Some serious overtime

If you're in the UK, OVERTIME IN THE BOSS'S BED is out on shelves right now!

Here's a snippet from Chapter 2 to tempt you:

“Cal?”
“Yeah?”
He heard the faintest hiss of breath, before Rhys said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Callum disconnected in a hurry, the gut-wrenching twist of sorrow deep in his gut telling him otherwise.
It was his fault, every shocking, mind-numbing moment of that night fourteen years ago.
He could forget most days, chase away his demons by submerging himself in business until the figures blurred before his eyes but it was nights like this when it all came rushing back in an agonising avalanche of horrific memories.
Rubbing a weary hand across his eyes, he shoved the phone back in his pocket, turned, scanned the crowd for the blonde.
She’d vanished.
He wanted to pick up where they’d left off, to continue their flirtation. She’d been a firecracker, he could tell. All sass and mouth. Just the type of distraction he needed right now.
Tonight, he wanted to forget.
Everything.
He’d thrown the job offer out there as a challenge, though a small part of him hoped she’d take him up on it. He needed a fill-in PA desperately, the only temp agency he trusted had no one available for eight weeks and he was seriously floundering.
Even a beautiful dancer with a smart mouth, a movie star name and a body built for ballroom rather than clerical would be better than his current predicament.
He scanned the crowd, the entrance, finally spotting her beneath a towering indoor plant near the lobby.
He should leave, head back to his hotel, find solace in pricey single malt Scotch. Instead, he found his feet veering towards her and at that moment she glanced up, tossed her dirty-blonde hair and pinned him with a curious stare.
The impact of those large blue eyes slugged him all the way to his toes.
She glowed with vitality, from the tips of her silver painted toe nails to the top of her mussed, just-out-of-bed hair.
She wasn’t his type, far from it. But there was something about her, something about her boldness that reached to him on an instinctual level.
“Is it too much to hope you’re waiting for me?”
“Way too much.”
“I asked you to hang around for me back there.”
Shrugging, she flicked a less-than-impressed stare his way. “Guess I don’t always do as I’m told, so sue me.”
Oh yeah, she was a firecracker all right, exactly what he needed tonight: hot, feisty, a world away from wallowing in memories he’d rather forget.
“Yet you’re still here?”
She cocked her head to one side, studying him. “I was waiting to say goodbye to a friend but I think she ditched me for one of those hunky waiters.”
“What? Those fake-tanned, muscle-bound Neanderthals?”
Her glossed lips curved into a smile and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen: full lips, even white teeth, a smile that could make a man forget where he was and why.
“Naked himbos not your thing?”
“Himbos?”
“Male equivalent of bimbo.”
She rolled her eyes, her tolerant expression reading ‘don’t you know anything?’ as he chuckled.
“Looks like she’s a no-show.”
She pushed off from the monstrous terracotta pot where she’d propped, partially hidden amid the lush foliage of a palm, and it hit him all over again how utterly beguiling this woman was.
It had little to do with the sexily mussed blonde hair hanging half way down her back, the wide shimmering blue eyes or the saucy smile curving her lips, more to do with the aura of vibrancy that shimmered and danced around her, intriguing for a guy like him who focussed on business all the time.
He’d never met anyone like her, only dated well-dressed, well-heeled, well-put-together socialites who played things cool.
Starr Merriday was hot, the antithesis of every woman he’d ever been with and he couldn’t walk away.