Breaking up with My Boss: An Enemies to Lovers, Office Romance (Love You Forever Book 4) Read online

  Breaking Up With My Boss

  Love You Forever-Book 4

  Alexis Winter

  Copyright © 2020 by Alexis Winter - 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.

  Okay, so taking a golf club to my boss’s precious sports car was probably an overreaction—but damn did it feel good.

  However, him showing up at my house to blackmail me into marrying him…WTF?

  * * *

  If there’s one person that can make me hate my very existence,

  It’s Matthew Lewis III, my boss from hell.

  Imagine the devil’s younger, sexy brother in a three-piece suit.

  * * *

  He’s the kind of man that makes any sort of rational thought go right out the window—which is exactly where I want to throw him.

  * * *

  So when he ripped me a new one for being TWO minutes late,

  I lost my shit.

  I not only gave him a piece of my mind, but I also ripped his prissy ass to shreds and marched out with my middle fingers in the air.

  I’d rather be homeless on the streets of Chicago than work for that man.

  * * *

  But my victory was short-lived.

  Here I am face to face with an ultimatum…

  I either face a felony or pretend for a few short months that I love him.

  GAME ON.

  * * *

  I just hope he’s ready to give me an f-ing Oscar for this performance.

  But after meeting his grandma, I find out Matthew has one giant secret he doesn’t want me to know,

  And I have to face the fact that maybe…just maybe, my performance isn’t so fake after all.

  * * *

  You know how they say there’s a thin line between love and hate?

  I think that line might have just disappeared.

  Contents

  1. Poppy

  2. Matthew

  3. Poppy

  4. Matthew

  5. Poppy

  6. Matthew

  7. Poppy

  8. Matthew

  9. Poppy

  10. Matthew

  11. Poppy

  12. Matthew

  13. Poppy

  14. Matthew

  15. Poppy

  16. Matthew

  17. Poppy

  18. Matthew

  19. Poppy

  20. Matthew

  21. Poppy

  22. Matthew

  23. Poppy

  24. Matthew

  25. Poppy

  26. Matthew

  27. Poppy

  28. Matthew

  29. Poppy

  30. Matthew

  My Accidental Forever SNEAK PEEK

  Chapter One

  Read the rest of the Love You Forever Series

  Also by Alexis Winter

  About the Author

  One

  Poppy

  My alarm clock goes off at 6 a.m. on the dot, but I smack the snooze button and let out an overly dramatic groan. I’m not much of a morning person. In fact, I loathe mornings and everything that goes with them: breakfast, coffee, newspapers, and cheery morning people. The thought of any of it makes me want to cry and hide under my blankets till noon rolls around.

  As I drift in and out of sleep, I think about what my day will bring. Probably the usual: my boss reprimanding me for my bad attitude, being chastised for rolling my eyes, and jumping to fulfill every ridiculous fucking demand that rolls into his thick head. If I don’t get my ass out of this bed, I’ll also end up rushing to get ready—probably getting to work late and once again getting bitched out by my boss who I hate almost as much as I hate mornings.

  Of all the people in this world, I had to end up working for Matthew Lewis III, also known as Satan’s younger, hotter brother. He’s good-looking and he knows it, which is the worst—cocky, arrogant, and rich as hell. With a name like that, of course he is. Honestly, I have no idea why he’s even working as a lawyer at the firm. He told Daniel it had more to do with an honest day’s work, being fulfilled, and getting out from under his overbearing father’s thumb. I personally think it’s all a crock of shit. I just know the devil put him here to torture me any way he could. Why would I be on the devil’s radar you ask? I have no idea, but I think I did something in my past life that I’m still being punished for today. That’s my best guess, anyway.

  The alarm goes off again, and this time, I shut the damn thing off and sit up with a groan. “Why does my life suck?” I ask looking up toward the ceiling as if God is listening to me. I put my feet on the floor and raise my steepled hands. “I swear, I’ll be a better person. I’ll live a better life. Just get me out of this shit job . . . and winning the lottery wouldn’t hurt. Just saying,” I add on to whomever or whatever is listening.

  I trudge my way to the shower and step beneath the hot flow of water, letting it rain down over my head to wash my hair and body. After I’m done, I feel like I have some extra time since I didn’t oversleep too much today, so I sit on the shower floor, letting the water warm me from the outside in. Pretty soon, I’m warm, comfy, and falling back asleep. The next thing I know, cold water is waking me like I’ve been shocked. I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting there, but by the looks of my pruny fingers, it’s been a touch too long. I jump up and turn off the water, wrapping myself in a towel as I make my way to the bedroom to get dressed.

  My teeth are chattering so much that I feel like I’m in a Scooby-Doo episode. I’m too cold to move, so I climb back into bed and pull the blankets around me. “Mmm, that’s better,” I mumble to myself as my eyes close. I open them quickly to check the time. 7 a.m.

  Shit! I passed out for another 30 minutes. I throw off the blanket and push my numb toes out of mind as I dress as quickly as possible. I don’t have time to blow-dry or do much with my hair, so I gather the long auburn locks into my hand and wrap them around to form a bun, pinning it down. I throw on some mascara and lip gloss and call it a good job.

  I’m walking into the office and I’m literally only two minutes late, but does that matter to Mr. Matthew Lewis III? Ha, no. Late is late, and he’s already standing at my desk with a slip. Who even uses physical slips in this day and age?

  I want to stop dead in my tracks when I see him, but I push myself forward anyway. He holds out the slip and I take it as I pass.

  “Third day in a row, Ms. Russell.” He begins tsk-tsking me.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis, but—” I start with my excuses.

  “What? What is it today? Did your bus crash and go up in flames? Let me guess . . . you rescued 20 homeless children from a fire and when the media arrived, you tried to sneak off because you didn’t want the fame, but they forced you into the limelight and now you have to lose the press who are hot on your trail? Something like that, right?”

  I cock my head to the side, face void of all amusement. “No, my cat is sick and puked in my lap while I was having breakfast. I had to change. I couldn’t come in here smelling like cat vomit.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s always something with you. When will you come out with the truth and tell me you’re a compl
ete failure at time management? One more slip-up from you and I’m afraid I’ll have to let you go.” He takes off, back to his office.

  Daniel exits his office and smirks in my direction. “You have to admit, you’re not very good at getting here on time.”

  I scoff. “I’m not good at getting anywhere on time. At this point, I’m fairly certain I’ll be late for my own funeral.”

  He laughs but continues on his way to the copy room.

  I try to focus all my attention on the task at hand: logging in to my computer, turning on my phone, and checking my email for the daily list of appointments and tasks.

  The intercom on my desk buzzes. “Poppy, do you have my first client’s file ready?”

  I roll my eyes. How am I supposed to have their file ready when I haven’t even seen who the first client is yet? I press the button and reply in my sweet voice. “I’m doing it now.”

  He’s right back with, “How many times have I told you to get the files pulled the day before?”

  Ugh. I know, I know. It makes sense to do it that way, and it would result in a much easier start to the day, but I’m always so busy in the afternoon that I forget or simply don’t have time. And if I’m honest, by the time 5 p.m. rolls around, it’s all I can do to get the hell out of this office before I snap at Mr. Lewis.

  “I’m pulling the file now, sir,” I say through gritted teeth, ignoring his question.

  The computer finally loads and I’m able to pull up the appointment book to see who our first client of the day is: Anderson, Samuel. I rush to the filing cabinet behind me and pull the file, taking it into his office. “Here you go. Sam Anderson’s file. He should be here in 10 minutes.” I’m feeling proud of myself for doing that so quickly. On another note, why the hell does he insist on using paper files when he has access to the e-files? Just another Matthew-ism that makes me want to staple this damn file to his forehead.

  “Thank you,” he says, taking the file from my hand. “Did you remember to start your phone up? We can’t book clients if the phone isn’t working, and if we can’t book clients, we’re both out of a job. Surely I don’t have to explain that to you.” He runs a hand across his smooth, angular jaw as his lips turn up into a smirk.

  “I understand how it works,” I say, spinning around to switch on my phone before he calls it and finds out I haven’t done it yet. As soon as I’m out of his sight, I sprint to my desk, nearly diving for my phone. I tap in my code and the phone resets. It’s on.

  “I’m going to guess that your lack of answer means you haven’t done it yet,” he says from his office.

  “What are you talking about? It’s on. See?” I pick it up and press the first button to call his phone.

  It rings and he answers with, “Good timing.” Then he hangs up.

  I collapse into my desk chair and let out a long sigh. Fuck. Today sucks already. After taking a moment to catch my breath, I pull up the schedule and pull the files for every client we have coming in today. I stack them on the corner of my desk. That way, each client who comes in already has a file ready, so I can grab it on the way to Mr. Lewis’ office.

  Once that task is finished, I look at my email to see the things I’ve received overnight. This is usually just a long, stupid list of things my boss would like me to do, such as: Call Mr. Easton to follow up on his last appointment, confirm that he’s happy, and ensure he doesn’t have any further questions. Book appointment if necessary.

  By lunch, I’ve made all the calls and whittled down my list to just a few things. I knock on Mr. Lewis’ door. “Lunch call,” I say, opening it up to find him sitting at his desk.

  He doesn’t pull his attention away from his work. He just holds up a slip of paper that contains his lunch order even though it’s the same damn thing every damn day. I walk over, take the paper, and turn around to leave, saying, “It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Lewis.” I let the door close a little too loudly behind me.

  I swing by the sandwich shop and get his usual turkey breast on rye with lettuce, mayo, and mustard. After paying for his order, I grab myself a shake-and-go salad from the cooler at checkout and head back to the office to have lunch at my desk. After giving Mr. Ungrateful his sandwich, I go back to my desk to eat. I pour my fat-free salad dressing on the salad, replace the lid, and shake it up. I’ve only had one bite when he’s calling me back to his office. With a sigh, I stand up and walk in there.

  He has his sandwich open and lying on his desk. “What is this shit?” he asks, motioning toward it.

  I take a few steps in, peering at the sandwich. “It looks like turkey breast on rye with lettuce, mayo, and mustard.”

  He glares at me. “This is low-fat mayo; it tastes like saddle soap.” Of course little rich boy knows what saddle soap tastes like.

  “Horse lessons as a child?” I ask, trying to hide my judgment.

  “What?” he replies, confused and clearly not picking up on my sarcasm.

  I shake my head but pick up the sandwich and toss it into the bag. “Would you like me to get you something else?” I ask before walking out of his office.

  “No, I’ve lost my appetite. It’s the same damn lunch every single day, Poppy. I swear, if you’re not screwing something up, you’re not doing it at all.”

  I can’t take the smug, arrogant look on his face any longer. “Oh, screw you, Matthew Lewis III! What kind of fucking name is that anyway? Who were you named after—Thurston Howell from Gilligan’s Island?”

  He looks up at me like I’ve lost my mind, but maybe I have. Maybe I’m tired of putting up with his prissy ass. What man worries about the mayo on his damn sandwich? I guess the same kind that requires non-dairy, low-fat French vanilla creamer for his coffee every morning.

  “What did you say to me?” he asks slowly and quietly, like he can’t believe I’ve insulted him in such a disrespectful manner.

  “Which part? The part about your ridiculous name or the part about you being named after a character from Gilligan’s Island? I can’t keep track with you anymore.”

  “That’s it. That’s the last straw,” he says, sitting down and opening his desk drawer for what I can only assume is a termination slip. “I’m sick of you always being late.” His hand scribbles across the slip. “I’m tired of the stupid-ass excuses.” He looks up at me. “I mean, come on, a grade school kid has more believable excuses than you.” He goes back to writing. “And I’m tired of you either not doing something or screwing it up when you do. You’re fired.” He says, tearing off the slip and trying to hand it over.

  My eyes widen and my mouth falls open. “I’m fired? I’m fired?” I yell, taking the bag with his sandwich in it and throwing it onto his lap. “Good fucking riddance, you entitled prick! You think you’re going to keep an assistant with your attitude? With your whiny I’m rich and better than you demeanor? Ha! Good fucking luck. Deuces, Mr. Matthew Lewis III, Esquire.” I throw both middle fingers in the air and leave his office, slamming the door behind me. Daniel has clearly overheard everything and he’s leaning against my desk with his arms crossed over his chest, laughing his ass off.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, moving around my desk and grabbing my things. Lucky for me, I don’t have much here—just my purse, jacket, and phone.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve just never heard anyone tell him off like that before. Funny shit.”

  “Well, I’m sorry your entertainment for the day is leaving, but as I’m sure you just heard, I’ve been fired.”

  He waves his hand through the air. “I’m sure you’ll be back.” He stands up to walk to his office.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I say just as the door clicks shut.

  I spin on my heel and head for the exit, more than ready to put this place behind me. As I’m about to push through the door, Matthew’s golf clubs catch my attention. That asshole deserves everything that’s coming to him. Maybe I should help karma out a little. I grab a club and take it out with me. In the garage where he parks—because h
is priceless sports car is worth far too much money to leave in the parking lot with us common folk—I lift the golf club and swing, smashing out a headlight. It feels so good to let the aggression out. My body floods with endorphins and powers me to do more. I move to the other side and swing again, busting out the other headlight. I move around the car, swinging at the taillights. I’m tired and my breathing is heavy.

  I’m about to drop the club and walk away when I think of one last thing. I climb up on the hood and swing again and again, busting the windshield. I’m sure I look like a crazed lunatic, but I don’t care—destroying something he loves is pure elation.

  “Hey! Stop!” someone yells. I toss the club, grab my purse off the ground, and take off running.

  Two

  Matthew

  Daniel walks into my office with a smirk on his face.

  “Don’t start with me, man.” I lift my hand and massage my temples.

  He laughs as he sits down in the chair across from my desk. “You need to give it up. We both know why you’re so hard on her.”

  “Because she’s incompetent,” I say matter-of-factly.