Jody Gehrman - Bombshell

Copywriter Ruby Sugars is in a rut. Her life consists of the following: long hours, boring neutral colors and regular fat-shaming from her stick insect–looking boss. But Ruby isn’t really a Bland Betty—she’s a complete Bettie Page hottie, with an enviable collection of vintage couture and very naughty vixen lingerie. Now if only she could channel that girl into her real life…

Cue Ruby’s best friend, whose recent fixation is “fantasy matchmaking.” She’s decided that all Ruby needs is one night with a sexy, delectable man—one with a serious thing for curvy pinup girls. And “Lancer” is hot enough to make any girl’s fantasy come true.

For one night, it’s pure, X-rated hotness. But come the next morning, this brand-spankin’-new bombshell will get the shock of her life when the man she vowed to see only once shows up again…as her new boss.

Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women

Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon

www.millsandboon.co.uk/Cosmo

For Natasha, Gretchen and Terena, who encouraged me to fill this story with juicy details.

Dear Reader,

When I first heard about Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon, I perked up. They were looking for fun, fearless heroines who were career-focused, sexy and adventurous.

I taped their requirements to my wall. I wanted to write that story. I wanted to live that story!

When Ruby Sugars first presented herself to me as a potential heroine, I was skeptical. She had issues. Her confidence was at an all-time low. She had trouble standing up to her control-freak boss. She didn’t even look like your typical ingenue, with curves that would submit to no pair of Spanx.

Then she told me about her secret self—her inner bombshell. She showed me her collection of 1950s-inspired lingerie. Just as I started to reconsider, she went in for the kill—she introduced me to the guy she’d fallen for, the Irish mystery man with a pinup-girl fetish.

I decided we had to tell her story, Ruby and I. We had to battle her demons and jack up her confidence; most of all, we had to bring her mystery man to his knees.

Ruby’s transformation from shrinking violet to bold adventuress has inspired me to take more chances—like publishing my first erotic novella, for example. I hope Ruby’s story inspires you, too, whether that means reading more sexy fiction, applying for that new job or jetting off to Paris for a week of shameless hedonism.

Thanks for reading!

Bombshell

Jody Gehrman

Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women

Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon

www.millsandboon.co.uk/Cosmo

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

Reply All

I’m sitting at my desk, sipping my second vanilla latte, when my world tumbles wildly out of control. Carrie Hoban and Matt Clark sneak covert glances at me as they pass my cubicle, sniggering. I glance down at my blouse, wondering if I dribbled salad dressing at lunch. More titters erupt throughout the offices of Wright, Milton and Sykes. Don’t panic , I tell myself. It’s probably got nothing to do with you. Still, I fish my compact from my purse for a quick, furtive glance. I confirm: no spinach between my teeth, no latte mustache. As I take another sip of coffee, though, I hear Dylan Mackintosh’s braying laugh explode from the far corner of the office and my heart starts to pound.

Something’s wrong.

But what?

Dylan swaggers over. He’s got that walk, the athlete’s strut. Since time began, that walk has struck fear in the hearts of girls like me—big girls who have put up with fat-chick jokes from elementary school on. The sight of his lightly tanned face looming near my cubicle invokes a primal instinct, the gazelle’s urge to flee from the lion.

His eyebrows arch so high they’re in danger of escaping into his hairline. “Loved that photo, Ruby. Pretty kinky.”

“What are you talking about?” Fear makes my voice squeaky and barely audible.

He leers. “Very Bettie Page.”

“Wait—what?” I’m really not this stupid, but panic has made my tongue grow three sizes; I can barely form words.

“Felicity’s going to love it.” He glances at his watch. “She’ll be back in ten minutes, tops.”

As he saunters off, exchanging fist bumps with Luke Neal, I turn to my computer. For a second, I feel so sick I can hardly see. My vision swims and the floor of our fifth-story office roils beneath me like the deck of a ship. Email. Felicity. Kinky. Oh god. No! Noooooo!

With trembling fingers, I open my sent mail. Yes. Oh, fuck. There it is. The email I intended to forward to by best friend Wanda. Except I didn’t hit Forward. Instead, I hit Reply All.

Reply fucking all!

From: Felicity Franco

To: Creative

Sent: Friday, January 4, 10:15 a.m.

Subject: Colin Wright’s Visit

Heads up, folks: Colin Wright will be visiting from the New York office Monday, January 14. This presents an exciting opportunity to impress a founding member of this amazing company. I want to be sure everyone pulls together to show him what a top-notch professional team we have out here in San Francisco. I know you won’t let me down.

Yours,

Felicity

From: Ruby Sugars

To: Creative

Sent: Monday, January 4th, 1:30 p.m.

Subject: RE Colin Wright’s Visit

The latest missive from The Stick. You know “top-notch professional team” is Stick speak for “everyone lose twenty pounds and get Botox.” Think I’ll show up Monday in this.

I’d attached a picture Wanda took of me during her “fantasy photography” phase last summer. She wanted to start her own studio, and she’d employed me as her guinea pig. We’d taken it one Saturday night well into our second shaker of martinis. Dylan’s Bettie Page comment was spot-on; that’s exactly what we were going for. My thick, dark hair was cut in Bettie’s trademark severe bangs, and the black satin corset strained to contain my D-cup cleavage. The garter belt, thigh-high silk stockings, long satin gloves and patent leather pumps gave it that retro pinup girl flavor, but the pièce de résistance was the leather riding crop I held above my head, dominatrix style.

My hand flies from the keyboard to my mouth. I feel my stomach lurch, and the pasta salad I ate for lunch threatens an encore. This stupid message went to everyone on the creative team—all twenty-five of us! By now it’s no doubt been forwarded to everyone else who works here.

Simon Tork, my art director, leans over my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “Honey, if I liked girls I just might fall in love.”