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  Fake Love Rich Boss Series

  Book 1, 2 &3

  By: Sloane Peterson

  Table of Contents

  Boss’s Secret

  Boss’s Baby

  Boss’s Second Chance

  Boss’s Secret

  Fake Love Rich Boss Series

  Book 1

  By: Sloane Peterson

  Boss’s Secret

  Chapter One

  When I first opened the email, I thought it was a hoax. There was no conceivable way that Windsor Books was reaching out to me for a job interview. I opened the email and proceeded to stare at it for a few seconds before I actually started to read it.

  I probably would have deleted it, convinced it was a hoax, until I realized that it was a personalized email. Not automated, fully personalized. The email talked about how well I had handled the PR nightmare that brought havoc to my small hometown of Blairsville, Georgia. The company that reached out to me there had found out that their owner had been soliciting prostitutes on the property. One of the prostitutes told the police and the small-town mindset wanted to set the place ablaze.

  In fact, people were so uptight about it that it made national news. I was called in as a fixer and by the grace of God, and pure luck, I managed to smooth things over. I changed the tune of the story, easing the anger of the community by announcing the owner of the business was stepping down and his son was stepping up. Of course, this was announced before that decision was made, but it was the only way to save the family business.

  I did my job and I did it well. I saved the business and it ended up making the news. The press conference I held to announce the change of management was played on national television. I had been applauded by my peers for the move.

  Now, I’m sitting on my couch, staring at an email from Windsor Books in New York City. Windsor Books is one of the top publishing companies in the world. Alan Windsor built the empire from the ground up, taking down anything in his way. He bought out competition or ran them out of business. Windsor only works with the best authors. At any given time, most of the best-sellers are published there.

  The email says that they were impressed with what I did and that they have a spot open for a new PR representative. Not just a rep though, I would be handling every bit of PR for Windsor Books and the Windsor family.

  The latter is what makes me wonder if I really want the job. The Windsor family is always in the news, and it’s never for anything good. Their daughter, Allison Windsor, got kicked out of boarding school and returned home only to be caught with drugs. As to be expected of a family that powerful, she got off with nothing more than a warning.

  Oliver Windsor, the oldest, and the heir to the Windsor empire, is also a mess. In his younger years, he was known to drink and fight paparazzi. Nowadays, he’s a known playboy and a partier. He’s never known real work in his life, and it shows.

  If he inherits the family empire, it’s going to burn to the ground as soon as he gets his hands on it.

  I’m content with my life, I’m content with the work I get and the work I do. But...the idea of doing more is something that I’ve always found intriguing. The idea of working for an internationally known company - of handling real scandals - it can’t hurt to take an interview, right?

  I replied to the email and accepted the interview offer. Not even an hour later I got a response telling me that they would send a jet to pick me up tomorrow morning, my interview would be right after lunch.

  Anxiety filled me. I didn’t know how to prepare or what to do. They were interested in me though, right? They were already impressed with how I had handled things with the Blairsville company. All I needed to do was continue to impress them.

  The jet ride to New York City was like nothing I had ever experienced before. There were three people on the flight. The pilot, an attendant, and myself. The attendant checked in with me throughout the entire flight to make sure I had everything I needed. Coffee, breakfast, mimosas. I spent half the flight convinced that I was in some weird dream.

  When we arrived in New York, I was taken to a hotel not far from Windsor Book’s downtown office. The driver told me he would be back to pick me up for the interview. They had already arranged to cover my hotel costs and whatever other expenses I may incur.

  I checked in to my hotel room, which turned out to be a suite, and went up to unpack. I think the hotel room was bigger than any apartment I have ever lived in. I tried to relax while I waited, but I ended up pacing around. Did Windsor do this for everyone they offered an interview to?

  Around eleven, I changed into the skirt and blazer set that I had packed to wear. I styled my hair up into a professional looking bun and applied light make-up. I did as much research as I could on the company and hoped that my brain found a place to store it for the upcoming interview.

  At noon exactly, the driver was back downstairs. He was a nice older gentleman named Edward. He was bald and cleanly shaven, his skin wrinkled. He wore a nice suit and looked put together. On the drive over, he told me that he had worked for the Windsor family since Alan was a child, and had practically raised him. In fact, he did raise Allison and Oliver because Alan was always working.

  Edward didn’t think of himself as a driver or an assistant. He thought of himself as part of the family. Hearing Edward speak about the Windsor family made them seem more endearing. It was a change of pace from how the media made the Windsors out to be.

  He stopped in front of a multi-storied building with the name Windsor on top of it. The glass windows were spotless, reflecting the sunlight off of them.

  “This is your stop Miss Hanson,” said Edward. “Good luck with your interview,” he paused before adding, “I realize this is not my place to speak, but I hope you get it. You seem most deserving of this position.”

  My cheeks felt hot as I smiled back to Edward, “Thank you so much. I hope I get it too.”

  With that, I climbed out of the car, took a deep, steadying breath, and thought to myself - here goes nothing.

  I stepped inside and was instantly blown away by how elaborate the bottom floor was. Everything was crystal clean. The glass was shiny, the interior was sleek and modern. Every piece of furniture inside was either white or black. The lobby was busy, people in sharp suits moving in and out. I had to step aside so I wouldn’t get pushed out of the way.

  Knowing this was no time to be shy, I stepped up to the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind it was a gorgeous blonde with hazel eyes and bright red lipstick. She looked up at me with a smile.

  “Hello. Welcome to Windsor Books,” she said cheerfully. “How can I help you today?”

  I tried to muster up the same amount of excitement in my reply, but I ended up falling flat.

  “Hi, I’m Cassidy Hanson. I have an interview at one?”

  “Oh! Yes,” she exclaimed. “Give me one second. I’ll call someone to come escort you upstairs.” She held up her index finger in my direction and picked up the phone. She pressed a few buttons and then said, “Joan
? Cassidy Hanson is here for her interview. Can you please escort her upstairs? Thank you.”

  Hanging up, she looked at me.

  “Joan’ll be down in a minute.” She gestured to a pair of black leather chairs in the center of the entry room, surrounded by a jungle of different plants. “You can take a seat while you wait.”

  I follow her instructions and take a seat. I never know how to deal with interviews. Is it okay to play on your phone while you wait? Or is that considered unprofessional? Hoping to save as much face as possible, I stay seated and stare straight ahead, looking at the pictures on the wall.

  One, I kid you not, is an oil painting of Alan Windsor himself. It’s recent, judging from the salt and pepper appearance of his hair. He looks regal, wearing a suit that probably cost more than a month’s rent at my current place. Next to the painting is a family photo, it’s not as recent. Oliver and Allison are children, standing beside Alan and his current wife Camille Windsor.

  I don’t get a chance to analyze the photo much longer, as a woman in her mid-fifties comes to stand in front of me. She’s wearing a red sweater and a pair of black slacks. She has shoulder-length ashy blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

  “Cassidy?” She extended her hand, “Hi, I’m Joan. I’m Mr. Windsor’s personal assistant. I’ll take you up for your interview now.”

  Everyone I’ve met at Windsor Books has been friendly, which is a complete one-eighty from how everyone has described New York, or the corporate world. I’m quiet as I stand and follow Joan to the elevator. We’re the only two inside and Joan leans forward, pressing the button for the twelfth floor. Silence settles between the two of us until Joan decides to strike up conversation.

  “Nervous?” she asked me. “I was too, when I interviewed for this position. The media makes the Windsor family out to be monsters. They’re different, but they’re all good people. Alan gives us bonuses every year for Christmas, provides good benefits, and is always willing to talk. Camille always makes sure there’s food for all of us here. We never have to go out for lunch unless we want to.”

  I bite my lip as I listen to her talk, before finally deciding to ask the question I’ve been wondering since I received the email.

  “Why are they looking for a PR representative,” I ask. “I’m sure they have one on call at all times.”

  Joan shrugs her shoulders, “I can’t tell you that. I think they’re just looking for a fresh face around here.”

  The elevator dings and saves me from the awkward conversation. She steps out and I follow her as she leads us down the hallway to a room with a closed door. The nameplate reads A. Windsor in gold letters. She tells me to wait a minute while she makes sure he’s ready. When Joan pokes her head inside, the anxiety inside of me begins to build once again.

  I didn’t expect to be interviewing with Alan Windsor himself. I expected to be talking to their HR head or something. What am I supposed to say to the man?

  “Mr. Windsor will see you now, Cassidy,” said Joan with a smile.

  I take a deep breath, hoping to calm my nerves.

  “Thank you, Joan.”

  I step forward and grasp the doorknob in my hand, giving it a turn. When I step inside, I’m taken aback. Sitting at the mahogany desk in front of me is not the suave man with salt and pepper hair that I saw on the wall in the lobby. Instead, I see blonde hair swooped to the side, steel grey eyes and dimples.

  “Cassidy?” he said, leaning forward and extending his hand to me,” I’m Oliver.”

  Chapter Two

  Oliver Windsor is sitting in front of me and all I can do is reach out and take his hand. Oliver was a heartthrob for my generation. The stereotypical rich bad boy that girls love. Each new scandal had teenage girls everywhere swooning harder.

  After I shake his hand, I take a seat in the chair across from him. I cross my legs and put my hands in my lap as I wait for one of us to break the silence. He gathers a few papers on his desk, but appears to be rather flustered.

  “You’re interviewing for the PR position, right?” he asked with a sigh. “They reached out to you?”

  “Yes,” I affirmed.

  “Okay. I lost the list of questions that I’m supposed to ask you,” he said. “This is my first time interviewing anyone, but I think I know what I’m doing. What experience do you bring to the table?”

  “I’ve been working in PR for four years now,” I stated. “I’ve helped numerous businesses put together public statements when things went south. Most recently, I saved the Crosby business down in Blairsville from –”

  “Oh yeah!” interrupted Oliver. “The guy who was using his place to lure hookers. I remember that. You really saved them from going down?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay. You’re experienced,” he said. “Now tell me, what would you do if say...I got into trouble for the same reason. How would you save my reputation or Windsor Book’s reputation?”

  I was expecting more questions about my experience, my strategies. Not an interview based around scenarios that have yet to happen. I looked up as I tried to think of how I would approach the problem.

  “Since you’re not in charge of Windsor Books,” I said, “we wouldn’t have to worry too much about the company’s reputation. However, to save your own, we would follow a few simple steps. First, would be damage control. You’d issue a statement owning up to your mistake. In the statement, you would take full responsibility. You would apologize to your family, to the women you were taking advantage of, and to the public for letting them down. Next, you’d make a donation to a women’s shelter, preferably one that helps get women off the street. It’d be a good look. Third, you’d go ghost. Disappear for a while, don’t be seen at the clubs or with women. It would give time for things to die down and you’d look more honest with your apology and people would believe that you were trying to do better. By the time you reemerged, people would be on to the next scandal.”

  “You thought of all of that on the spot?” said Oliver in disbelief.

  “I could come up with a few more ways to fix things if you’d like,” I replied.

  Oliver raised a hand and shook his head. “No need for that.” He looked around his desk a bit more and I assumed he was still looking for the paperwork for interview questions.

  “Um,” he popped his lips together as he thought. “How are you with secrets? Working closely with the Windsor family means that most likely, you’ll get to know us. You’ll learn some things that aren’t public about this family. Can you keep it to yourself?”

  What kind of question is that, I thought. I would never spill everything I learn about my clients. I realize the Windsors have probably been burned time and time again, though. When you’re rich and powerful, there likely aren’t many people that you can trust.

  I nod my head, “Of course. I work for you. What I learn isn’t my business. My job is to make the public think well of you and to fix any problems that may occur.”

  Oliver nods at my answer and I think he likes it. I think it’s good enough for him.

  “So, you know how to do your job and you know how to keep a secret,” he said. “I’m sure there are more questions that I’m supposed to ask you, but frankly, I don’t know them. I like you though. I like your answers. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

  I blink. This was the easiest job interview I’ve ever had. I’m shaken. I tilt my head to the side, my eyes meeting his.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Like really sure?”

  Oliver shrugs. “Yeah? Like I said, you want it, it’s yours.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I was expecting so much more than this.

  “How much will I make?” I asked.

  “Right. Um,” Oliver grabs a sticky note from his desk and finds a pen. He scribbles something on it and hands it over to me.

  On the paper is a number that blows my mind. It’s a six-figure salary, more than almost anyone in my field makes. It’s double what I’m making now. I look
it over again to make sure I’m not missing a decimal somewhere before responding.

  “Can you authorize this?” I asked. “This is...a lot.”

  Maybe I’m a fool, telling someone that a six-figure salary is too much for me to be making. Any smart person would take it and run.

  But what happens when somebody with financial prowess sees that and points it out? They’ll slice it in half, and I won’t be able to afford to live in New York without having two roommates.

  Oliver looked almost offended. His eyebrows wrinkled together, the center of his forehead and his bottom lip jutted out just a bit.

  “I’m Oliver Windsor,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I can authorize what I wish. I’m offering this to you, do you accept it or not?”

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling like a complete idiot. I’m lucky he doesn’t just rescind his offer completely. I’m surprised that he doesn’t, but I won’t make that mistake again. “I accept your offer.”

  “All right.” Oliver nodded. “Now, we’ll cover your relocation fee as well as your first month’s rent. That said, you’ll need to start,” he paused to think, “next week. Is that doable?”

  I’m waiting for the catch. Do I need to sell my soul? Sign away my rights? He’s offering so much for a job that, to be frank, isn’t usually that hard. I’d be an idiot to try and talk him out of it though. This is too good to be true and I’m sure it’ll eventually come crashing down around me, but why not enjoy it while I can?

  “It’s doable.” I confirmed with a nod.

  Oliver leans forward, extending his hand to me. “Perfect. I look forward to working with you, Cassidy.”

  I reach out, take his hand in my own and shake it.

  “I look forward to working with you as well, Oliver.”

  “I’ll have Joan get you to sign some paperwork before you leave, just to make things more official,” he said.

  He stands from his chair and I follow suit. Oliver leads me back to the office door and opens it for me.