Grumpy billionaire boss,
admired author and… dead…
At least that’s what it says in his obituary (I might have added the part about being grumpy).
He’s definitely a handsome, self-centered jerk, but I don’t think he’s so drop-dead gorgeous it killed him. Close, but not quite. I don’t know why anyone would be obsessed with his grouchy character or his annoyingly seductive Scottish accent.
The one thing I do know better than anyone else is his writing. And that obituary was written by him.
The other thing is, our once successful publishing company really depends on his next book if we want to keep our jobs.
So I do what every dedicated and desperate employee would do: I track Mr. Bossman and his manuscript down. Big city loft, small town villa, fancy mountain cabin, I leave no headstone unturned until I find his too-handsome-for-his-own-good-face and force him to give us what is contractually ours. I will beg if I have to, but I will not leave his side, no matter how torturous it might be for either of us.
After all, my new CEO promises me to publish my own book if I succeed.
So I do whatever I have to do, even if that means I’ll actually have to take him out… one way or another.