Novel & Cerita The Boss' Keeper

Maybe it wasn't a good idea pushing her that much in the first place… "You can't die right now, young man. I need you for many years." He is still coughing when he hears Robert Aldridge's voice. He turns around and stands up, smiles at his boss with respect. The high heels sound follows his boss's presence and Mrs. Aldridge enters the meeting room. Even she has that strict expression on her face as always, her doe eyes and plump lips give her an alluring vibe. Theo wonders if she tries to look acidic on purpose, to intimidate the workers around.

The boss asked and there was a hint of irritation in his voice. “Boss… what about the deal with Claire? Can we afford to offend the Masons now?” Jamal asked. "Jamal, between you and I, who is the boss?" “It's you sir." “Good. I want the car to be ready by the time I get downstairs," the boss said and the woman beside him chuckled. “You are sexy and hot," she said as she touched his abs again. He didn't say anything as he took her in his arms and helped her walk outside.

“I only went outside to try and convince the boss to come for karaoke night, just like we agreed to do. By the way? He refused. So I guess he’s discarded me already.” “He… said no?” She speaks after a long pause. I just nod. She sighs. “You know I’m just looking out for you, right? The boss is a womanizer. It might feel like he’s interested in you but he’s also interested in the hundred plus women he’s sneaked into his bed. He covers up well, but sometimes news gets out. Sometimes, I see the women too. He’s not whoever you’ve made him up to be in your head. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Rain said, his voice calm now. “A few reports have now turned into this. Thanks to Silas and whoever masterminded this, it didn't turn bad,” River added, leaning back on the rail. “So… what do you plan to do now? There's not going to be another disposal. Boss needs his barrels; there are no excuses. And… I don't think we can trust Silas again,” River continued. Boss? Who is Boss? Is he their buyer? A lot was going on, and my mind couldn't contain it all. What do they mean by Boss?

And the oldest, Giacomo, grey temples, Roman accent thick as supplì—his own countryman, inside for life since the Banda della Magliana days. They watched Vito the way wolves watch a new dog enter the pen. Giacomo flicked his cigarette away and walked over, slow, no hurry. “Vito Andolini,” he said, voice low. “They told me the Boss finally arrived. Thought you’d be taller.” Vito met his eyes. “They told you wrong. I’m not the boss of anything anymore.” Giacomo smiled without warmth. “In here, everyone’s something. Question is what you’re willing to pay to become it again.”

I blinked rapidly, reading quickly from the paper and back at them. “You'll…” “It's simple, Rebecca. You will be our sex slave. It's not stated there because the paper could get into wrong hands” my boss cut in, calmly. I looked to his wife, her tongue wetting her bottom lip as she looked at me intensely making me swallow hard, my eyes widening before glancing to back at my boss. This wasn't a joke… right? I had forgotten how to breath. ‘A sex slave?’ ‘These things were real?’ My thoughts must have reflected on my face because my boss cleared his throat, throwing his head back to look at his wife who nodded at him in silent communication.

One of the men behind him gripped my arm tightly, like a warning. Then, the leader pressed the barrel of his gun against Hayden’s temple again. “Our boss,” he began calmly, his voice carrying across the ballroom, “wants to show you how easily he could end you… and everyone you care about.” My stomach dropped so hard it felt like I was falling. His boss? Arkon? The man paused deliberately. Then added, almost conversationally, “But he won’t. Not today.” Hayden’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“So don't blame innocent guys.” “Carter!” Frank Moore's voice cut through the office like a rusty knife. My boss loomed over my desk, his cheap suit reeking of cigarettes and… failure. He slapped a folder down hard enough to make my empty coffee cup rattle. “Drop the Z-list crap. I've got your next assignment.” I flipped open the folder. A glossy 8x10 headshot of a man stared back at me, all sharp cheekbones, icy blue eyes, and a smirk that probably made stockbrokers wet their pants.

"The third signatory is someone in this building. Someone who has known about me since before either of you had a reason to. Someone who has been paying me, matching a dead man's payments to a ghost, for four months, and whose name, Miss Vance, is not Preston Blackwood." Nora's hand found mine in the dark. I let it. "Why tell us any of this?" I asked. "You're for sale. Sell." "Because four months ago I took the counter-offer to find out who was making it," he said simply, "and three days ago I watched Preston Blackwood lean over a cleaner and threaten her with a midnight deadline, and I decided I am finished being anyone's leash." He nudged the paper on the step with his shoe. "The final pag

But Sir always knew when I lied. My boss, I typed. I don't know why. I can't stop thinking about him. Long pause. Then: Interesting. Tell me about him. What does he look like? Dark hair. Dark eyes. Sharp features. He's tall. Commanding. Cold, usually, but sometimes he looks at me like— Like what? Like he's seeing something underneath. Something I keep hidden. And does that excite you? The idea that he might see the real you? Yes.