To My Arrogant Boss (The Inappropriate Bachelors #2) - J. S. Cooper

Prologue

Tate

To Mr. Tate Howard,

You are quite possibly the most infuriating, annoying, grumpy man I’ve ever met in my life. I know you think that you’re God’s gift to women, but I have a secret to let you in on: you’re not. You’re God’s gift to yourself. Get over your wannabe cool surfer self and grow up. I thought it was time that someone addressed your big head and told you straight to your face that you're not all that. Just because you have an Ivy League education doesn’t mean you’re the smartest man in the world. In fact, I’m not even sure if you would have gotten in if you didn’t have rich parents. Yes, I went there. Not every woman wants to sleep with you, and I’m sure you’re not even good in bed. And I’m someone that would know.

Your Secret Not Admirer

I stared at the letter that I’d found in my gym bag and read it twice before I burst out laughing. This was the first time I’d ever received an anonymous letter. Granted, it wasn’t from a secret admirer, but it was still someone that I had affected enough to make them write to me.

I grinned to myself as I folded the letter back up and put it back in the envelope.

“At least they know I have a big head.”

Chapter 1

Tate

“Another man on a chain.”

I put my phone back in the slot in front of me as I continued to run on the treadmill. I ran ten miles every morning, sometimes in the street and sometimes in the gym. I looked around the gym and nodded at the bulky guy two treadmills down from me. He was stocky, but he wasn’t cut like me. A cute blonde chick was on a recumbent bike to the left, and I gave her a little nod as she glanced over at me, yet again. She’d looked at me more times than I could count and I knew she was hoping I’d strike up a conversation with her. I’d thought about it when I’d arrived at the gym, but now I was too annoyed.

I picked up my phone again and stared at the text message from my college friend and business partner, Jagger Scott.

Can’t make the bar tonight. Magnolia wants us to go to a pottery class. Have a shot for me.

“A fucking pottery class?”

I rolled my eyes. Jagger was my third friend in two years to have become a pussy just because he was getting some. I had no idea what the hell was going on. We were only thirty, in the prime of our lives. We were meant to be going out, getting wasted and waking up in strange chicks’ bedrooms like we did in college. Shit, we’d all had a ton of fun in college. I remember one night when I’d gotten ten numbers and had one girl blow me in the bathroom before I’d gone home with her friend. That had been a fun night.

I sighed and scrolled through my phone trying to figure out who else could be my wingman for the night. The traction on the treadmill increased as it switched to uphill mode, and I stopped looking at my phone in order to concentrate on running.

As I ran, I thought about the note I’d received the day before. I’d found it tucked inside my gym bag, with no idea who had placed it in there or when, as my gym bag traveled with me everywhere. It was obviously from a woman; what man would send me a note saying I thought I was God’s gift to women?

On the other hand, she obviously didn’t know me; if she did, she would know that I actually was God’s gift to women. I chuckled to myself at her comment that every woman didn’t want to sleep with me.

“You obviously want to, though,” I muttered under my breath. Whoever had sent me the letter was clearly someone that wanted me very badly. “They want the my big cock to give them the orgasm of their life.

I grinned to myself as I ran. I only wished that I knew what she looked like so I could decide if I wanted to sleep with her as well. I increased my pace on the treadmill and looked around. Blondie was staring back at me, fluttering her eyes. I gave her one of my quick smiles and another nod. She was okay, maybe a six. She had a good body, face was just