Rockin' the Boss

  ROCKIN’ THE BOSS

  Jamie Salisbury

  Erotic Romance

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

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  A Secret Cravings Publishing Book

  Erotic Romance

  Rockin’ the Boss

  Copyright © 2013 Jamie Salisbury

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-652-4

  First E-book Publication: April 2013

  Cover design by Dawné Dominique

  Edited by Tabitha Bower

  Proofread by Shannon Ellis

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Secret Cravings Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

  Dedication

  To all my faithful readers and fans. Thank you.

  To all the authors, writers and readers who have assisted me, mentored me, laughed, cried and cheered me on through the process. You know who you are! I will be forever in your debt. Thank you.

  Dreams really DO come true!

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and the following trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Rolex

  Versace

  Riedel O

  Louis Vuitton

  iPhone

  Ferrari

  Mercedes

  The Cravings e-book Club

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  Marla isn't looking for love or anything else from a man. Can Marla put aside her distrust of men for a younger man? Can Chris convince her he's not like other guys?

  *Hunting Jaguar, paranormal erotic romance:

  Rachel Hayes' father set out to prove the existence of the Miloni temple and the Jaguar people. Tumi is a descendant of the Miloni race and is sworn to protect their secret with his life. Will he be forced to uphold his vow at the cost of his heart and Rachel's life?

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  ROCKIN’ THE BOSS

  Jamie Salisbury

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  I had many personal fantasies; one favorite involved falling deeply in love with perhaps a writer or a musician, someone creative. It all seemed so romantic—how we would meet, fall in love, marry, have kids and live happily ever after. It was just a silly dream I indulged in whenever my cynicism took a brief leave of absence.

  This fantasy must have been in the back of my mind when I asked Max Frazier to meet with me. And of course he was late. I glanced down at the Rolex on my wrist for the umpteenth time. Where the hell is he? Come on Max, time is money. My money.

  Grabbing my cell off the table, I started to dial his number. As I waited for the first ring, a manicured, well-tanned hand intercepted the phone.

  “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.” Max sat across from me, and I decided photographs did not do him justice.

  “No problem.” I crossed my legs and stared into the loveliest pair of chocolate brown eyes I’d ever come across. Add in his long, black-brown hair, a physique to go along, and…well, he would be any woman’s fantasy. “I trust the team is taking good care of you?”

  He just held his gaze on me. He appeared cool in spite of the hot, humid summer day, dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He came across as a confident, in control man. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched as he finally flashed a lopsided grin my way. “Yes, of course they are.”

  “All right, let’s get started.”

  I’m Ashleigh Thomas, and I own Ashleigh Nichole Thomas Communications, or ANT as we refer to it. My late husband and I started the firm. Now that he's gone, it's up to me to sign new clients or save old ones. The one and only Maxwell is the firm’s biggest money maker. Like Prince, he goes by no last name. Max is a hugely successful entertainer, far more than just a singer. He's an entertainer’s entertainer.

  “Would you care for a drink, Ashleigh? I believe you like Cabernet, if I remember correctly?” He motioned a waitress, selected a bottle, and then requested a menu as he finished o
ur beverage order.

  Moments later, the young woman returned with the wine, and Max poured a glass for each of us. His movements were slow and sensual. It was as though he wanted me to take in every detail of his physique. “I hope you’re hungry, because I’m starving. This place makes some killer, greasy hamburgers.”

  I caught his regard as it traveled over my upper body, moved over my breasts, and slid up my neck before lingering on my lips. Intense, smoldering heat filled his eyes. Ice would melt under such a look. Warmth stirred within my core as I felt my cheeks flush. I’m attracted to him, but I don’t know if a relationship is what I need right now.

  “Max, the reason I asked you to meet me away from the office was to discuss a business proposition; a venture which has the potential to make us both a lot of money.”

  “Go on, you’ve got my full attention.”

  “I’ve been approached by a firm who owns an establishment in Vegas. They dumped millions of dollars into a theater designed for one certain female diva. I understand she’s broken her contract and left them without a permanent act.”

  I knew Max was a man of many talents—not only was he talented on stage, he was also a shrewd businessman. That draws me to him even more.

  “They’re thinking of hiring me?” He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes certainly were.

  Is he playing with me? “Yes, they are. Quite seriously, in fact. You were their first choice. I’d be willing to pursue this with you, if you’re interested.”

  “Of course I am.”

  Then, the server arrived with lunch and, as Max promised, the food was greasy and delicious. As I ate, my mind whirled with ideas. “Why don’t you drop by my place for dinner this evening? We can chat in further detail.”

  “I would love to come dine with you. When should I arrive?” A slight smirk teased the corners of his mouth.

  Discreetly, I leaned forward and breathed in his scent. The combination of aftershave, cologne, and man was intoxicating. I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the burning sensations that ran through my body. “What about seven o’clock?”

  “That sounds fine.” He sat back in his chair. His low, throaty laugh made me shiver as he caught me watching him intently. “I look forward to it.”

  After an appropriate amount of time, our waitress brought the check. Immediately I went for it, but Max got there first, handing the girl more than enough cash to cover the meal. “Allow me,” he grinned.

  He stood and offered his hand, helping me out of my seat. We walked to the exit without saying a word, his palm pressed against the small of my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him staring down at me again. He opened the door, and I felt his body brush beside mine as we strolled out into the piercing, afternoon sun.

  * * * *

  As I made my way to the front door, I checked the full-length mirror one last time. Looking back, my reflection revealed a deep purple, silk Versace blouse and black pants. My God Ashleigh, you’re pathetic! You don’t need to start a relationship with this man, regardless how long it’s been or how much you want to. Why? Number one, he’s your client. And number two, he’s way younger than you.

  The desk downstairs knew to expect Max. I lived in a luxury, high-rise condo, the same building where part-time Atlanta resident Elton John and his partner resided. As I opened the door, I almost swooned. Max looked like one of those male models on a romance novel cover, only better. Dressed in black slacks and a gray shirt, he had his dark hair mussed up in style. Basically, he reeked sex.

  “Come on in Max, you’re right on time.”

  He sauntered into the living room and headed straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows. Towering over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and back, muscular hips, and long legs, he had the best-looking rear end I’d ever seen on a man. Lord knows, he’d been asked countless of times to make TV commercials or model for print ads. However, I knew he had no interest in them and rolled his eyes at the mere mention of either. Entertaining on stage, in front of a crowd, was his life.

  “Every time I see this place, the more I love it,” he murmured as he turned to face me, bringing me back to reality.

  “I know there are a couple of units available. If you’re interested, I can put in a good word for you.”

  “Hmmm, I might need to give that serious thought.”

  “May I get you something to drink?”

  “Cabernet, if you have some.”

  The rich, sensual lilt in his voice made my body tremble all over. It’s amazing what this man can do to me. I walked over to the sideboard I used as a bar and reached for two glasses. “Would you like to choose one for us?” I gestured toward the unopened bottles.

  Max studied all three selections before deciding on one. He used the counter top corkscrew to pull the cork free effortlessly. Then, he picked up one of the Riedel O cabernet glasses, filled one with the rich liquid, and handed it to me. His long fingers touched my slim ones. He gazed at me from hooded eyes. My God, he’s flirting with me.

  “Come. Let’s sit awhile before dinner and chat.” I walked into the living room and sat in one of the chenille, wingback chairs. Max followed and lowered himself down onto the buttery soft, beige leather sofa and took a sip of his wine before he placed the glass on a side table.

  “Have you given any thought to what we talked about earlier?” I eyed him for any subtle body language.

  “Yes, I have. I believe you and I need to discreetly make a trip to Vegas and check everything out. I’d like to do it soon, before they ask us.”

  “Those were my thoughts exactly. I’ll go ahead and set it up.”

  “Yes, please do,” he answered.

  I caught him checking me out again. His gaze lustfully lingered on my breasts, his pupils smoldering. Earth to Ashleigh! I quickly tried to focus my attention elsewhere, anywhere that would keep my mind off his eyes. “Why don’t you join me while I finish getting things ready for dinner?”

  He followed me into the kitchen and watched as I carefully filled two plates with a shrimp and scallop risotto. The smell of the red, yellow and green peppers that flavored the dish permeated the room.

  “Would you mind getting the salad and dressing out of the refrigerator for me, please?” Taking the plates to the large, mahogany dining table, I carefully set them down. Max followed, placing the requested items in the center. I motioned for him to sit as I uncovered the Italian bread and poured us both another serving of wine.

  “So, Max, you were born in Manhattan but raised in the U.K.?” I took a bite of the risotto.

  The corners of his mouth twitched like they had earlier in the day. This time he did not smile. “Yes, Father is Scottish American, my mother Irish. I spent a great deal of my childhood in boarding schools. I attended St. Andrews in Scotland but dropped out senior year and started playing in the clubs in London. Rebellion, I suppose.”

  “Fortunately for us, your rebellion turned out to be quite successful.” I watched him for some kind of reaction. He continued to eat in silence for a couple of minutes, as though he needed time to consider his response.

  He smiled and placed his fork down, settling back in his chair. The two of us eyed each other, and I wondered what was coming. “Now, let me see how well I’ve done my homework. Your father is French, and your mother American. She comes from old money, as does your father.”

  “Bravo! You’re well-versed, and I plead the fifth to everything!” I grinned at him, his brown eyes laughing.

  Then, his voice and demeanor took a more serious tone. “Then there was your marriage to Richard and his sudden death.”

  I carefully placed my fork back on the plate and stared at him, shocked that he would bring up Richard. We had been together for close to fifteen years. It had been obvious to everyone except me that he had married me exclusively for the money and connections that my family brought. What he had not expected was Papa insisting on a prenuptial agreement.

  Richard made the best of the knowledge that he wou
ld get nothing if he ever chose to leave. As soon as we married, sex was non-existent between us. He had a steady stream of mistresses and thought little of parading them in front of me. The agency had been his idea, as he had loved the lifestyle and fame it brought. His life had ended as he had lived—hard, fast, and mysterious.

  I took a bite of salad and did not react immediately. “I was surprised when you moved to Atlanta.” As I changed the subject, my tone made it clear to Max that Richard was an issue I did not wish to discuss.

  “I wanted to be closer to the new team you put together. Manhattan can be so over-rated and expensive. California I love, but it’s even further away. But I do like the climate and the opportunities. Atlanta intrigued me. What made you move here?” The sides of his mouth curled up as though he already knew the answer.

  What’s he up to? “Atlanta is special. My mother’s from the area, and I spent a lot of time here growing up.”

  “Ah-ha!” he boomed, as he grinned at me. “Now I know why your parent’s named you Ashleigh. It's so Atlanta, so Southern, so Gone with the Wind.”

  “Better than the alternative I suppose.”

  “What would that be?”

  “My father wanted to name me Coco after Coco Chanel, which might have worked in France, but here I don’t know. At least fun can be had with Ashleigh. You know, the Gone with the Wind melodrama.” I replied as we left the table and headed into the living room. “Would you like coffee, Max, or perhaps something stronger?”

  “A brandy sounds great, love,” his accent thicker than earlier.

  The change did not go unnoticed as I left to fetch the liquor. I returned with two snifters and handed one to him. He seated himself back on the sofa as I walked around to a chair where I could gaze at him from a safe distance.