirty-two img
Chapter 33 Thirty-three img
Chapter 34 Thirty-four img
Chapter 35 Thirty-five img
Chapter 36 Thirty-six img
Chapter 37 Thirty-seven img
Chapter 38 Thirty-eight img
Chapter 39 Thirty-nine img
Chapter 40 Forty img
Chapter 41 Forty-one img
Chapter 42 Forty-two img
Chapter 43 Forty-three img
Chapter 44 Forty-four img
Chapter 45 Forty-five img
Chapter 46 Forty-six img
Chapter 47 Forty-seven img
Chapter 48 Forty-eight img
Chapter 49 Forty-nine img
Chapter 50 Fifty img
Chapter 51 Fifty-one img
Chapter 52 Fifty-two img
Chapter 53 Fifty-three img
Chapter 54 Fifty-four img
Chapter 55 Fifty-five img
Chapter 56 Fifty-six img
Chapter 57 Fifty-seven img
Chapter 58 Fifty-eight img
Chapter 59 Fifty-nine img
Chapter 60 Sixty img
Chapter 61 Sixty-one img
Chapter 62 Sixty-two img
Chapter 63 Sixty-three img
Chapter 64 Sixty-four img
Chapter 65 Sixty-five img
Chapter 66 Sixty-six img
Chapter 67 Sixty-seven img
Chapter 68 Sixty-eight img
Chapter 69 Sixty-nine img
Chapter 70 Seventy img
Chapter 71 Seventy-one img
Chapter 72 Seventy-two img
Chapter 73 Seventy-three img
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Chapter 2 Two

The stranger from the bar.

The man whose lips I had kissed like I owned them.

Matteo. Bloody. Russo.

I stopped breathing.

He looked up from the file in his hands, his expression unreadable cool, detached, corporate.

"Miss Hart, I presume?"

I froze.

He didn't smile. Didn't blink. Didn't give the slightest hint that he recognized me from the night before. No flare of amusement in those stormy eyes. No smug smirk. Just ice.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. My voice caught in my throat. "I... yes."

He shut the file with a soft thud and set it aside like it bored him. Then he stood, tall and intimidating in his tailored navy suit, and came around the desk with that same panther-like grace I'd memorized the night before.

"You're late," he said curtly, glancing at his Rolex. "By seven minutes."

I blinked. "I what?"

"You'll find I value punctuality, Miss Hart. Especially in an assistant."

"Assistant?" I repeated, my brain still short-circuiting.

"That's correct. Didn't you read the job offer? Or did you skim through it like you skim through basic self-control at a bar?"

My mouth fell open.

Did he just?

No. No way. That had to be a jab. A subtle, cutting one. He remembered me. He just wanted to watch me squirm.

I clenched my jaw. "Yes. Of course, Mr. Russo. Assistant. Got it."

He walked past me, the scent of him woody and expensive brushing against my senses. He didn't even look back.

"Come on," he barked. "I don't have all day."

I followed him into the sleek conference room, where a leather chair and a notepad waited for me. I sat down as he tossed a thick stack of files in front of me.

"You'll review, sort, and summarize these by noon."

I stared at the stack. "All of them?"

He tilted his head, feigning concern. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, sir," I said through clenched teeth.

He smirked. "Good. Because I don't tolerate incompetence. Or excuses. Or whining."

Asshole.

I smiled tightly and picked up the first file. Matteo sat at the head of the table, tapping away on his laptop like I didn't exist. Occasionally, he'd bark out an order:

"Coffee. Black. Two sugars. No soy crap."

"Print this. Double-sided. Staple it right."

"Stop sighing like a teenager and work faster."

I wanted to throw the files at his head.

Instead, I muttered under my breath, "Jerk."

"What was that?" he said without looking up.

"I said I'm working on it, sir."

He smirked again.

Ten minutes later, he tossed a stapler across the table. "Fix page three. It's crooked. My five-year-old nephew could staple better."

I didn't even blink. "Well, maybe you should hire him then," I whispered.

"Hmm?" he asked, arching a brow.

"Nothing, Mr. Russo."

Cocky bastard.

He was enjoying this. I could feel it. He was toying with me testing me. Seeing how far he could push before I snapped.

"I don't like perfume," he added casually, wrinkling his nose. "Whatever you're wearing is giving me a headache."

I bit down on a groan. "Duly noted."

"You might also consider a more professional skirt next time."

I glanced down at my pencil skirt. It wasn't even tight.

"I'll be sure to dress in a garbage bag tomorrow," I muttered.

His head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"I said I'll be sure to dress by the handbook tomorrow," I lied sweetly.

He stared at me. For one terrifying second, I thought he might fire me right there. But instead, he just gave a quiet, cruel chuckle and leaned back in his chair.

"Welcome to hell, Miss Hart."

Oh, I was already there.

By lunch, I'd reorganized forty-seven files, run down to the café twice, retyped a client proposal because he didn't like the font, and listened to him complain about the temperature in the office like he was Goldilocks trying to find the perfect porridge.

"I'm not your damn secretary," I hissed under my breath as I poured his second cup of coffee.

He took it without a word. Sipped.

Then looked me dead in the eyes.

"Next time, try not to burn it."

IT WAS COFFEE.

I wanted to pull my hair out as I tried to calm myself by breathing in and out. "Sir, I have documents to work on and have wasted most of my time today doing nothing."

He cut me off. "And whose fault is that?" His eyes met mine, and I gulped, saying nothing as I reached for the tray. He added, "And when you're done, analyze and edit these documents." He dropped some files on the table. As his hands moved, my hands slipped, and the coffee cup fell, spilling on his suit. The coffee was now a searing stain on his expensive suit.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, rushing to get a towel from the far end of the office. Falling to my knees in front of him, I attempted to wipe off the stain from his suit.

In my haste and embarrassment, I didn't think the situation could get any worse until I realized I was furiously rubbing the towel against his groin.

I averted my gaze, feeling a heated blush spread from my face down my neck as I caught a glimpse of the noticeable bulge in front of his pants.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir."

This man was Satan.

Hot, smug, maddening Satan in Armani.

Every little command, every smug glance, was his twisted way of punishing me for last night. He remembered. I knew he did. But instead of calling me out, he was using it like a weapon. Pretending he didn't know me gave him all the power and me? I had nothing but a headache, a stapler-related finger cramp, and a growing list of names I wanted to call him.

"Arrogant douchecanoe," I muttered as I passed him a revised report.

His lips twitched. "Something amusing, Miss Hart?"

"Not at all. I live to serve."

"Good," he said with a smirk. "Because this is only day one."

Oh, I was going to kill him.

Slowly.

With a paperclip.

            
            

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