A Billion Times No Read online

  Text copyright © 2019 Kenzie Reed

  All Rights Reserved in accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of author’s rights.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison along with a fine of $250,000.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover designer: Temys Designs

  Interior Layout: Deena Rae Schoenfeldt; E-Book Builders

  This book is intended for readers 18 and older only, due to adult content. It is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are products of the imagination of the author.

  License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  About Kenzie

  A Billion Times No

  His nickname’s Sexy Satan.

  For the past three years I’ve called him boss.

  So why is he telling everyone that he’s my boyfriend?

  Working for Chase Lancaster was supposed to catapult my marketing career. Instead, I’m trapped in personal assistant hell. His hobbies include barking orders, torpedoing my advertising campaigns, and reducing the office staff to tears.

  On a good day, he acts like I’m invisible. On a bad day, I remind myself arsenic is not an acceptable sweetener for coffee. And prison orange would be murder on my complexion.

  Imagine my surprise when Chase follows me home to Bitter End, North Carolina, where I’m about to endure my ex-fiancé’s wedding.

  The moment he chases off my date and offers to pose as my boyfriend, I know he’s got a hidden agenda—especially when he plays the part a little too convincingly. Unfortunately, I have to play along to find out what he’s really up to.

  To satisfy the town gossip squad, I’ll have to let him kiss me. Who knew Satan’s lips were so soft and inviting? And if we’re really playing the part, we’ll have to go to Lover’s Lane—testing my willpower beyond its limits.

  The more time we spend together outside the office, though, the more I see a different side of him. He’s still bossy and demanding, but is it wrong that I find it kind of, well … hot?

  This wedding is bound to be hell, so I might as well spend it in the arms of a sexy devil.

  Chapter One

  Daisy

  My battered floral suitcase sits by the door of my boss’s office, silently mocking me. I promised Mom and Gram I’d be in Bitter End, North Carolina, in time for a late dinner, and now I’ve missed my flight from LaGuardia.

  Of course, I’m working on what should be the first day of my first real vacation in almost three years.

  I’m employed by the Lancasters, after all. Vacation is for the weak.

  That’s why I’ve worked twenty-nine of the last thirty days. Why I missed Thanksgiving. Why I showed up at my family’s house on Christmas Eve at 11:50 p.m. and headed back to the airport twenty hours later.

  I grimace in anticipation of the look on my sister Callie’s face when she picks me up at the airport tonight. The fact I’m sitting at my boss’s hand-carved teakwood desk and drinking coffee, both of which are strictly forbidden, is cold comfort.

  Well, okay, it’s a little bit warm.

  If he could see me now, with my butt leaving a dent in his precious ergonomic chair and my bare feet propped up on the desk. I close my eyes and sip my coffee, imagining the look of anger on his perfectly chiseled face. I can picture his blue eyes blazing with a cold fire. Wrinkles corrugating his smooth brow in a scowl of disapproval.

  It’s not hard to summon up that image; it’s harder to imagine Chase when he doesn’t look like someone just peed in his Wheaties. Did he sear the doctors with that haughty look when he slid out of the womb?

  Who am I kidding?

  That would imply he was born, when everyone who’s had the misfortune to meet him knows he was hatched.

  Oh well. Freedom is within my reach. I’ve plowed through the mountain of tasks on my list. I’ve made all of Chase’s calls, replied to his emails, sent his snail mail, verified his appointments, and mailed him my suggestions for rebranding a prospective client’s resort—which he will promptly send to the digital shredder.

  It’s time for me to scramble for another flight back home. Thinking of what I’ll face this weekend summons another storm of emotion swirling in me, but I quickly stuff it back down.

  As I set my forbidden coffee on the desk—on a coaster; I’m not a savage—my cell phone pings. It’s Amalie, the receptionist who sits facing the elevator on the tenth floor, all of which is Chase’s office.

  Her text freezes my blood. Sexy Satan is here!

  Chase is back? No, no, no. Frantically, I swing my feet off the desk. I’d run for it, but there’s no point. I’d never make it.

  The ominous sound of footsteps thudding down the hall toward me sets my heart racing in panic. How the hell did he even get past security downstairs? They should have warned us.

  Sexy Satan was supposed to be safely overseas. He was in our Milan office this week, spending his days making employees weep and his nights making the panties of supermodels damp. I should have had a lot more warning before he arrived. I can only think this was intentional. Every so often, he likes to sneak back from his many overseas trips to catch his employees at less than peak efficiency.

  Whenever he returns unannounced, tears are shed and jobs are lost.

  There’s no time to escape, so I’ll just have to face the music. I grab a quick gulp of coffee to fortify myself. Waking up at 5 a.m. is som
ething I would for sure wish on my worst enemy. As I’m sucking down the life-giving nectar, Chase barrels through the door, trips over my suitcase, and barely catches himself before falling.

  To make matters worse, I choke on my coffee as I try not to laugh, and it sprays out on his spotless desk blotter. Oh hell. Not the blotter.

  Chase Lancaster stands there on the threshold, his bespoke gray Nehru suit perfectly draped across his broad-shouldered frame, his ice-blue eyes drilling holes in me. His thick black hair has that sexy, mussed look to it, and his full lips are thinned in annoyance.

  He looks at the suitcase, and then at me, and then back at the suitcase. “Daisy? What the hell is this monstrosity?”

  I pretend to examine it critically and look up at him with an expression of wonder. “Oh my God, Mr. Lancaster, I’d say it looks very much like a suitcase.”

  His gaze turns even colder, and I swear the temperature in the room drops several degrees.

  “It’s my suitcase,” I say in a less challenging tone. “I’m going on vacation for two weeks.”

  His eyes flash with annoyance. “I didn’t authorize that.”

  And that’s why I put in for vacation when he was out of the country. “You didn’t have to. It’s in my contract. And before you complain, I’ve worked twenty-eight days out of every month this year. And a similar number of days in the year before that, and the same with the year before that.”

  He looks at me expectantly.

  When I don’t answer, he stalks toward me with the grace and terrifying speed of a jaguar ready to pounce. He’s practically on top of me by the time I leap to my feet. Then I remember I’d slipped off my shoes. Oops. I shove my feet back into my black low-heeled pumps and stare up at him, breathing in the woodsy scent of his cologne.

  He draws in a breath. He’ll expel a stream of expletives guaranteed to sizzle the ends of my hair, and then I’ll mutter something mildly sarcastic and skulk out of his office. This isn’t our first dance.

  Before he can get a chance to rip me a new one, the intercom on Chase’s desk squawks. “Daisy! Look sharp! Asshole alert. Asshole is in the building. Repeat, asshole is in the building!” a frantic male voice says.

  Oh crud.

  Much too late, I snap the intercom switch to the off position.

  He stares at the intercom. “Who was that?”

  “I have no idea,” I lie, shoving my hand into my jacket pocket so he won’t see my crossed fingers. “Sadly, I suspect it’s a mystery that will remain unsolved. Like whether Bigfoot is real, or why someone decided to surgically remove your heart at birth and replace it with a block of glacial ice.”

  His eyes turn the color of a stormy gray sea. “Try again.”

  There’s something in that stern note of command that sends a shiver of desire trembling down my nerves, leaving me damp between the legs. My heart thuds in my chest. For the millionth time since I’ve started working here, I struggle not to think of him in his rare, more human moments when I’ve seen a genuine smile. I try not to imagine what it would be like if …

  Well. It doesn’t matter. He’s a high-speed serial dater of models and Instagram stars. Even if he ever were to slow down for a minute and actually date someone, it wouldn’t be me.

  He waits for my answer, thick waves of anger radiating in the air.

  “Okay. Yo no se. That’s Spanish for, ‘I don’t know.’”

  “I am aware, thank you. And don’t lie to me. You know exactly who that was. You know the first, middle, and last name of every single person here, along with their birthday, the name of their childhood pet, and what they like to sing on your monthly Karaoke night.” His forehead furrows in bafflement, and he stares at me as if examining an alien life form.

  Yes, I do. I am the reason the employee turnover rate of Lancaster Hotels and Resorts has dropped from twenty percent down to five.

  “You know about Karaoke night?” I smile brightly. “Say, I’ve been meaning to ask … Would you like to come sometime?” Please say no.

  “Stop trying to deflect. What is the person’s name?”

  He takes two steps closer until he’s nearly on top of me and I’m pressed up against the desk.

  “We have dozens of male employees. How would I recognize one of them by his voice? Your intercom is very poor quality,” I say defensively.

  He grabs my wrist and yanks my hand out of my pocket. He’s never touched me like that before, and it sets off an odd, sizzling sensation in me that makes me shockingly aware of all my no-no spots.

  “You had your fingers crossed?” he says incredulously as I quickly splay my fingers. “What are you, five?”

  “Rude.” I jerk my hand from his grip. “And let me repeat. I. Don’t. Know.”

  “Okay then. Let me put it in a way that will speak to your little Pollyanna heart. That was a man, I know that much. Give me the name of the person who just messaged you on the intercom, or I will fire every single male employee who is working here today.”

  The company pays very well, but they’re fiendishly clever with their employment contracts.

  “Are you insane?” I go rigid with panic. “What is wrong with you?”

  He reaches for the phone.

  “You need to make your annual blood sacrifice? Fire me instead,” I squawk, my voice cracking on the last syllable. “I’ve been using your office while you were gone. I typed on your computer. I drank coffee at your desk. I just ruined your precious blotter. And I loathe you with the heat of a thousand fiery suns.”

  If he does fire me, it will be on the front page of the Bitter End Bulletin tomorrow. That’s my hometown for you. Rarely does anyone move away and escape its loving/suffocating embrace, but if they do, the local gossips can still sniff out news like a pig hunting for truffles.

  And Chase’s father knows my family. He and my father were college roommates. They had some business venture together a million years ago, and he’s kept in close touch with my mother since my father passed away.

  I hate this, but I’d rather be fired than let Steve take the fall for trying to warn me Jerkosaurus Rex walked among us. I’d have done the same for Steve, but I would have been a lot smarter about it.

  Chase shakes his head. “No, thank you. That’s letting you off way too easily.”

  “Why not?” I persist. “Just let me go. I know you’ve wanted to fire me since the first month I started here.”

  He narrows his eyes. “That’s … not strictly accurate.”

  Wow. Such a passionate rejoinder. I’m pretty damned sure it is accurate. I overheard him in his office two weeks after I’d been hired. I’d accidentally sent an email to the wrong client and nearly cost the firm their account.

  It was the one and only mistake I’d made here, and typical Chase, he wanted to fire me.

  Chase told his father I wasn’t right for Lancaster Hotels and Resorts. His father argued with him in low, urgent tones and threatened to bring Chase’s mother in on it if necessary. I couldn’t make out exactly what was said, but the upshot was that I kept my job.

  “Name,” Chase repeats.

  “Mr. Lancaster, do not do this. Couldn’t you at least give two weeks’ notice?”

  He looks me right in the eye as he picks up the phone. “Hello, put me through to human resources.” He’ll fire fifteen or twenty employees, many of them who’ve worked here for decades.

  “Steven Burkhardt.” I blurt out. Tears of humiliation and defeat burn my eyes. The earlier excitement I felt about finally going home for a decent vacation fizzles and dies.

  He dials Steven’s extension. “Hello, this is the asshole, and that’s Mr. Asshole to you. You have five minutes to clear your desk and be out the front door before security throws you out.”

  My heart thunders in my chest. I’ve tried to steel
myself to Chase’s ruthless methods, to the frequent firings and the sight of crushed employees slumping out the door, but it’s something I can never get used to.

  Chase picks up his coffee-splattered blotter and hands it to me, shaking his head with a pitying expression.

  “Yes?” I say sullenly. “You have something you want to share with the rest of the class?”

  “I’m just thinking about how long you’ll be in here repairing the damage you’ve done. Absolutely no chance of catching that plane. It’s such a shame about your vacation.”

  “Sorry, but I have a wedding to attend.”

  “Sorry,” he mocks, “not my problem. We’ll start with the desk blotter you decorated with your coffee-flavored spit. It needs to be replaced before you can leave.”

  “Ha.” A tiny smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

  “With the exact same brand … and size.”

  Double ha.

  I widen my eyes in fake dismay. “But Mr. Lancaster, can’t we use a regular blotter from the supply room? The only place that makes those particular blotters is in London. It would take a week for a new one to get here, and this is a family wedding.” It’s a wedding that makes me wish for a violent case of bubonic plague so I could legitimately beg off, but I do want to see my family for more than twenty-four hours. I am due two full weeks of vacation, and I will have them.

  “Well, you should have thought of that before you regurgitated your beverage onto it. Given that you’ll miss the wedding, there’s probably not much point in you going on vacation at all. Please let personnel know so they can notify whatever incompetent keyboard monkey who would have covered for you.”

  “And I’ve got a hot date waiting for me.”

  “A hot date? You?” His eyebrows shoot up in astonishment, his jaw drops.

  Really?

  That’s it. Next time he goes on vacation, I’m stripping off my panties and sitting my bare ass in his leather chair, and I’m going to climb up on his desk and walk on it with my bare feet. I’m going to brew all his coffee a little too bitter from now on and put in one less sugar than he likes.