(FIRST PRINT) The Tyrant's Secret Safe House: Enemies to Lovers Romance (Secrets Series, Book 1 - Paperback)

FIRST PRINT - LIMITED QUNTITIES

A tyrant boss.
A secret safe house.
And only the sounds of our pleasure... to pass the time…

In my opinion, starting a new career as a financial executive is not all it’s cracked up to be, especially when my boss is a tyrant and a grumpy boss. My gut feelings tell me that enough is enough and I need to leave this job.

Matthew Cohen used to be an old friend. He is mature, good-looking, with chiseled abs, and my CEO. He was the fun, carefree type. Now, his life has changed him into a grump and a tyrant. To pass the time during boring meetings, I fantasize about unwrapping his large package locked away inside his pants.

Natalie says I don’t respect her and my management style is cruel. She is trying to find the old Matthew she used to know, but I am a CEO now and that old Matthew is gone. Yet, there are days when I miss my carefree self.

Before I can quit, an alarm goes off.
Matthew and I end up in his underground secret safe house.
We cannot leave and our situation creates some delicious job perks (between the sheets).

Book One in the Secrets Series.
Enemies to Lovers Adult Romance.

This enemies-to-lovers romance is book one in the Secrets series. No cheating, no cliffhanger. Guaranteed HEA.

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Books in the Series:

• Book 1 The Tyrant's Secret Safe House
• Book 2 The Tyrant's Secret Cabin
• Book 3 The Tyrant's Island Compound
• Book 4 The Ruthless Billionaire Boss
• Book 5 Adrian
• Book 6 Secret Dark Desires

Format: Paperback, Autographed

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Enjoy a Sample from "The Tyrant's Secret Safe House."

“What do you mean you want to leave? You just got here,” Daddy says, an anxious laugh in the current of his voice.

I swish an olive around in my martini glass. “I’ve been here a year and a half.”

“Exactly! You’ve barely had time to settle in and enjoy,” he smiles through the white scruff on his face.

The truth is, I hate Australia. I don’t have the heart to tell him that, though. Daddy built his business from the ground up and reaped the rewards by having his company based here. He loves the sunshine, the nature, and the ocean. “I don’t know if I’ll ever really settle here,” I say, leaning on my elbow, chin in my palm.

“Oh, Natty…” he tuts.

Being called Natty as a forty-three-year-old is simultaneously horrifying and comforting. I’ll always be my dad’s little girl. Some things never change. “I’m serious,” I continue. “I’m not happy here.”

Daddy curls his lips into a knowing grimace. “You’re not letting yourself be happy. You’re still hung up on –”

“Daddy, don’t.”

“I won’t say his name!” he cries, holding up his hands innocently. “I just hate how you’re still….”

We go silent. The restaurant continues to buzz, forks clinking against dishes and polite laughter from neighboring tables. I’ll deny it all day, but Daddy’s right. I’m still hung up on Bryce Howard, my ex. It’s so humiliating, especially now that he’s married. But he’s the whole reason I came out to Australia to work at my dad’s company; I thought it’d be a fresh start– Turning over a new leaf.

Instead, I just feel like a runaway who doesn’t know when to stop.

“I’m not gonna go back for him,” I say softly. “I don’t even have a job back there yet. Who knows how long that’ll take me? Plus, I’m too old to be working for my dad.”

My father clicks his tongue and looks down at the table. I know he likes having me close.

“I need to reclaim what’s mine. I came all the way out here and…left behind so much of what I loved. I think it’ll be good for me.” I take his hand in mine and squeeze it. “Trust me.”

“Oh, I do, I do, Natalie,” he says, clapping his other hand on top of our clasped ones. “You know I do.”

Our eyes meet; his are glassy, but he smiles anyway.

Even with this pall over our dinner, we manage to enjoy ourselves. I cut out earlier than usual so I can start making a game plan to find a new job. After all, an Australia eight pm is an NYC five am. If I get all my ducks in a row, first thing tomorrow, I can start making calls. The finance sector is always teeming with jobs, with turnover being almost constant. But I’ve been around the block too many times to take just any job that stumbles my way. It has to be perfect.

When I get back home to my empty, lifeless flat. I’m invigorated even more. This is the right choice. I don’t have anything here. And I’m ready to have something. I’m ready to move on. For real this time.

I’m up late scheduling emails to various connections I’ve made over the years, each one requesting a phone call and offering times I’m available. Someone’s gotta bite, right? Hopefully. The job market right now seems miserable. Some would call me crazy to step away from a sure job at my dad’s company.

Fine. Call me crazy.

I finally get to bed, head heavy on the pillow, with dreams of hedge funds and quarterly numbers alight in my head. So much possibility.

I’m awoken by the sound of my phone. It’s not my alarm. Not that brazen, shrill sound I always say I’m going to change and never do; It’s my ringtone. I lift my head and slide my eye mask up. My bedroom is still pitch black. “What the fuck….”

I pick up my phone and first clock the name: Matthew Cohen.

My heart flutters. The name Matthew Cohen conjures so many fun memories. We came up together in the corporate sector, doing grunt work at the first firm I worked for. He was funny and vibrant, but was also the hardest worker I know. So, he knew how to party. Last I had heard of him, he had started a securities lending operation. Or something like that.

Before I answer, I clock the time. It’s three fucking AM. I’m no stranger to calls in the middle of the night. People often forget that I’m in Australia. I usually don’t answer, but I’m curious what Matthew Cohen wants from me in the middle of the night.

“Hello?” I answer, croakily.

“Natalie? Is this still your number?”

I smile and rest my head back on my pillow. “Cohen. It’s good to hear from you.”

Matthew lets out a half-laugh. “No one’s called me that in a while.”
“Well, I’m nothing if not consistent. How’ve you been?”

“Uh. Good. Good. Well, actually,” he clears his throat. “I’ve been better. Which is why I’m calling.”

I frown.

“You’re in Australia now, right?”

So, he does know I’m not in the US. He must not care that he’s interrupting my beauty rest. “Mhm. It’s a fat three in the morning here.”

“Listen –” he moves on without missing a beat. “I’ve just parted with my VP. I need a new one, fast. I got word you’re on the ground again looking for a job. What do you think about moving out to LA and working for me?”

A job offer at three in the morning. This is a new one. “Um. Well…”

“I’ll have HR email you the benefits package. We’d of course pay your moving expenses and have a place set up for you while you get settled back in the states.”

This is all very tempting. But I can’t say yes right away; Matthew used to be fun. But everything I’ve heard about him since we’ve worked together has been all red flags. Now, I can’t blame him in the aspect that running your own corporation is a colossal undertaking. I saw my dad through it and Bryce too. It can turn you into a monster if you’re not careful.

However, retention rate at Cohen Securities and Loans is abysmal. I would be his sixth VP in five years. He goes through them like candy in a Pez dispenser, one right after the other. Who is to say he wouldn’t just eat me up after ten months and move on to another gal in his Rolodex he thinks it’s appropriate to call at three in the morning?

Would that really be so bad, though? I mean, who could have predicted I would yield such results in only a few hours? Back in the states, I could revitalize my connections and get back on my feet in nothing flat. Instead of feeling trapped here.

“I’ll give you the day to think about it. I need an answer by end of the day tomorrow, though, so–”

“I’ll do it.” I don’t even ask if the numbers are right; I just have a gut impulse that this is right. This will be good. “For old time’s sake, Cocaine Cohen.”

Matthew’s laugh bubbles up, the old jovial one I remember. “Oh my god, Natalie. I don’t do that anymore.”

“No, of course not. We’re all grown up.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his voice a little darker. “I’ll have a contract over in half an hour.”

I smile. “You work quick, huh?”

“Have to these days. Can you start Monday? I need someone Monday.”

Monday. Four days away Monday. No time to deal with jet lag. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Perfect. I’ll be in touch. Keep your phone on you.”

I sigh. Sounds like I can look forward to more of these late-night talks until I’m back in the states. Oh, joy. “You got it, boss.”

“Mr. Cohen will do just fine, Natalie.”

I raise an eyebrow. He’s pushing our familiarity away. That’s okay. I can handle that. Once I’m in his presence, it’ll be like old times. “Then that’s Ms. Rose to you.”

Matthew hesitates. “Of course. Apologies, Ms. Rose.”

“No apologies necessary. Looking forward to working with you,” I reply genuinely.

“Likewise. Get some rest.”

“Will do. Talk soon.”

We hang up, and I lay back in bed to get that aforementioned rest. But now my brain is buzzing. I had to do NOTHING for this job other than sending a few emails. I’m over the fucking moon. The only thing heavy on my mind is Matthew’s cold demeanor. That fun guy I used to go partying with has to be in there somewhere, doesn’t he?

And, I have to admit, I always had a soft spot for him. When we met, I thought he wasn’t into girls. Turns out he was just in a relationship with his college girlfriend. I’d heard through the grapevine they’d broken up just a few years ago after like fifteen years. Talk about shit luck.

I launch myself out of bed. Three a.m. be damned; I deserve a celebratory drink. I turn on my stereo, loud, blasting through the apartment, and pour myself a spot of brandy.

I spend the rest of one of my last Australian nights dancing and drinking alone, celebrating myself.

I’m a badass bitch. That much is obvious.

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