Title: The Billionaire's Package (Thirsty Thursday Series #1)
Author: Kyle Autumn
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: January 25, 2017
One day, I'm doing my job and minding my own business...
Okay. Maybe sitting behind the desk of the richest, most powerful man in our city isn't considered minding my own business. But I'm only here because I'm doing my job. That part is true.
I'm a package handler at National Express, and today, I have a package for Mr. Charles Masters, billionaire and CEO of Launchpad Systems, biggest tech company in the nation. And, when I'm caught red-handed getting a little too comfortable behind his desk, he looks at me like he wants me to handle his package.
It's too bad he turns out to be a pompous caveman.
Except he's an incredibly hot pompous caveman. And I can't stop thinking about him.
I can't wait to tell my girls about this at the next Thirsty Thursday...
The board of the company I built from the ground up doesn't approve of the way I'm living my life. In fact, they don't just disapprove—they want me to change.
Their plan is to throw me a fake engagement party to show the world I'm a changed "family man" now. And my right-hand man sends that plan spiraling out of control when he sends the local package delivery woman into my office.
It's too bad she turns out to be so sensitive and unresponsive to my charm.
Except she's incredibly sexy when she's upset. And I have to make things right.
Maybe the board was right about this "family man" stuff after all...
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I head down the hall, and that man was right. I can’t miss the office door with Charles Masters, CEO in bold, white letters. When I knock, no one answers, so I let myself in to do as the man told me to do—leave it on the desk.
As I enter, I’m taken aback by the sheer modern, fancy vibe of the room. Everything’s sleek. Rounded corners. Black, white, and gray. Little splashes of red in the form of his mouse pad, a painting, and the marbles in a clear vase on his desk. The brown of the package barely fits in with the color scheme, but the delivered box seems at home on his desk.
Now that I’ve done my job, I should leave and get on with my day. Yes. Yes, I should do that.
But I don’t.
Curiosity wins out, and I walk behind the desk and sit in his chair—which isn’t a wingback chair, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a one-of-a-kind. Maybe it’s my plain taste, but I’ve never seen anything like it.
Probably because I’ve never been in a situation like this. Surrounded by wealth, success, money. And that’s fine. Not having those things hasn’t diminished my happiness. I’m doing all right without them. My job is steady, I have amazing friends, and my heart isn’t broken.
That being said, I could be…happier.
But whatever. Everything happens for a reason, and good things come to those who wait. So I’ll keep waiting while everything keeps happening for reasons.
I lean back in Charles Masters’s chair. I don’t know what comes over me, but I put my feet up on the desk too, crossing my legs at my ankles. Then I clasp my hands in my lap and wonder if this is what it feels like to have the world at my fingertips. A smile crosses my lips as I can see how someone can get used to this.
And then a throat clears, which snaps me out of my reverie right quick.
I jump out of the chair. Mostly because I don’t want to lose my job if this incident gets back to my boss. Getting caught is one thing; getting fired is another.
“Can I help you?” Charles Masters himself asks me from the doorway of his office.
His suit is neat, pressed, and just as sleek as his office. Black pants, black jacket, white shirt, black tie. Crisp and clean.
And it makes him way sexier than I thought it would when I saw pictures of him in the news.
About The Author
Kyle Autumn is the author of sexy contemporary romances that will melt your heart and your panties. She also writes erotic short stories series that will likely melt your panties more than your heart. She loves chocolate and pajamas. Can't be bothered to brush her hair most days. Can always be bothered to write her pants—er, pajama bottoms—off.
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