My Boss’s Husband: A Forbidden Romance
My Boss’s Husband
A Forbidden Romance
Cassandra Dee
Copyright © 2020 by Cassandra Dee
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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To all the girls who’ve loved someone taboo.
This one’s for you!
Also By Cassandra Dee and Friends
The Forbidden Fun Series
My Sister’s Husband
My Mom’s Husband
My Best Friend’s Dad
My Son’s Girlfriend
My Mom’s Fiancé
My Neighbor’s Husband
My Best Friend’s Husband
My Brother’s Teammates
My Fiancé’s Twin Brothers
The Neighbor Next Door
My Dad’s College Friends
My Bully’s Dad
My Sister’s Boyfriend
The Billionaire’s Pet
The Soldier Next Door
My Boss’s Father
The Frat Boys Next Door
My Dad’s Business Partner
My Boss’s Husband
The Falling Series
Falling for My Dad’s Best Friend
Falling for My Boyfriend’s Dad
Falling for My Son’s Best Friend
Falling for My Beautiful Ward
Falling for My Enemy
The Double Series
Double Dare
Double Exposure
Double Love
Double Desire
Double Trouble
Double Candy Canes
The Dirty Series
The Dirty Hotel King
My Friend’s Dirty Uncle
My Dirty Professor
The Dirty Headmaster
Sold to Him
His Filthy Game
The Dirty Set-Up
The Billionaires Club
Sold at the Auction
Serving Him
Buy Me
Virgin for Sale
Anonymous Encounters
The #BABYCRAZY Series
#BABYMACHINE
#BABYMAKER
#BABYFEVER
#BABYCRAZY
In Love with Menage
All the Best Men
Their Secret
It’s a Deal
Just One Night
Just One Night, Vol 1
Just One Night, Vol 2
Just One Night, Vol 3
Just One Night, Vol 4
The Manning Brothers
Just One More
Just One Inch
Just Two Much
Just The Tip
The Dial-A-Date Series
The President My Lover
Client No. 6
Bad Cop
Reverse Harem
Seven Brothers of Sin
Six Ways to Sin
Three Rockstars of Sin
Shared
Shared, Vol. 1
Shared, Vol. 2
Shared, Vol. 3
Shared, Vol. 4
The Claiming Her Series
Claiming Her In The Ring
Claiming Her In The Pool
Claiming Her At The Bar
Claiming Her As A Daddy
Claiming Her In the Forest
The Boss Series
My Boyfriend’s Boss
Pregnant by My Boss
Pregnant by the CEO
The His Series
His Captive
His Woman
His Love
His Christmas Gift
Daddy Academy
Daddy Academy
Standalones
Don’t Fall For Me
Tie Me Up Daddy
Paying My Boyfriend’s Debt
Beg Me
Prison Fling
Cocky AF
Iron Soldier
Buck Me Cowboy
Small Town Secrets
The President and the Starlet
His Baby
Buying a Bride
The Billionaire’s Kitten
Closer
Loving the Babysitter
Daddy’s Rich Enemy
Daddy’s Pretty Baby
Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: My Dad’s Business Partner
Sneak Peek: The Frat Boys Next Door
About the Author
About This Book
Addy’s a young designer working at the House of Steele, a high fashion atelier. She’s always had a crush on Marcus Steele, the CEO of the company because of his dark good looks and sculpted body. Except there’s one problem: he’s married to Marissa, Addy’s boss.
* * *
Marcus is divorcing his wife. He’s sick and tired of the cold-hearted Marissa, with her icy demeanor and frosty attitude. He craves the warm, innocent Addy instead, a junior designer with sassy ways and irresistible curves. But what happens when his ex comes back? Will Marcus choose his former flame, or will he go with the new temptress in town?
* * *
Va-va-voom! It’s old meets new in this saucy tale of a sassy girl who finds love at the office. Addison’s feisty and Marcus craves her curvy body, but is it enough when their relationship is taboo? Read and find out! No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always an HEA for my readers. You’ll love the story, I promise! Xoxo, Cassandra
1
Addy
* * *
I hum to myself as I cut a strip of fabric. This cool blue is going to look great in the new dress I’m designing for the House of Steele, the clothing company where I work.
My boss, Marissa, doesn’t let me listen to music while I’m working because she says music is distracting, so I don’t have any accompaniment. I tried to tell her that music elevates the spirit and can spark creative freedom, but she doesn’t buy it. It’s annoying, but I don’t hate her because Marissa will always be Marissa. However, sometimes I wish she’d pull that stick out of her ass. It’s unseemly for a designer to be so uptight about something like music.
I hold up a strip of fabric. I’m not using a pattern because I haven’t developed it yet, and I’m just working free-form. This is going to be so cool. Maybe, I’ll drape it on the bias and then put in a high-low hem, which I’m really excited about. For girls shorter in stature like me, this kind of hem makes your legs look much longer than they are, while the waist is cinched to make you look skinnier. The neckline is sweetheart, which I’ve never done before, but I know from experience that these types of necklines tend to push your boobs up and out. This is going to be amazing.
But then I stop for a moment, feeling exhausted suddenly. The clothing business is a lot of work, and even if this is my dream job, it takes a lot out of me. I’m one of the last people at the office, and the large space is almost empty. We don’t have desks. Instead, we have work tables with stools pulled up around them. Swatches of fabric are scattered everywhere, along w
ith dressmaker’s dummies and some sewing machines towards the back.
But this dress is going to be one of the best I’ve ever designed, and I’m determined to make it work. Of course, I’d never fit into my own creation because the House of Steele doesn’t design clothes for girls who look like me. I can’t fit into any of our clothes, period. Not when my hips are too wide, my stomach a bit too flabby, and my boobs too big.
It sucks, but I tell myself that this is just how high fashion operates. The House of Steele is an aspirational brand, and unfortunately, that doesn’t include big girls like me. No one sees it as “aspirational” to be curvy. They just want to be stick thin like the models in magazines.
Still, I try. I’ve talked to Marissa about the size-ism in our industry, explaining that there’s so much untapped potential in the plus-sized market, but she just laughed. Literally, laughed. Fashion designers don’t make clothes for those people, is what she said. I wanted the Earth to swallow me up because obviously, I’m one of those people. Yet I didn’t say anything. I merely nodded and went back to my stool, smarting with pain. I need this job, and swallowed hard even as my hands gripped the edges of the table with hurt. I’ll survive.
After all, I was lucky to land at the House of Steele right after design school. Most people have to start as window dressers or even secretaries, but Marissa and her husband took one look at my portfolio and decided to hire me on the spot. I’ve been here for a couple years as a junior designer now. I’m proud of the work that we do, and I’d like to move up the ranks, even if it’s tough never being able to wear my own clothes. Oh well. I tell myself that Karl Lagerfeld never wore any of Chanel’s clothes either, and he spent thirty years with the company. This job looks great on my resume, and that’s what’s important.
“Okay, Addy, take a look at this.”
I jump, startled. I’d forgotten that my coworker, Jemima, is here with me. We’re probably the last two people in the office, come to think of it. Jemima laughs.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s okay. What did you want to show me?”
“Right! Look at this dress I made for next year’s resort collection. What do you think?”
Jemima holds up a turquoise dress with sheer fabric draped over the skirt. The bodice is decorated with lace, but not too much. It’s understated and tasteful.
“This is amazing, Jemima. It’s beautiful.”
Jemima blushes. “Thanks, Addy. Mind if I try it on and you can do a walk around to check the fit?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much!”
Jemima disappears into the bathroom and I smile. The blonde girl’s been a good friend to me since we both started working at House of Steele a couple of years ago. We’re both junior designers but the difference is that Jemima is traditionally pretty and can wear our designs. I wonder sometimes if it gives her a leg up because she “fits” the House of Steele’s vision. Well, promotions will be coming soon, so I guess I’ll find out.
When Jemima returns, I’m in awe. My friend looks absolutely gorgeous, the dress swishing about her gracefully.
“Wow, you nailed it! I really like how the skirt just barely touches your ankles.”
She smiles happily, flipping her wavy hair back.
“Thanks, I figured it would look good with heels, but fine with flats, too. For the resort collection, it’s really important to go from day to night. Then again, I hate those torture-traps they call stilettos anyways.”
I laugh. “Me, too. I hate heels.”
She grins.
“I know, I love sneakers, and I’m so glad we live in New York, where women wear sneakers all the time. But what about the back of the dress? How does it look on my butt?”
It might seem weird to check out your friend’s ass, but it’s normal around here because sizing is very important. My co-worker twirls around and I stare at her tiny ass, frowning a bit. Then I smile.
“It looks great. The zipper falls high enough that it doesn’t make an awkward bump but low enough so that it’s flattering. I think Marissa is going to love it, too.”
Jemima beams.
“Thank you again, Addy. I hope she does like it. I’m going to change but I want to see what you’re working on when I come out!” she calls.
The blonde disappears and I turn back to the bodice that I’ve been working on. The skirt is finished already, so my sample is nearly done. I just have to finish hemming the neckline, and then wah-lah! I’ll be ready for a big reveal.
Jemima returns just as I’m finishing my seam, and I hold the dress up for her to take a look.
“That’s so pretty! Do you want me to stick around so that we can see how it looks? I’m happy to try it on.”
I smile.
“No, you don’t have to stay. It’ll take me a while longer to finish it enough to put on a human model. The dressmaker’s dummy is enough for now. Maybe tomorrow?”
Jemima smiles again.
“Up to you. I don’t mind staying.”
I shake my head.
“It’s really fine. It’s late. You should get home!”
She flashes me a dazzling smile.
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow, girlfriend.”
Jemima grabs her bag and squeezes my shoulder as she leaves. Without her, suddenly the sewing room is awfully quiet. I’m the only one here, but I still don’t turn on any music. I feel like Marissa would find out somehow and reprimand me.
Instead, I go back to humming my favorite song as I finish the dress. Marissa doesn’t require me to work overtime. In fact, she tells me to leave at six like everyone else, but I like to get to a specific closing point once I get started. Otherwise, it can make it really hard to pick up the next day.
I put the finishing touches on the hem and hold the fabric up with a critical eye. It’s fine for now, and with a satisfied smile, I begin to fold the material. I’ll leave it at my work desk, ready for next steps tomorrow.
But as I pack up, suddenly a weird noise sounds out from the back. What is that? I go completely still, trying to figure out the mystery, but then it stops.
Fuck. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here, unless we’re being burgled. Is that what it was? A criminal?
A chill runs down my spine. Maybe Jemima forgot to lock the door behind her, and now I’m about to be attacked. Prickles run down my spine, but then I shake my head. She’d never do that because she’s no amateur. We all know that we have to keep the door locked. Not only does it protect our employees, but it protects our property because otherwise, anyone could walk in otherwise and steal our designs.
I know I’m safe, and yet my heart continues to race. I try to breathe and calm myself down. This building is old, rickety, and sometimes it makes weird sounds. It’s probably just the pipes or the building settling for the night. There’s nothing to be worried about.
But as I sling my purse over my shoulder, another noise hits my ears. There’s a creaking sound, and maybe some moaning, like a ghost begging me to release her from a locked attic. Oh shit! Where is the sound coming from? This can’t be happening. I’m alone on our floor, and moreover, I don’t believe in ghosts. There’s some logical explanation for the ruckus I’m hearing.
A normal person would run for the front door and escape, but instead, I grit my teeth. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I grab my purse more securely, and then stand up. Hopefully fortune favors the bold.
Slowly, I make my way to the back of our floor. It’s dimly lit, and there’s a narrow hallway which leads to management’s offices. The floors are polished concrete, and my footsteps make a soft shuffling sound. I try not to breathe.
Then another ghostly moan rings out, and I pause, the hair on my arms standing straight up. Oh shit. Is this Mr. Rochester’s wife signaling for me to save her? I’m hardly Jane Eyre, but that’s what it reminds me of.
Finally, I’m standing before a locked door in the very back. This is Marcus Steele�
�s office, and to tell the truth, I’ve never gone inside. Marcus is the CEO of our company, and he runs the House of Steele along with my boss, Marissa. This space is sacrosanct, and I’ve only seen high level executives enter.
But then the moan comes again and my heart pounds in my chest. What if someone’s in his office trying to steal the company’s property? Our designs are all on his computer. Some of them are trademarked, but some of them aren’t yet. Quite a few of our latest dresses are top secret, to be revealed during the next fashion week.
“Stop being a coward,” I whisper to myself. “There’s no one in there. And if there is, then you have to prevent them from stealing our stuff!”
Trembling a bit, I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it slightly to the right. Oh god, I hope I don’t get busted. Or rather, I hope I do so that I don’t have to confront this thief on my own.
But then my jaw drops and my eyes go wide.
Oh shit. There’s someone in the office, alright. Or rather, there are two someones because my eyes alight on my boss, Marissa, lying on her back with her legs wide open. She’s moaning and pinching her nipples, her eyes closed with ecstasy, as her husband Marcus drills her roughly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants musically before erupting into a high-pitched wail. “Marcuuusss!”
But he’s not done yet. His smile is sinister as pulls out all the way and shifts her ass around, trying to get a better angle. At that moment, I see his tool, and literally gasp. His cock is massive, at least nine inches long and as thick as my wrist. How is Marissa, a tiny woman, taking all of that? Would I be able to fit him better?