Brooke Page

Cocky, arrogant, and dropped dead gorgeous: That described my boss, Mr. Craft, to a T. His thick hair, cold blue eyes and strong jaw held power in a conference meeting, causing women to melt in his presence. I've wanted to confront him on his stubborn attitude and critical demands for employees. I'd bitten my tongue in many scenarios and held in my true feelings over a dozen times. Keeping the peace was necessary until I had enough experience under my belt to move onto bigger and better things. The only problem was; Craft Marketing was the bigger and better, and the longer I stuck it out with him, meant more opportunities would arise. I'd been the only female intern to land a job directly under him, and was also the only one who hadn't slept with him. I knew he was promiscuous with the tall and leggy blondes that breezed into his office looking immaculate, then scurried back out with mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and unbuttoned blouses. I'd ignore the magnetic pull of chemistry and curiosity between us. Unless it came to my advantage.

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