Romantic Comedy, Royal Romance, Romantic Suspense
Date Published: July 9, 2021
What if your boss was a prince?…
The week I got fired, I landed a government job in Paris.
Go, Lucie!
The bad news? My boss, Max Delaroche, looks like a remastered Greek god, as dazzling as the alarm in my head.
Whoop, whoop, whoop! Run while you can!
But the man intrigues me.
Wildly charismatic, he has no office savvy. He skips important staff meetings because they bore him to death. He won’t even say where he’s from!
Instead, he keeps staring at me like he’s on a treasure hunt and I have the map.
Who is this guy, and what exactly does he do here?
Could he be an undercover cop investigating government agencies?
Haha. I’m très hilarious.
If a cop can afford bespoke suits, then I’m a princess.
You shall call me Your Royal Highness, Lucie la Magnifique!
Looking for a romantic comedy that’s laugh-out-loud funny, steamy, and full of thrills? Look no further than The Boss Prince, book 1 in Alix Nichols’s new IT’S RAINING ROYALS series!
From
Chapter 1
She opens her
reticule, whips out her smartphone, and pulls up what looks like a still frame
from some CCTV footage.
To my quizzical
look, she says, “Watch,” and taps Play.
A young woman stalks
out of an ugly concrete building, banging the door behind her. About twenty
meters down the street, she halts, spins around and barrels back toward the
building. Baying, “You, jerk! You, miserable nincompoop!” she kicks the
graffitied wall. Way too hard, by the looks of it. With a grimace of pain
distorting her reddened face, she grabs the foot that had connected with the
wall and spends the next few seconds stroking it through the flimsy sneaker
while jumping on her other foot.
“You think you hurt
me?” she yells at the closed door, still wincing. “You think you broke my
heart? I despise you!”
Whoever is inside
doesn’t respond in any audible or visible manner.
“I believed in you!”
the woman shouts, letting go of her foot. “I thought you were a good person, a
decent man. I thought you could handle criticism. But you’re just another
douchebag!”
Balling her hands
into fists, she swings as if intending to punch the door, hesitates and glances
at her knuckles. It’s a low-res video but good enough to determine that it’s a
security door, steel most likely. In her place, I’d be having second thoughts
about punching it, too.
“Grrr!” Shaking with
frustration, she kicks the door instead.
Perhaps because
she’d braced herself for impact, she seems to better control the resulting
pain, which emboldens her to kick again, and again until she does it at an
angle too awkward to keep her balance. She lands on her bum. Cursing, she gets
up and gives the door a few more angry kicks.
The “douchebag”
inside makes no perceptible move.
Despite the wild
inappropriateness and the involuntarily comical effect of her public display, I
find myself sympathizing with this crazy chick. Which is weird, because, having
broken up with my fair share of ladies, I should relate more to the man she’s
besieging than to her. Yet, instead of cringing, I’m smiling at her spunk.
Also, I’m ogling her
slender, perfectly proportioned figure that cancels out her ridiculous actions
and dull outfit. Those lovely, firm tits give her worn, badly cut tee a shot at
glory. As for that round high-perched ass, it lifts her trashy jeans all the
way to the Cannes red carpet.
It’s hard to make
out the individual features of her face, but the overall form of her face
framed by wavy glossy hair looks exceedingly pleasing.
The video ends.
About the Author
**To read a rom-com and a sci-fi novelette FREE, visit: alixnichols.com/freebies (just copy and paste into your browser).**
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