The Damaged Grumpy Billionaire Boss

  MEG KENTMAN

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. The Worst Reunion

  2. Old Wounds

  3. His Rules

  4. Losing Control

  5. The Morning After

  6. Cracks in the Armor

  7. Breaking Point

  8. Crossing Lines

  9. Too Close

  10. The Deal That Changes Everything

  11. Terms and Conditions

  12. Playing Pretend

  13. Pretending Becomes Dangerous

  14. The Past Always Collects Its Debt

  15. What I Stand to Lose

  16. The One Thing Money Can’t Buy

  17. Choosing Him

  18. Against Everything

  19. No More Running

  20. The Only Empire That Matters

  Preview: The Billionaire’s Betrayal

  Chapter One: When the Past Walked In

  A Note from Meg Kentman

  Also by Meg Kentman

  Introduction

  He was my rival. Now he’s the man who ruined my rules.

  I swore I’d never fall for Cameron Byers again—the grumpy billionaire who once made my life miserable.

  But when my mother’s hospital bills pile up, pride stops being an option.

  Now I’m his assistant and his favorite problem.

  He’s still cold, still impossible, still sin wrapped in a tailored suit.

  Except sometimes, his armor cracks. He makes me laugh when I’m breaking, remembers how I take my coffee, and touches me like he’s trying to forget we’re wrong for each other.

  One night, everything shatters.

  And the man I hated becomes the one I can’t stop wanting.

  If anyone finds out about us, I could lose my job, my mother’s care, and my reputation.|

  And now I’m looking at two pink lines staring back at me.

  The Worst Reunion

  ARIA

  Life sucks.

  That’s the first thing I think when my eyes make contact with those familiar gray eyes—intense, and electric enough to make my breath hitch and my hands quiver slightly.

  The eyes belong to my new boss, who’s seated on his high, tufted brown leather chair, with his arms crossed around his muscular chest that’s clad in an expensive Tom Ford suit I could never afford in a lifetime.

  His facial features are unmistakable—masculine, sharp, with thick eyebrows and slicked-back jet-black hair that resembles the obsidian night sky.

  Cameron Byers. Never in my life did I think we’d meet like this, especially not under these circumstances.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I step fully into his office. The mahogany door closes with a resounding bang that makes the hairs on my body bristle, knowing I’m stuck in this space with him.

  I expect him to smile cockily. After all, he somehow made it to the top before me. And never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that my new boss, the CEO of Byers Winery, would be this man—my high-school rival.

  A familiar feeling of hatred for him claws at my insides as I make my way to the black leather armchair across from him, my heels clicking against the polished marble floors of his office.

  I want to run for the hills, but this isn’t about me. As embarrassing as this role is, I need the job. Mom’s health depends on me, and I can’t let her down.

  My mind is reeling about what I should say as I breathe in the musky, masculine scent of his office. He watches me patiently, dissatisfaction clear on his handsome face. “Good morning, Mr⁠—”

  “You’re late.” He cuts me short, his gravelly voice clipped and straight to the point. He leans back in his chair as his cold eyes bore into mine, and I feel my face heat with embarrassment.

  My insides churn as regret takes over. I wish I’d done some research about who I’d be working for before applying for this position. I take a sharp intake of air, feigning an apologetic smile.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Byers,” I laugh nervously. “I had a rough morning.”

  Cameron scoffs as irritation slowly creeps into his expression, his fingers drumming impatiently on his desk as he rummages through some files.

  “I don’t care if you had a rough morning, Ms. Anderson.” He leans forward in his chair. “And I sure as hell don’t care what happens in your private life. The next time you arrive even a minute later than me, you’re fired.”

  My eyes twitch with anger. It doesn’t matter that this version of Cameron Byers is older and more stoic; he’s still the same standoffish brat I knew him to be years ago.

  I hated him then, and I hate him even more now.

  And just as a flash of all the ways I could make him suffer zips through my mind, he clears his throat. For a moment, it feels like he has read every one of my dark thoughts.

  “Understood, sir,” I say hoarsely, turning toward the door.

  I am two steps away when his voice cuts through the silence.

  “Where was the last place you worked?”

  I turn slightly. There is a mock curiosity in his tone that makes my jaw clench. The information he’s requesting is on my CV, and we both know he isn’t asking to get to know me better. No—he is fishing for superiority, ready to revel in the fact that I haven’t worked for a tier-one company like his.

  I open my mouth to answer, but he holds up an index finger.

  “Never mind. If it were remotely important, I’d already know the name,” he snaps.

  He slides a thick stack of files across the desk.

  “Take these and look through them. I’m sure you were briefed on your role as my assistant, but these are my personal day-to-day requirements—what I expect from you. Go to your office. Study them. When you’re done, let me know.”

  “Jackass,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Not at all,” I lie smoothly and grab the files, which feel like they weigh a ton.

  What the hell is in these files? Shouldn’t the information be on the computers rather than on paper?

  I dare a glance at him before walking away, catching the subtle look of satisfaction on his annoyingly perfect face. There is no doubt in my mind—this is some cosmic punishment. All I can think as I walk out is that I have probably just made the biggest mistake of my career.

  The second I step out of Cameron’s office, I paste a fake smile on my face and square my shoulders. I don’t want anyone to see me looking like a stray cat on her first day.

  His office is only a few rooms down from mine, but by the time I reach my door, my arms are aching under the weight of the files. I shift them to one arm and unlock the door, pushing it open and shutting it firmly behind me.

  My office is empty and quiet. The space is sleek—minimalistic furniture, clean lines, and there’s an impressive view of the city skyline from behind my desk, just like Cameron’s. If nothing else, the view makes the job a little more bearable.

  That, and the pay.

  At my old job, I barely made half of what this place is offering. And the so-called health insurance? It, of course, didn’t even cover my mom, who desperately needs it.

  The sudden vibration of my phone startles me.

  Where have I put it?

  I had rushed out to meet Cameron earlier, flustered and unprepared. And all that just for him to be a complete jerk. Five minutes late—no, four, technically—and he made it sound like I’d committed a felony.

  I dig through my drawers like a woman possessed. Finally, I find it in the top drawer, where I had tossed it during my earlier panic.

  Just as the call is about to disconnect, I see the name on the screen.

  Barbara, my sister.

  My chest tightens.

  I answer, my heart pounding.

  Her voice is high-pitched, as usual, as she gives me a rundown of how things are going at the hospital.

  She assures me I can take my time and settle in at work while she looks after our mom. She’s so selfless.

  She lightens my burdens and never gives me any reason to question her reliability. I know she’s family, but I owe her so much.

  My mother is battling stage four colon cancer, and St. Augustine’s Hospital has become our second home. The only reason I started applying to big companies five months ago was to give her the best care possible.

  I lost count after my eighty-sixth application. At that point, I felt like a crazy woman chasing something that would never come. Then, last week, right after I got yet another rejection email, I had a strange itch to check my spam folder.

  There it was—an interview invitation from Byers Winery.

  I did not know at the time who I’d be working for. Certainly not him.

  Back in high school, almost everyone in my circle hated Cameron. He was the teachers’ favorite—not because he was the smartest, or the coolest, but because his dad was one of the school’s biggest donors.

  While others kissed his ass for that, I couldn’t have cared less.

  I still remember the day everything went south between us.

  Cameron was the teacher’s golden boy—until the day I outshone him in front of his dad. He never forgave me. Judging from today, he still hasn’t.

  One of my tea chers had whispered in my ear, telling me to take it easy on Cameron, but I didn’t fully grasp what she meant by that.

  It had been a science quiz competition, and when the questions began flying in, Cameron was doing well, and it had obviously gotten to his head.

  Then the second round hit. He started flopping. By the third round, when he tried to redeem himself, it had only gotten worse.

  He crashed badly.

  Everyone knew how much that event meant to him, mainly because his dad was present. The professors would come only once every two years, and winning would have boosted his chances of getting into Princeton.

  But he didn’t win. I did.

  And it wasn’t just a loss. It was a loss in front of his dad, who had flown in to honor the school’s invitation. But instead, Mr. Byers left the auditorium in silence—he didn’t even spare Cameron a look.

  The entire school was talking about it within hours.

  And Cameron?

  He didn’t say a word. He left the room with his jaw clenched, his fists tight, and his eyes cold. Whether it was shame, fury, or disappointment—I couldn’t tell.

  But I knew, deep down, he hated me.

  And judging from today… he still does.

  The voice on the other end of the line is frail—my mother’s.

  Barbara has placed the phone to her ear just so I can hear her voice, but the way she sounds makes my chest hurt, and I can feel my breath catching in my throat.

  Mom sounds weaker than she did last night. I bite back the panic rising in my chest.

  She has been on so many pain meds lately, and my fear is growing faster than I can suppress it. I know I have to get her out of St. Augustine’s. The care just isn’t good enough.

  As much as I want to storm back into HR and tell them I’ve changed my mind about this job, I am trapped.

  I can’t afford to walk away now.

  Mom and I speak for a few more moments. Then the nurse tells me she needs to rest.

  She is drifting in and out of sleep more often now, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.

  I tell Barbara goodbye, and after the line disconnects, I sit frozen in my chair, phone clutched to my chest like a life raft. My heart aches.

  And the tears come.

  I don’t even realize they are falling until I feel the warm wetness on my cheeks. But I can’t break down here. I’ve cried enough—after every rejection email, after every update about my mom, in the shower, and before bed.

  But here?

  At work?

  I can’t let anyone walk in on me looking like a mess, especially if it’s my boss.

  I toss the phone aside and reach for the files Cameron has given me.

  Flipping through the documents, I see everything—the company’s articles and memorandum of association, daily briefings, his calendar, preferences, and meeting etiquette. He has compiled all of it personally.

  He is thorough. I’ll give him that.

  Still a control freak. Still insufferable.

  But I have to put my best foot forward. Whether I like it or not, he is now my boss.

  And this isn’t just about me anymore.

  It is about my mom. It is about Barbara.

  Besides, we are all our mom has left.

  And I won’t—can’t—let her down.

  Not like my dad did.

  Old Wounds

  CAMERON

  I rummage through the clutter on my desk, irritation boiling just beneath the surface. The Savannah files are missing—again. I am sure I left them right here last night before I closed. I never misplace important documents. Ever.

  I’ve told the janitor a dozen times not to touch anything on my desk. Every paper, every Post-it note, every marked corner has its place.

  Even a one-line note has weight when it comes to running this company. But now, that file is gone, and I have less than four hours before I meet with the Savannah investors.

  And that isn’t the only thing grinding on my nerves.

  Aria Anderson.

  I haven’t slept properly since I saw her yesterday. Her name alone is enough to open a vault of memories I locked away ten years ago. I don’t need this distraction—not now, and not ever.

  But there she is, walking into my office like a ghost from the past. And now, that ghost is sitting two doors down from me—my new assistant.

  Fucking HR. I had made it very clear that I wanted a final review of the last two interviewees. I missed the live interview because of a board emergency, but they’d assured me they’d wait for my sign-off before onboarding anyone. And now? This.

  Aria isn’t just some girl from high school.

  She is the girl.

  The one who embarrassed me in front of my dad—the one person I spent my entire life trying not to disappoint.

  I still remember the icy silence when he walked out of that auditorium after I lost. He didn’t yell. Didn’t scold. Just turned his back and left. And that silence? It screamed louder than anything else ever could.

  And now she’s back.

  A slow-growing, invasive reminder of my biggest public failure.

  This isn’t just business anymore. This is personal.

  The only logical thing to do is push her out—frustrate her, pressure her, make her so uncomfortable she won’t think twice before quitting.

  That is the plan.

  The soft tapping of heels pulls me out of my spiral.

  I look up just in time to lock eyes with her.

  Aria.

  Yesterday, I hadn’t really taken the time to study her features. I was too consumed with old bitterness. But now? Damn.

  Those green eyes of hers strike me first. Pale, clear, unsettling. Like stained glass. If I stare at them too long, I’ll lose my mind.

  Her posture is sharp. Her dress—red and deliberate. She looks like she walked out of a war zone to challenge me again. She is beautiful and insufferable.

  “I’m done with the documents,” she says, her voice level, “and I found this among them.”

  She holds out the Savannah file.

  I blink.

  I must’ve misfiled it with the articles of association. She has just saved me from turning this entire place upside down. But I don’t let that show.

  Instead, I take the folder and glance back at her coldly.

  “I’m not sure you thoroughly read through the personal instructions I left in these documents,” I say flatly.

  She doesn’t flinch.

  “Take it back. Read every sentence. Every paragraph. Then write a summary with your important points and bring it back to me.”

  “I read every line,” she says. “I just had to rush out to⁠—”

  “I’ll expect it in an hour. There’s a mountain of work ahead of you, and if you’re already struggling with the employee manual, then maybe this isn’t the place for you.”

  She stares at me. Her expression cracks just a little—a twitch in her brow. Frustration? Resentment?

  Good.

  “You call this a little manual?” she shoots back, holding up the heavy folder. “This is a vanity booklet about how my boss doesn’t want anyone wearing red or bringing tuna to lunch. It’s petty.”

  So, she has read it. She’s worn red, anyway. Classic Aria—always the rebel.

  “In an hour. Or your resignation letter. Either works for me.”

  She grabs the files again and storms out. I watch her back until the door slams behind her.

  I let out a long breath and slump into my seat.

  Goddammit.

  A part of me hates being this harsh. But I have to protect myself. I can’t allow history to repeat itself. She may not have meant to humiliate me back then, but the scars don’t care about intent. They… stay.

  Kate has taught me that, too.

  My ex. My mistake. The girl who tore through my walls, pretended to build with me, then left with someone else the moment my stocks dipped. Love? No, it was leverage. Always leverage.

  I have to refocus. The Savannah investors are scheduled for 2.00 p.m., and they are one of our top three contributors.

  They have been raising red flags over our performance on the stock market. I need to convince them we have a turnaround strategy—even if we don’t.

  I glance at my screen and pull up our data projections.

  They are brutal.

  Our momentum is slipping. If Savannah walks, others will follow. Dad has made it clear: no more failures.

 

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