Copyright © 2019 by London James
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Boss I Love To Hate
London James
Description
To the Boss I Love to Hate,
1.) I hate that you make me come at your every beck and call.
2.) I hate your gorgeous cocky smile, and how you don’t know me at all.
3.) I hate the way you stare at me as if I was your most precious thing.
4.) I hate your expensive Italian suits.
5.) I hate our one-night fling.
6.) I hate that you’re always wrong, but your ego is too big to see it.
7.) I hate how awkward you acted, when I told you I was pregnant.
8.) I hate how you crept into my heart, and how deeply you cared for me.
9.) Lastly, even though you represent everything I hate…
I hate that I fell for you just like every other girl you know.
Sawyer West… I love you, and I hate that I love you.
If only I could be certain you’re no longer the boy from college I once knew.
With our baby girl on the way, could we truly make us work?
If only we weren’t so different, then maybe things could be so different…
P.S.- I still hate working for you.
Berlin Roth
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Broken Hero (Sneak Peek)
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Chapter One Berlin
“Great,” I mutter as I stare at the ‘Out of Order’ sign taped to the elevator door. “Third time this month.”
“Shit breaks down,” comes the voice behind me. “Whaddya want me to do about it?”
I turn and stare at Lou, the building’s super, and have to fight like hell to keep from rolling my eyes. Lou is a tall beanpole of a man who seems to have a constant sheen of sweat on his face. He’s in his sixties, the wisps of hair he has on his head are iron gray, and deep lines are etched into his face. He’s got the red, watery eyes and spider veined nose of an alcoholic, and the demeanor of a pit bull with a toothache. Other than that, he’s a pleasant guy.
As a human being, Lou is next to useless. As a super, he’s even more useless than that. He resents having to repair anything in the building and will only do it when forced to. And even then, he does half-assed, shoddy work. The elevator, which is always busting down, is prime evidence that the man does not like to do his job.
“Gee, I don’t know, Lou – fix it maybe?” I snap.
“I fixed it,” he fires back. “It’s you people who can’t stop breaking it.”
“Maybe if you fixed it right the first time then –” I bite off the rest of my reply, take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You know what? Forget it. Please get the elevator fixed.”
I hear him grumbling under his breath as I adjust the bag on my shoulder as well as the two sacks of groceries I’m carrying and head up the stairs, my irritation raising my blood pressure to dangerous levels. Granted, this isn’t one of the fancy and trendy neighborhoods around Manhattan, but for what I pay in rent for this place, I should be able to expect certain things – like functioning elevators and not getting a bunch of flak when we need things in our apartments fixed.
I know I’m not the only one to have the same complaint – or the only one to complain about Lou. But the owner of the building doesn’t really give a damn about the tenants, and he likes the fact that Lou does everything on the cheap, so he’s never going to do anything about him.
Which means that I – and the other residents in the building – are going to need to get used to lugging our groceries up the stairs. Given that, I’m grateful I only have to trudge up to the fifth floor and not the tenth like some of the folks that live in this building. I’m just grateful we’re not in the heat of summer right now. Summertime in New York is an exercise in torture. A five-floor hike with arms full of heavy grocery bags makes it even worse.
By the time I reach the landing for my floor, I’m out of breath, and my arms are screaming in agony. I think I’m in pretty decent shape, but I’m a runner – I’m not built for powerlifting heavy sacks up a thousand stairs.
With a sigh, I walk down the hall and set my groceries down, then fish my keys out of my bag. The door opens before I can get my key into the lock, and my cousin Nadia gives me a smile that looks a bit strained.
“Hey,” I greet her. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries,” she replies, grabbing the bags of groceries and carrying them inside.
“How is he today?” I ask as I follow her into the kitchen.
She shrugs as she begins putting the food away. But I get the impression she’s doing that just to avoid looking at me. Finally, she turns to me slowly, and I see the sadness written across her face.
“It wasn’t a very good day,” she admits.
“Are you okay? Did he –”
“No, nothing like that,” she interrupts softly. “I just don’t know what to do when he – I just – I feel so helpless.”
I step over and pull Nadia into a tight embrace, and not for the first time, feel terrible for getting her involved with this. She’s family of course,
