Bossy Silverfox

Bossy Silverfox An Age Gap Single Dad Romance Ruby Wilde Also By Ruby Wilde Second Chance with the Enemy Bossy Silverfox Billionaire's Baby Faking It with the Silverfox Bossy Silverfox Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Ruby Wilde All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organization and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Contents About Bossy Silverfox 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. Chapter 11 12. Chapter 12 13. Chapter 13 14. Chapter 14 15. Chapter 15 16. Chapter 16 17. Chapter 17 18. Chapter 18 19. Chapter 19 20. Chapter 20 21. Chapter 21 22. Chapter 22 23. Chapter 23 24. Chapter 24 25. Chapter 25 2 Months Later Ruby's Spotlight About Bossy Silverfox Falling for my billionaire silverfox bosshole was so not in my plan. I know I’ve got what it takes to build a successful career in publishing. Too bad my boss Leo won’t listen to anything I have to say. So guess who’s going to be stuck with Mr. Alpha at a conference? My luck gets even worse when my boyfriend dumps me. Ready to forget it all, I find myself venting to Leo, who is surprisingly kind. Before we know it, heat and desire flood my veins and my lacy panties go flying. He’s one fine specimen…and his luscious lips send shivers to my core. I promise myself it’s a one-time thing. But I can’t erase how his body makes mine sing. I thought maybe Leo and I could work. Until he shows up at my dad’s party, with his ex…and his son. As if that wasn’t enough, it turns out he’s close friends with my dad. Now, the real trouble begins… Chapter 1 Maggie I settled into my desk with an iced Americano in hand and began sorting through my inbox. Even though my desk was crammed in the very back of the office, it was next to the window, so I got to look out at the Chicago skyline as the sun rose, a sight that never failed to take my breath away. This week, as the newest hire at Wrought Iron Publishing, I was stuck fielding children’s book queries. While children’s literature was far from my genre of choice, part of me hoped I would be able to help inspire the next generation of climate activists. Nora plopped down in front of my desk when I was mid-way through my first of a dismal manuscript featuring a talking tree. “I have some bad news,” she said. Nora was in charge of memoirs. She had the same swagger as a vintage news reporter and was prone to wearing trench coats non-ironically. She wore her vibrant red hair in a neat bun and framed her brown eyes and a heart-shaped face with a rotating cast of chic clear glass frames that she ordered online. At almost five-feet-ten, she made me look like a shrimp. I was five-foot-two, if you counted my bun. I started last June, and I’m finally getting the hang of curating a business casual wardrobe that doesn’t make me look like Frog and Toad’s long-lost cousin. It was one of the first chilly days of fall, so today I swapped out my rotation of office-appropriate sundresses for a corduroy skirt and a black turtleneck. I covered the tattoos on my hands with a couple of rings, and tossed my long, curly hair into a messy bun. The refill for my contacts was still on back order, so I framed my blue eyes with clear glasses. “What? Am I fired?” I joked only partially. “No, never. You’re my favorite co-worker. It’s just, you know, the MPA conference in a couple of weekends?” Nora and I had been planning a luxurious, literary weekend away at the Midwest Publishers Association conference since the line-up was announced last Spring. “Yes…” “I can’t go.” “You’re kidding me!” “I wish I was, but my sister literally just had her baby yesterday and my mom and I are driving down to the suburbs to stay with her for the first two weeks.” Nora looked genuinely bummed. “I guess you can ditch me, but only because you’re the world’s greatest aunt.” “I have a reputation to keep up. Thanks for understanding.” “Wait, does this mean I get to go to the conference alone?” Already I was dreaming of a luxurious weekend with a hotel room to myself and unlimited access to the brightest minds in literature. “No, someone else will be with you.” Nora bit her bottom lip, her nervous tell. “Who is it?” “Leo,” Nora blurted. She barely got the word out of her mouth before I let out an audible groan. Leo Cacciatore was not only my boss, but the most pompous jerk that I had ever had the displeasure of knowing. At 45 years old, Leo got away with his outdated belief that literature was a bona fide boys’ club by using his movie-star good looks and amicable demeanor. He was known to charm even the most obstinate and possessive post-modern greats into handing over one last great manuscript. My coworkers called him a “titan” but if you ask me, the phrase, “a misogynistic bag of dicks” would be a more accurate representation. “Nora, no!” “I’m so sorry. He overheard me saying that I couldn’t go, and he volunteered to take my place. I couldn’t say no! He’s basically in charge of us.” “Nora, I would rather scoop my eyeballs out using a melon baller than spend an extended period of time with him!” I hissed. “Glad