Her Billionaire Bossholes, page 1
HER BILLIONAIRE BOSSHOLES
ELLIE ROWE
ELLIE ROWE WRITES
Copyright © 2024 by Ellie Rowe
All rights reserved.
No part 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 author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
Also by Ellie Rowe
1. Charlie
2. Charlie
3. Leo
4. Jackson
5. Charlie
6. Caleb
7. Leo
8. Jackson
9. Charlie
10. Charlie
11. Caleb
12. Leo
13. Jackson
14. Caleb
15. Charlie
16. Leo
17. Charlie
18. Charlie
19. Jackson
20. Caleb
21. Charlie
22. Caleb
23. Charlie
24. Jackson
25. Leo
26. Charlie
27. Caleb
28. Leo
29. Jackson
30. Charlie
31. Charlie
32. Jackson
33. Leo
34. Caleb
35. Charlie
36. Charlie
37. Leo
38. Charlie
39. Jackson
40. Jackson
41. Charlie
42. Charlie
43. Charlie
44. Caleb
45. Charlie
46. Leo
47. Jackson
48. Charlie
49. Caleb
50. Charlie
51. Leo
52. Jackson
53. Charlie
54. Caleb
55. Charlie
56. Caleb
57. Charlie
58. Jackson
59. Caleb
60. Charlie
Also by Ellie Rowe
ALSO BY ELLIE ROWE
MMF:
Two Billionaires For Her
Two Doctors for Her
Two Lawyers For Her
Mom RomCom:
Route 69
After School Special
Hell’s Bells
Standalones:
The Jerk Who Saved Me
The Billionaire and the Babe
Skyscrapers and Stilettos Shared World:
The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven
Guide to Bossing A Billionaire
Manhattan Cowboy
1
CHARLIE
"Char-lie! Char-lie! Char-lie! CHARLIE!"
The crowd roars with anticipation as my name echoes through the hallways. The sound reverberates through my ears, filling me with a surge of energy as I embrace the familiar nerves and excitement that accompany stepping into the ring. The cheers of the spectators propel me forward, fueling my determination.
As I make my way down the hall, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension courses through my veins. The lights ahead grow brighter, casting a blinding glow that momentarily disorients me. Despite the dazed and confused feeling, I push forward, drawing on the muscle memory and mental fortitude acquired through years of training.
Stepping into the ring, the lights intensify, illuminating every corner of the arena. The intensity of the moment is palpable, and my heart pounds in my chest. I take a deep breath, centering myself amidst the chaos. The familiar scent of sweat and anticipation hangs in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I step into the center of the ring and am met with my opponent. Time stands still, and I contemplate how many hours we've both dedicated to be in this moment, seeking victory for ourselves or our beloved team. His eyes lock on mine as a smirk tugs on his lips. In an instant, it is like all other noise has vanished - only our heavy breath sounds remain amidst silence that speaks volumes between us without any words at all.
He grins devilishly as he watches me enter, boldly staring me down with an air of confidence and superiority. With each step I take forward, he laughs nervously at my expense and points at me.
"Is this a fashion show?" he barks mockingly.
I look down, realizing that I'm wearing a simple white dress with spaghetti straps that falls just above mid-thigh. His laughter is met with snickers from some members of the crowd who seem to share his amusement. Why the hell am I in a dress? Who goes to finals in a damn dress?
My face burns with embarrassment. I raise my chin, determined to not let his words or foolishness affect me any longer.
My thoughts are quickly broken when I hear the call of the referee and feel their presence behind me. My thoughts are quickly broken when I hear the call of the referee and feel their presence behind me. The bell rings, signaling the start of the fight. I do my best to fight in this dress, but stumble over myself with each punch thrown or kick attempted. My opponent takes full advantage, using my lack of mobility to continuously land his blows.
I stumble to the ground, cursing.
Getting up, I try to land a kick and tear a ligament in my knee, falling to the ground as I wail in pain. Tears well up as agony runs through me - this is it for me now. My life is over! The pain spreads up and down my leg like a forest fire.
"Agh! Augh!!"
I thrash around, tangled in sweaty sheets. I slowly become aware of my surroundings, feeling the familiar comfort of my bedroom. I frantically search for any trace of the fight and come to understand that it was just a dream.
Trying to regulate my breathing and heart rate back to normal, I pull off the covers and roll out of bed onto shaky legs that threaten not to hold my weight. My knee aches, a ghostly pain from the injury that ended my kickboxing career just moments away from the trophy I'd invested into that fight to win - hours, days and weeks preparing myself.
"Stop pouting," I mutter, heading into the kitchen for a quick breakfast before my routine morning workout.
Today is a new day, and I'm determined to make the best of it.
As I make my way down the hall, I observe a sense of determination mixed with apprehension. Though many years have passed since that fateful fight, the feeling is still there - motivation to push through in spite of fear and uncertain outcomes.
I grab a bowl of granola and my favorite banana, feeling the texture and sweetness between my fingers. Without giving it a second thought, I head to my homemade gym, aka the living room of my little apartment, and start stretching out. An array of weights are lined up against one wall with jump ropes in another corner along with exercise mats which are nowhere near comfortable enough for lounging.
I'm not much for lounging, anyway.
"One... two... three... four..." I grunt, curling the twenty-pound weight in my hand to warm up.
The same fiery passion stirs within me as it did then: refusing defeat no matter how bleak things seem; changing course when necessary but never giving up; believing success can be found beyond every trial. It's not like I just gave up when they told me competing wasn't an option anymore, though I was devastated. Life isn't easy when you're determined to make something out of your own two hands, but what fun is easy?
I pause my workout, setting down my weights, as my phone starts to ring. Curiosity piqued, I answer the call, not expecting the news that awaits me on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Charlotte Moore?" The voice on the line belongs to the secretary of BioCore Solutions, the company where I recently applied for a job.
I sit down and wipe the sweat from my face. "Yes."
"Miss Moore, I'm calling to inform you that you've been hired as the personal bodyguard of BioCore's CEOs," she informs me outright. "Can you start tomorrow?"
2
CHARLIE
A rush of excitement and disbelief washes over me. The moguls, during a televised interview, were assaulted by a member of the audience, a shocking event that has escalated the need for heightened security measures.
"Yes, of course," I say a little too eagerly.
As I end the call, I take a deep breath, realizing that this role is likely going to be far different from any other I've assumed as a bodyguard. I've been a bodyguard for hire ever since a knee injury took me out of competitive kickboxing. Since then, I've protected families and businesses alike--just never anyone as important as this.
The CEOs of BioCore Solutions are among the most renowned in the business world. They not only own and manage a multi-billion dollar company, but also frequent several exclusive political events. I'll have to be extra vigilant against any potential threats from would-be attackers lurking around every corner as they go about their daily routines and business meetings.
It's really a wonder how they haven't hired personal bodyguards already, considering the trouble I always see them in on the news. Their field is controversial no matter what angle you look at it from, and always surrounded by politics. They're lucky someone didn't decide to attack them sooner.
When I'm standing up, stretching out my quads, my phone rings again. "Hello?"
"Ah, hello again, Miss Moore," the secretary greets. "It seems I made a mistake. They wouldn't like you to start tomorrow."
My stomach drops as I realize she called the wrong person and BioCore wants to hire someone else. Until she says, "They actually want you here today."
I'm taken aback by this sudden request, but soon come around to understanding how urgent their need is; they've already been in a dangerous situation once before and simply cannot afford any more delays that could potentially export them into trouble again.
Undeterred though, I give her an affirmative answer adding one condition: two hours at most for preparation.
"Very well," She responds satisfactorily before ending the call.
The thought of spending days safeguarding such high-powered figures stirs anxiety within me despite knowing that I'm more than capable of doing it.
I quickly finish my stretches, strip down and take a shower, trying to wash the stench off my skin. As I stand beneath the warm stream of water, I think about what it will be like when I finally get face-to-face with BioCore's CEOs -- Leo Thompson, Jackson Harris and Caleb Carter.
While they appear as formidable tycoons on TV interviews or public events covered by news channels; individually these men are private individuals whose day-to-day activities remain shrouded in mystery from their legions of admirers around the world. Nevertheless, I only vow to carry out whatever my job responsibilities involving them will be.
"First impressions are everything," I remind myself sternly, digging through my closet for the perfect outfit is always stressful -- especially when it comes down to making a good first impression on important people such as these moguls.
After dancing between two outfits, I finally settle on one that fits me like armor; elegant yet comfortable enough not to be restricted during any potential action-packed situations involving them. A few spritzes of perfume also help make sure that when they meet me, they'll smell success rather than sweat or fear on their bodyguard.
I strap up the knee brace around my leg before tossing some necessities inside my bag: wallet, pepper spray of course - no bodyguard job without it — and phone charger; all essential items required while being deployed in this line of work. Finally slinging the bag over my shoulder, I look in the mirror.
"You've got this." The woman in the mirror eyes me with confidence. "You are as capable as you've always been. You can handle taking care of three men."
A loud, impatient honk signals the arrival of the BioCore car, waiting to take me to the facility. This is it. Making sure to be punctual, I hop into the car outside my house and speed off towards BioCore’s offices.
---
"Wow," I breathe, gazing at the fortress-like building.
The air is thick with security measures as I approach the entrance, the imposing gates a reminder of the importance of the work that lies within.
"Welcome, Miss Moore." A BioCore secretary, wearing a badge with the company logo, greets me at the door. "Thank you for making it on such short notice."
She exudes an air of professionalism as she starts on an almost sales-pitch type explanation of the facility, her words cascading with enthusiasm and pride. It's clear that she wants to impress me with the cutting-edge technology and state-of-the-art security measures in place.
I listen intently as she describes the multi-layered security system, the advanced surveillance technology, and the highly trained personnel dedicated to safeguarding the facility. Her words paint a vivid picture of a fortress-like environment, where every detail has been meticulously designed to ensure the safety and confidentiality of BioCore's operations.
With this level of security, they'd never need a bodyguard if they just didn't leave the property.
Despite my awe and admiration for the impressive security measures, I'm not too impressed with the secretary. She seems a bit overly rehearsed in her delivery and I get a sense that she's trying to oversell something - it almost feels like she doesn't trust me enough to believe what she's saying.
But the secretary continues her spiel, describing the advanced medical research conducted within these walls and how they are pushing boundaries to maintain a safer environment. She goes on to explain their commitment in developing new technologies and treatments for some of society's most pressing diseases.
"You'll have a proper tour of the facility after meeting with the CEOs," she explains, taking an abrupt turn into another hall. "They're waiting for you now, but I need to get you settled with security access."
As the secretary secures a keycard and ID for me, I contemplate what the three men are like that run such an impressive operation. It must take something special to build and successfully maintain an empire like this, to lead each component of its multiple layers with equal dedication– from security systems all the way up through medical research.
I'm sure they’re no ordinary business executives, but then again neither is BioCore Solutions itself – it's not just any old start-up here; their reach goes far beyond anything that has come before them in terms of technological advancement. They are business moguls on steroids.
Well, that's what the internet says.
3
LEO
I'm strolling through the halls of BioCore, chatting away on the phone. They're blabbering on and on about something urgent, but I cut them off as I turn the corner.
"I'll have to call you back," I explain abruptly, not bothering to wait for a response before ending the call and shoving my phone into my pocket.
I pick up the pace, knowing the importance of being punctual for this particular discussion. I finally reach the meeting room and casually push open the door. I scan the room, looking for Jackson and Caleb. And there they are, already seated, twiddling their thumbs--it seems I'm not the only one running behind.
Approaching the table, I give them a nod. "Gents. Is he here yet?"
Jackson nods, gesturing to his phone. "Debbie said they're on their way. Had to set up the security clearance."
Caleb grumbles, "They can do that when they aren't on our time."
I drag a chair out and sit down, adjusting the buttons of my shirt. None of us are particularly happy about the board's choice to hire a bodyguard to accompany us after the interview incident, but we really don't have much of a choice.
Jackson shakes his head in frustration. "It's just ridiculous. We're adults, we can take care of ourselves," he says drily.
I nod, feeling the pit of my stomach grow tight with frustration at the thought of someone following us around everywhere we go - like a shadow that won't leave you alone no matter how hard you try to shake it off. Sure enough, Caleb voices my sentiment perfectly.
"Yeah I don't understand why they think we need someone there all day watching our every move." He continues with an air of resignation in his voice as if this is something he has long accepted and doesn't bother arguing about anymore but still feels resentful towards nonetheless- "We don't need to be babysat."
We all agree on one thing: having a bodyguard is far from ideal for any situation. And yet, here we are once again, subject to someone else's whims. I doubt our critics will make a habit of jumping on the stage of a live-broadcast television show, but what the hell do I know?
My brow furrows as I lean back in my chair, shaking my head with a hint of resignation before finally chiming in, "Guess we'll just have ta suck it up."
