The Protective Billionaire Boss And My Little Secret

Copyright 2023 by SOPHIE PEARCE - All rights reserved.In no way is it 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.All rights reserved.Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. Dedication "Thank you for your unwavering support and for believing in the power of love. I hope this book brings you joy, inspiration, and a renewed appreciation for the magic of romance." Contents Chapter 1: Violet Chapter 2: Silas Chapter 3: Violet Chapter 4: Silas Chapter 5: Violet Chapter 6: Silas Chapter 7: Violet Chapter 8: Silas Chapter 9: Violet Chapter 10: Silas Chapter 11: Violet Chapter 12” Silas Chapter 13” Violet Chapter 14: Silas Chapter 15: Violet Chapter 16: Silas Chapter 17: Violet Chapter 18: Silas Chapter 19: Violet Chapter 20: Silas Chapter 21: Violet Chapter 22: Silas Chapter 23: Violet Chapter 24: Silas Chapter 25: Violet Chapter 26: Violet Chapter 27: Silas Chapter 28: Violet Chapter 1 VIOLET I t was a beautiful apartment. When I looked at the listings online, it honestly felt like it was more than I deserved. But I knew that was just the worst parts of my mind trying to weigh me down, insulting me from every shadow. I deserved a beautiful apartment in the French Quarter. I deserved to get to walk along the original stone brick walls to get to my apartment. I deserved to enjoy the lush garden bed and little fountain bubbling away, greeting me on my way by. My keys jingled as I unlocked the door, though I reflexively glanced around before I went inside. I deserved to get to walk into my brand-new apartment and know I was safe inside. There was no one waiting for me with angry looks or furious demands. There was no trap waiting for me. There was no one here to hurt me. I breathed out and took in the sunny sprawl of my new place. Sunlight radiated in from the balcony walkway overlooking a shared internal courtyard through the wooden doors and window sills. They were all finished in a beautiful warm blonde color, glossy in the way only good old wood could be. The walls were either stark white or exposed brick, carrying that pretty terracotta appeal inside as well. The old hardwood floors were scuffed and worn, but they’d refinished it clearly between tenants, and the gorgeous tiger-stripe coloring was so charming. It had even come furnished with charming wooden and patterned upholstered furniture. That was my big thing; being a lone woman without anyone to call on, the idea of trying to buy new furniture and get it brought into a place was not going to work out very well for me. I was five foot four on a good day, and I was genuinely worried I’d get blown away during my first hurricane season like a plastic bag in the wind. As such, manhandling heavy furniture up old staircases would not be a viable course of action for me. And it’s not like I could hire a moving crew. Well, I could. But my finances were already stretched so thin. I was really depending on this new job working out to be able to eat more than beans and rice again. But just because I didn’t have much money to spare didn’t mean I couldn’t personalize this place. This was the first place that was mine in my whole life. I’d never gotten to have my own place and do as I please. So, I spared some of my limited budget to get some cute little decor items to spruce up the place. Nothing major. A few candles, a mug, some pretty soap dispensers, and even a beautiful Mucha print to hang up in my bedroom. They were modest little things, but I had realized that these little tastes of freedom were everything to me. It’s why I was here, after all. I bought a candle four months ago because its scent reminded me of a bakery I’d always walk by on my way home from school. I knew I had to be careful when I lit it because Elliot was sensitive about his space. But he was supposed to have been gone for the weekend with his friends, and he came back earlier than anticipated because of the weather. When he’d come home and discovered it gently puttering on the coffee table, he started another fight. I’d been napping, and he was not only outraged that I had left a candle burning unattended in his apartment but had even dared to burn a scented candle knowing that he had a sensitive nose. The fights were largely one-sided. That one had been no different. What was different was the fact that when he’d thrown the candle, it didn’t hit the wall like things usually did when he started chucking things around. I lightly smoothed my hair back over my ear, my touch tender even though the cut from the glass has long since healed. I reflexively brought the shoulder-length ginger lock back in front of my ear, paranoid that the scar would show even though I know it doesn’t anymore. I sat the bag down on the coffee table and brought out the first new candle; this one was made in the bottom of an old wine bottle. They even made it a pretty burgundy color, which smelled delightfully of mulled wine even though I hadn’t lit it yet. All the candles I’d bought were seasonal flavors. Mulled wine, gingerbread, peppermint hot chocolate… Even though it was nearly seventy degrees Fahrenheit outside, it was almost Christmas. So, I wanted to remind myself that the holidays were almost here, in lieu of having someone else to celebrate them with. I carefully brought my cheap plastic lighter to the wooden wick, delighted as