There’s Something About Her (Book 2: A Steamy Manhattan Billionaire Boss Romance)

Enemies-to-lovers billionaire boss romance in NYC! Maggie faces her high school bully turned irresistible CEO in this steamy family saga installment.

Dear Patty Welch,

Thank you for–everything. I appreciate learning what I have under your tutelage.
I hereby resign effective immediately.

Sincerely,
Magnolia Conroy

What I really want to say is, “Thank you for teaching me that bona fide mean, nasty, and insecure bitches exist in the world. If I ever had any doubts, well, you cured them.”
I’ve read this letter a million times. I wrote it six months ago. One day, I’m going to hand it to Patty, walk out, and let my finances—and thereby my life—fall to pieces.
“What’s going on, little Magnolia Bud?” my cousin Charlie says as he flops down beside me and lifts his foot onto his knee.
I turn up my nose because he smells like the inside of a keg and looks like an unshaven, red-eyed hobo in a sloppy suit. “Charlie,” I mutter. I wish he would’ve chosen to sit elsewhere.
I hate being called Magnolia, which he’s aware of. I prefer the flower exploding through this humongous space. My other cousin, Charlie’s brother, is getting married. Belmont’s bride is named Daisy, hence the daisies.
“Why the hell did I show up for this?” Charlie grumbles as he rolls his eyes around the room, viewing it. “Goddamn daisies everywhere.” It’s no secret he’s in love with his brother’s soon-to-be wife. But in truth, the yellow flowers aren’t a bad touch at all.
Belmont and Daisy wanted to take their vows against the Manhattan sunset—at 8:20 p.m. approximately—which is twenty minutes away. We’re fifty-three stories high, and this room takes up the entire floor. The walls are glass, and I feel as if we’re sitting in a garden on a perfect early evening.
Inside the huge room, near the east windows, is a makeshift duck pond that flows into a waterfall to the south and a field of daisies to the north. Twinkling white and yellow lights are tastefully placed throughout the room, and the frames of our chairs are made of quartz. The seat and back cushions are golden silk and patterned with little daisies.
And the guest list is bloated. There are at least three hundred people, and every single person looks as if he or she’s stepped out of GQ or Elle, all except me. I’m just a pale-as-a-ghost, limp-haired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated marketing assistant who works for the devil incarnate.
Belmont, who we call Jack, rented a cruise ship for the reception, and he’s given all the guests rooms to sleep off the monumental celebration he’s got planned. But I’ll have to skip it because my boss wouldn’t give me two days off. She wants me in the office tomorrow at six a.m. sharp to prepare for the Black Marble presentation.
The reception ship will sail tonight from the North River Pier in Manhattan and dock by seven p.m. tomorrow evening in Vineyard Haven. Jack has arranged to fly everyone back home from Martha’s Vineyard. There will be lots of dancing and music performed by popular bands, but Jack wouldn’t tell me who they were because it’s a surprise to Daisy. He’s gone gaga over this woman, but I’m not surprised. He’s not the douchebag that Charlie is.
“You look like shit, Magnolia,” Charlie comments, blowing his horrible breath in my face.
“Grow up, Chuck,” I snap.
“No disrespect, Mags. I’m only making an observation.”
“Whatever.” He’s such a douche.
“This is a shotgun wedding. You know she’s pregnant. What a way to trap him,” a very tall woman with a lot of bronze hair says in a dull, cynical tone. She’s talking to the freakishly thin girl who came in with her, but everyone in a five-foot radius can hear her. “How long have they known each other? Five minutes?”
That’s when I realize I’m sitting with the bitter wedding-day gang. I scoot to the edge of my seat to see if any chairs are available. There are a few empty ones in the back, but I don’t want to sit that far away.
Charlie, still slouching, leans forward to wave to the bitter woman next to me. “Mandy Hill.”
She grunts and rolls her eyes. “Great. It’s Charlie. You should’ve told your future sister-in-law to pull back on the daisies. Can you say Bridezilla?”
Now I recognize her. She’s Mandy Hill, the actress. I’m waiting for Charlie to correct her. He knows the explosion of daisies was Jack’s doing.
Instead, he says, “You know, if you want to get back at him for not realizing what he lost, we can find a room and you know…” He grins and pokes his fist back and forth.
I’m disgusted and squirm uncomfortably. This is just my luck.
“Been there, done that, doesn’t work,” Mandy replies to my utter shock.
Suddenly, I can’t believe I’m sitting between the two of them. Thank God the full ensemble band starts playing a dramatic piece that sounds like the music from a suspenseful scene in a movie.
“Welcome to the big day!” Jack shouts from the rear.
The entire room turns to see. In a snap, I’ve gone from feeling dread at being sandwiched between Charlie and Mandy to curiosity at hearing Jack at the back of the room—isn’t the groom supposed to be at the altar? Now I’m smiling, enthralled by the sight of Jack holding the most gorgeous bride in the world.
“Get the hell out of here,” Mandy mutters.
Charlie makes a sound similar to a pig snorting and whips his face forward, refusing to watch the spectacle.
The wedding has officially started. Jack takes long, strong strides down a white carpet that lights up as he advances. There are gasps of awe and then applause at the weird special effect. Daisy giggles and buries her face in his neck. She says something to him, and he tosses his head back, laughs, and stops before reaching the platform where the minister waits. In front of God and all eyes in attendance, he tongues the hell out of her.
I sour my expression. It’s going on and on and on—and on.
“I really truly hate her,” Mandy mumbles.