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Narrated by: Lucy Rivers, Teddy Hamilton

Boss of Me

  • Billionaire Romance,
  • Boss/Workplace Romance,
  • Hate to Love,
  • Military Romance

  • Release Date: September 15, 2019

    Patton Fletcher is
    ✔Dangerously sexy, and
    ✔My New Boss.

    My sister says he’s the devil; she says don’t fall for him.
    I say don’t worry—I’m not about to let some arrogant, young CEO derail my dreams.
    Or insult my wardrobe.
    I don’t care about his deep brown eyes or the way the muscle moves in his square jaw when he’s pissed.
    I won’t fall for his charm or how sexy he fills out that suit.

    I said I could resist him.
    I was wrong…

    Raquel Morgan is Trouble.
    She’s stubborn, independent, and a fighter.
    She has long, dark hair, crystal blue eyes, and freckles… Freckles.
    And long, sexy legs.
    And a smart mouth.

    I’ve spent seven years building one of the top companies in Nashville, and I’m not about to let some ambitious, cardigan-wearing new kid distract me from my goals.
    Raquel Morgan won’t tempt me.
    I’m The Boss, and I never lose control…

    (BOSS OF ME is a STAND-ALONE enemies-to-lovers, military romance with an arrogant boss and the feisty woman who steals his heart. No cheating. No cliffhangers.)

    © TLM Productions LLC, 2020


    “Patton Fletcher, meet our new hire. Raquel Morgan is taking over international relations from Taron.”

    My heart stutters in my chest, and all I can think is Wow.

    “From Taron?” The muscle in his square jaw moves, and he looks to the right, towards Taron’s office, as if he can see through the wall. For a moment, I wonder if he can… being the devil and all.

    “So yes, Raquel Morgan…” Sandra repeats herself, leaving the introduction open as she gestures toward me. “Patton Fletcher.”

    “Right. Welcome.” He seems angry.

    I can’t seem to find my voice. I’ve never been in the presence of someone so young yet so formidable in my life.

    His dark hair is swept back from his face in glossy waves that touch the back of his collar. His shoulders are broad, and his biceps strain against the sleeves of the blue blazer he’s wearing.

    He lifts a perfectly elegant hand—long fingers, neat nails—and the black tips of a tattoo peek out from beneath his white cuff. Jesus, take the wheel.

    Our fingers touch, and my panties flood with heat. “How do you do.” My voice is practiced calm, but I feel weak.

    Why didn’t anyone tell me how insanely hot this devil is?

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