Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
No employee is allowed to resign before this company takeover is finalized. Your new CEO—the man who now officially owns you and your time—may terminate anyone at his discretion, for any reason.
Translation: I’m trapped working under the most ruthless egomaniac on the planet.
My previous boss believed in lunch breaks, basic human decency, and saying the words “thank you.”
But this new man…Mr. Harrison 'I-Think-I-Own Manhattan' Cross?
He’s a controlling tyrant in a three-piece suit who thinks the words “sleep,” “rest,” and “vacation” are the worst words in the dictionary.
I told myself I’d survive him if I just kept my head down, did exactly what he said, and never, ever, make eye contact.
But this bastard keeps changing the rules—and somehow the “final” takeover deadline keeps moving farther away.
When I finally can’t take anymore—when I’m snapping within an inch of my life—he makes me an offer.
An offer that sounds way too good to be true…
He promises me that it isn’t.
But the moment the ink dries, the “final terms” become terribly clear
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
ANDREA
If you’re reading this story, you’re three hours too late.
While you were salivating over the sexy bastard on the cover, I was crouched in the shadows of Cross International’s boardroom, counting down the seconds before committing a murder.
The moment the last terrified employee clocked out, I slipped out of the closet—extension cord in hand—and did the world a favor by strangling Harrison Cross.
You’re welcome.
Please send gifts to my prison cell—preferably coffee, ramen noodles, and a strong Wi-Fi signal.
Thanks to me, my coworkers will no longer have to suffer through a man who thinks his presence is “a present.” They’re officially done putting up with an arrogant asshole who schedules meetings at inhumane hours—all while bending me over his desk and lecturing about “personal boundaries.”
I’m pretty sure his handprint is still on my ass…
There will never be another “Thank you for your attention to this issue” email in the wee hours of the morning. No more heated stares that make me question my every thought, and no more intense nights in his office where the faint, professional line between us blurs and burns within seconds.
Then again, a girl can dream.
Everything above was ripped straight from the pages of my personal revenge fantasy.
I just wish reality had actually let me write it.
Unfortunately, all I can do now is redraft the past few months in utter shame.
I’m internally screaming at the silly heroine who can’t stop making terrible decisions—especially the one where she trusts the gorgeous and conceited billionaire with deep emerald eyes, impeccably tailored suits, and a permanent “I dare you” smirk on his seductive lips.
If I’d known what I know now, I swear I would’ve walked away long before it got to this point—long before he forced me to sign away the final terms of my life.
At least, that was the case before he called me tonight…
ONE
HARRISON
Six Months Ago
Before she signed away “the final terms” of her life.
The last time I flew out of New York City, I vowed never to land my plane in this place again.
I’d done all I could do there—bought and sold companies, made a killing on Wall Street, built and burned almost every bridge I ever crossed.
For eight years, I’d kept my distance, letting my reputation as “Mr. Cutthroat” and “Mr. Steal Your Company” spread to other cities.
Seattle. Miami. Los Angeles.
To anyone who actually believed the words the journalists wrote about me, they were all “victims” of The Cross Effect, a phrase so infamous that Webster’s was considering adding it to their dictionary.
Alas, my anti-New York stance changed one night last year, when an elderly CEO called me with one hell of a deal for his company: six hundred million dollars for a coffee shop that only rivaled Starbucks—the very place I actually despised—and a chance to return to my place as the top billionaire in Manhattan.
Then again…
I looked down at the stack of open lawsuits I needed to sign off on by the end of this flight.
Pushing up the window shade, I clicked my pen and started reading through the newest onslaught of people who wanted to sue me.
Mr. Cross belittled an employee so terribly she cried herself into a two-week coma. (She also claims that Mr. Cross’s “demanding hours” and “distracting looks” endangered her sex life.)
Mr. Cross caused severe emotional damage & trauma by insulting a Bugatti salesman for wearing “a cheap-ass suit.”
Mr. Cross sneakily purchased Company A in good faith, but fired every employee days later after purchasing its competitor, Company B.
Okay, I might be guilty of this last one…
Maybe.
Checking the “might consider paying for this one” box, I made it through thirty more cases before needing a break.
“Can you please just settle this second-degree burn case with Leighton Taylor?” My advisor, Aaron, plopped into the seat across from me.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re racking up legal fees for no reason, and you’re not going to win any money.”
“It’s not about the money.” I looked at him. “It’s the principle. People need to learn to stop suing me in hopes of getting a big payday.”
“That’s not why people sue you, and Miss Taylor is only asking for a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Only?” I arched a brow.
“You did accidentally spill your morning coffee on her, and it’s not like that amount of money affects you.”
“First of all,” I said, closing the files, “I’m glad you said ‘accident,’ because that’s exactly what it was. I even offered to pay her nonexistent medical bills with a year’s worth of therapy, because that’s what this woman actually needs.”
“Harrison…”
“Second of all—” I refused to buy into any emotional games. “It was an iced coffee, so how the hell did she get burned?”
He smiled. “No third of all?”
“Of course, there is,” I said. “Third of all, she should be apologizing to me for wasting my time.”
“Right…” He rolled his eyes. “I just think that now would be a good time to show a bit of goodwill, to help your reputation. Don’t you care about your legacy?”