Beauty and the Boss Prequel Read online

  Prequel to Beauty and the Boss

  Billionaire’s Obsession Series

  R. S. Elliot

  Contents

  Authors Note

  1. Emily

  2. Emily

  3. Emily

  4. Luke

  5. Emily

  Afterword

  © Copyright 2019 by AmazingLifeForever.

  All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Authors Note

  This is the prequel to Book 1 (Beauty and the Boss) in my upcoming Billionaire’s Obsession Series which comprises of 5 Hot and Steamy Full Length Romance Novels.

  Each individual book in this series will be a standalone and offer an HEA and can be read in any order but I would strongly propose to read the Prequel first and then follow the reading sequence from Book 1 to Book 5 in the series.

  Book 1 (Beauty and the Boss) will be hitting the shelves very soon so make sure to add me ([email protected]) to your address book and join my Facebook reader group to be notified of all new releases!

  Join my Facebook Reader Group here!

  Chapter One

  Emily

  "Denied?"

  I heard the disbelief in my voice as it echoed in the small university office. The study abroad adviser awkwardly adjusted the engraved paperweight on her desk, then nodded.

  "I'm afraid so. The agency in Paris just sent their decision back this morning. I'm sorry, Emily. I know you had your heart set on this."

  My fingers tightened around the purse in my lap. I had slaved over my application to the summer study abroad experience in Paris for hours, and I had been so confident in my grades, my faculty recommendations, my admission essays. My adviser had told me I was a shoe-in for the position, that no one else from my school had half my qualifications. Or at least, she had thought so. Until five minutes ago.

  "I don't understand," I said.

  The adviser sighed heavily, patting her curling hair.

  "I don't know what to tell you, Emily. You didn't complete the application."

  I bristled at that.

  "That's impossible; I went through the thing with a fine-tooth comb."

  She produced a folder with my name written across it in neat magic marker, then slid out my beautiful and apparently useless application.

  "Look; this page."

  I leaned across the desk, hooking my long red hair behind my ears and out of my eyes. The application lay open to a page that I had, of course, left blank. Prior internship experience.

  "I think there must be a mistake," I said. "I didn't forget to fill that section out. I left it blank intentionally. I haven't done any other internships."

  The advisor looked at me sympathetically over her cat-eye glasses.

  "The Paris program requires all applicants to have prior experience at an internship. They only implemented that stipulation this year."

  "Oh," I said quietly, suddenly feeling very foolish. I sagged back against my chair, utterly deflated. "I didn't know."

  She held up one manicured hand.

  "But all hope isn't quite lost. Paris said they were very impressed with your application and that it was clear you were passionate about the study abroad experience. They invited you to apply again next year, if you can get some prior experience to show them you can juggle working while going to school. As you know, all of their students work for the program while taking summer courses."

  My back straightened again.

  "They invited me back?"

  "That's right. If you can lock down an internship this summer and walk away with a strong letter of rec, they'll expedite your application process next year and do their best to find a spot for you."

  A smile burst across my face. I was definitely disappointed not to be heading to Paris this summer, but here was a clear way forward. I was finishing out my first year at NYU and had specifically gotten a head start on study abroad applications just in case I was denied the first time around, since most students went abroad during their sophomore year, anyway.

  "Can we talk about summer internship placements in New York, then?"

  The advisor laughed good-naturedly.

  "You really are determined to get this placement!"

  "I like to get a jump start when I can."

  “I don't handle domestic placement; you'll have to talk to the man at the front desk. But if I were you, I would hurry. It's pretty late in the season, and most placements have already been snatched up."

  I thanked my advisor profusely and stood to shook her hand, then let myself into the busy hallway of the administrative building. Excitement and frustration bubbled up inside me, a confusing mixture to be sure, but I made up my mind to keep a positive attitude. If I was going to be staying in the states for the summer I may as well pick up a job that could keep me busy and help pay the bills while I dreamed for another year about living in Paris.

  The man at the front desk handed me a photocopied list of the remaining NYU-vetted summer internship placements, dangerously thin. The adviser hadn't been joking when she said internships went fast. At a month out from summer break, only the bottom of the barrel was left: internships an hour by train into Jersey or ones at super sketchy startups or yawn-fest insurance companies. I wasn't incredibly picky about whatever job helped me get ahead this summer, and I was sure I would be slinging coffee in the off hours to make a little extra money anyway, but I wanted something I wouldn't absolutely hate either.

  I retreated to a low wooden bench in the cramped hall with my sheet of options, rummaging around in my purse for a pen. I systematically crossed off the duds and out the outliers until I was left with a pretty bleak prospect.

  The only job that seemed viable was an internship at a big tech name, SkyBlue Solutions. They mostly manufactured software for the self-driving cars that were starting to creep into the market and cause a lot of buzz, but that was about all I knew. I didn't consider myself a tech head or a car buff, but the internship was paid, local, and appeared to only demand basic secretarial and computer competence from applicants. That I could do.

  Still, something seemed a little off. Why would a company as successful and high-profile as SkyBlue have trouble filling a basic internship position? Student should be knocking down his door for an interview.

  I glanced down the hallway, peering past the administrators and harried students who shuffled past holding binders and backpacks. The student worker, only a few years old at me, was still sitting bored at the front desk hunched over some papers. I made a point to stop by his desk on my way out the door.

  "Um, hi," I began.

  He started a little, then pulled his nose out of the documents he had been sorting through and asked, "Can I help you?"

  I straightened my breezy white blouse.

  "Maybe. Do you know anything about this company? SkyBlue?"

  I motioned to hand him back the internship listing, but he didn't need to glance down at it.

  "Sure. They're top of the line in new automotive tech. Came out of nowhere, basically. Their CEO is like thirty two or something. Pretty amazing story."

  The story rang a bell, of course. I had seen the glossy magazine spreads about Luke Thorpe, the stoically handsome mastermind behind the next gene
ration of self-driving luxury cars. He usually wasn't seen in anything other than sharply tailored suits in steel gray or deep blue, but he had let GQ do a photo shoot of him with his car last year. There he wore ripped jeans, a tight white T-shirt, and a black leather motorcycle jacket that looked like it had seen real road use. The photo shoot was inescapable when you lived, like I did, with two other straight women and a bisexual man.

  "Right. Do you know any reason why the position isn't filled yet? It seems pretty competitive."

  "Oh, it is. Thorpe just hasn't been able to find anyone he likes."

  I blinked, staggered. "The CEO is overseeing intern hiring?"

  "For this position, yeah. The intern works closely with C suite executives so he's got a stake in the hiring. From what I hear, Thorpe is a bit of a machine. All business all the time. He knows the way he likes things."

  I swallowed, my throat dry. My prospects of landing a summer internship suddenly seemed very low, but what choice did I have? If I wanted anything respectable to put on that expedited application for Paris, I had to take my shot with the SkyBlue position.

  I thanked the student worker and disappeared out the door into the throng of university kids milling around outside the building, making a beeline for the campus coffee shop. I had a long day of resume polishing and cover letter writing ahead of me, and I was going to need a lot of espresso to get through it.

  Chapter Two

  Emily

  Whether it was through a bang-up cover letter, a resume that made it look like I had more of a technical background than your average photography major, or sheer luck, I’ll never know. But I landed an interview at SkyBlue. I spent an hour the day of the interview tearing through my drawers, trying on and discarding skirts, slacks, blouses, and hose, before finally settling on a pale blue blouse, navy pencil skirt, and lacquer black pumps to give me that little extra oomph.

  My roommate Joannah lingered in my doorway while I put on my makeup, hyping me up with compliments and encouragement.

  "You've got this in the bag, and you look amazing, honestly. Say hi to the silver fox who owns the place for me."

  I blushed a little and buffed another layer of pressed powder on in the mirror to cover up the color.

  "Who, the CEO?"

  "Yeah, I heard he's single," Joannah singsonged. Peter, her boyfriend and our fourth roommate, appeared behind her. His short blonde hair was still sticking every which way from the shower as slung his arm around her waist and gave a crooked smile.

  "Yeah," he said to Joannah. "But you're not."

  Joannah rolled her eyes, but Peter was smiling. Some days I thought the foundation of their relationship was mutual ribbing.

  Peter glanced over to me, his bright smile dimming a bit.

  "I've also heard he's extremely unforgiving, Emily, so watch your back."

  "What is he gonna do," I snorted. "Put out a mafia hit on me?"

  "Not his style. But one of my friends tried to pitch a new app to him last month at some. Luke wasn't impressed and made the poor guy cry."

  "Yikes," Joannah said. "Well, maybe he'll be nicer to Emily."

  "I doubt it. But I personally wouldn't be upset to get some of his attention, I'm just saying."

  "You both are the worst," I laughed, sweeping my hair into a simple chignon. I was trying not to feel any more embarrassed, but my face burned. Joannah and Peter weren't the best about boundaries.

  "You love us," Joannah said dismissively, and that was that. Their chattering gossip and laughter faded down the hall as they disappeared into their bedroom to leave me to my preparations.

  I hadn't gotten as far as I had in life without doing thorough research on everything I applied for thus far. My roommates’ commentary about Luke Thorpe had piqued my interest. I had a half hour before I had to leave for the interview, so I popped open my laptop and sat on the edge of my bed scrolling through Thorpe's Wikipedia page.

  The photograph provided was an impossibly impeccable looking candid, with him standing in front of SkyBlue at some kind of reception ceremony for foreign investors. His dark hair was swept away from his brow, his hands tucked with an easy grace into his pockets. He was somewhere between my father's age and mine, in a nebulous area that was hard for me to estimate accurately. He certainly wasn't middle aged; he had a vibrant, coiled energy that reminded me of a college volleyball player despite the premature grey coming in at his temples.

  Every magazine that featured him fell all over themselves describing how young he was for a CEO. But he was most definitely out of his awkward twenties, secured into an adult identity I was still scrambling to piece together. Not to mention sitting on more investments than I could fathom. The Wikipedia informed me he was a 32, a Virgo with his thirty-third birthday approaching this coming September. I couldn't help but remember Joannah once told me when it came to dating: men age like wine.

  I scrolled past the photo before my mind could wander more, skimming through the thin early life section. He was the youngest of two, with a socialite sister and a young nephew that appeared in some photographs of the entire family at promotional events. His mother was in many of these photos as well, an elegant woman with a severely classical beauty, but her presence was notably absent from some later pictures. Wikipedia didn’t have much to say about what his parents did for a living. That meant they were either a family that had been somewhat wealthy for a few generations, or they were wholly unremarkable.

  He had been awarded a number of distinctions for innovation and entrepreneurial excellence at Columbia before making a quiet exit in his third year to throw himself into the development of SkyBlue full time. He had somehow managed to assemble a crack team of up-and-coming technicians, software engineers, and investors while enrolled in college full time, and by the time his company went public when he was twenty six, it was valued at 200 million dollars. To someone who shared a two-bedroom apartment with three people and often took food home from the school cafeteria to avoid buying groceries for another few days, this sum seemed impossible.

  I was hit with another wave of self-doubt as I read about SkyBlue's dominance of the automation market, their swanky formal events and glowing write-ups in tech magazines and business columns. They were driving the future of automobile safety, design, and function in the United States. What gave me the right to apply some place like that?

  I glanced up at the corkboard above my bed, where I had lovingly pinned pictures of Notre Dame and the street side cafes of Paris. I had to try. It was my only shot left.

  My phone buzzed, alerting me that it was time to dash for my subway ride from Queens to Midtown. I snatched up my purse and blazer, and shut my laptop on Luke Thorpe's chiseled, unsmiling face. If Thorpe could hit a billion dollar net worth before he was twenty five, I could get a summer job.

  For latest release updates and FREE books, be sure to Join R. S. Elliot’s Facebook Exclusive Reader Group here!

  Chapter Three

  Emily

  Luke Thorpe, to my great relief, did not sit in on the interview. It made sense; a man of his caliber probably had better things to do than hang around interviews with college students desperate for a resume builder. But the man who interviewed me took copious notes for his employer, scarcely glancing up from his writing to smile at me or ask the next question. I left the glassy SkyBlue building feeling sure than I had bombed it, that I didn't have enough industry experience or relevant coursework. I was nearly knocked off my feet when I got the call a week later telling me that I was being offered the position.

  "Miss Greenwood?" The HR official on the phone said. "Are you still there?"

  I opened and closed my mouth for a moment before stammering,

  "Oh, oh yes! Sorry, I was just... Yes I’m here."

  I stood up in the echoing library where I had been poring over my American history notes and started stuffing my books and folders into my bag as quickly as I could manage. I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, hustling out with library
books under my arms as the woman on the other end went on.

  "Great. As I said, this is a part time, stipends position in our Midtown office. We’re looking for someone to start in a month, but you’re free to take the weekend to think about it and call back when-"

  "No!" I blurted, earning a glare from the librarian as I dumped my books on the front desk. She began to check them out crisply, popping her bubble gum in disdain for my noise level. I lowered my voice to a still-enthusiastic hush. "Next month is perfect. I would love to accept the position."

  "I’m so happy to hear that. I’ll let Mr. Thorpe know."

  There was that name again. With how involved he seemed to be in this process, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up acting as a personal aide to the man himself. Heat crawled down the back of my neck as I imagined him leaning over my desk to supervise my work, directing me in that smooth, firm voice he always used in his press interviews.

  I snapped back into reality when the librarian asked for my student body card, which I fumbled as I slid it across the counter to her.

  "Thank you. I'm really excited about this position. Eager to get started!"

  "Fantastic. I'll have the formal offer sent over by email, and we'll see you next month! Congratulations, Miss Greenwood."

  I spent the next month in a daze, sometimes scrambling to pull together a semi-professional wardrobe from my new job and worrying about the kind of impression I would make at the tech company, and sometimes forgetting about my summer employment entirely as I crammed for final exams and put away more coffee than was recommended by medical professionals to get through my papers. It was disorienting, swinging wildly between the business and academic world, but as May rolled around, I was feeling almost ready for the new challenge. That is, until I was driving the short distance from my apartment to a high school friend's house.