Abby Gaines - The Rebel Tycoon's Outrageous Proposal

He fumed as he watched Holly drive away .

Time to show Ms Stephens who’s the boss .

On impulse, Jared decided to drive by Holly’s condo. He told himself it was only a slight detour, worth it to see where the accountant-from-hell lived.

He’d memorised both her addresses from her cv: the neatly typed home address and the handwritten address of the place she was staying right now. But even if he hadn’t got it quite right, the yellow crime-scene tape across the front door and downstairs windows of the condo, incongruous in the upscale street, was a dead giveaway. There was no guard on the door, no one watching the property as far as he could tell. Looking at the darkened windows, Jared suddenly knew just how to annoy the hell out of Holly and at the same time solve her problem.

Just as she’d asked – no, ordered – him not to.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abby Gaines wrote her first romance novel – and had her first taste of rejection – in her teens. It took some years before she got up the courage to try again. By then, thankfully, the PC and Microsoft Word had been invented, and getting rejected was a whole lot easier. Like all good romances, Abby’s story had a happy ending, and a new beginning, with the publication of this, her first novel.

Abby lives with her husband and children in an olive grove. She says olive trees are the perfect outlook to inspire the funny, tender romances she loves to write. Visit her at www.abbygaines. com.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever been one hundred percent certain you know someone and then discovered you were wrong? In The Rebel Tycoon’s Outrageous Proposal , Holly Stephens knows exactly what kind of guy Jared Harding is: a rule-breaking bad boy. But when Jared’s the only person who can help her, she’s forced to put her trust in him – and to get to know him better than she ever wanted. Is it possible to be both right and wrong about someone? And to love them anyway?

I’m always happy to hear from readers. Please e-mail me at abby@abbygaines.com and tell me if you enjoyed this story.

Abby Gaines

www.abbygaines.com

ABBY GAINES

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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With love and thanks to Mum and Dad,

who always knew I could. Thank you for

teaching me what matters most.

Thanks to the FBI’s Seattle field office for the

patient responses to my many questions.

CHAPTER ONE

HOLLY STEPHENS had decided to be late for work, so late she would be. The later the better. She steadfastly refused to glance at her watch as she sat in Seattle’s rush-hour traffic, a chaos she usually avoided by starting early. Her old, uptight, anal-retentive self might want to know exactly how late she was, but the new, easygoing Holly Stephens didn’t care.

She might even throw her watch in the trash when she got to the office. Or at least put it in a drawer for a couple of days.

Some folks might think being late for work didn’t count when you were co-owner of the company. But anyone who made punctuality an art form, as Holly did, would know just how much it had cost her to lie in bed for an extra half hour. Dawdling as she got ready, making herself a proper breakfast, taking a longer route to work… Sheer agony.

But nowhere near as painful as being labeled Control Freak of the Year in a highly respected business magazine last week.

Even now, pain stabbed behind her ribs at the reporter’s hatchet job. It was supposed to have been one of those glowing profiles—Holly had recently been named Washington Businesswoman of the Year, an incredible accolade for a twenty-six-yearold accountant. And to be fair, the journalist hadn’t stinted on reporting her accomplishments. But his sidebar—A Day in the Life of a Control Freak—had detailed just how uptight, how controlling she was. Colleagues who called to congratulate her on the award studiously avoided all mention of the control-freak piece. But sooner or later each conversation reached an awkward silence, followed by a rush to get off the line.

She didn’t blame them.

Because every word of that article was true. And now that she was forced to think about it, Holly didn’t like what she’d become.

Over the weekend, she’d decided to let go of some of the behaviors that had served her so well in the battle to build her business in a competitive, male-dominated field. She would reinvent herself into a more relaxed, sympathetic person, one other people liked. One she liked.

Being late for work was a symbolic gesture of her resolve.

To her chagrin, relief fluttered inside her as she turned into the parking lot of the inappropriately named Greenglades Office Park. The flutter became a flapping of alarm when she saw the knot of people around the open doorway of the offices of Fletcher & Stephens, Certified Public Accountants. Surely her being late for work didn’t warrant this much attention?

As she eased her Toyota into her parking space, Holly began sifting through potential explanations for the crowd’s evident fascination.

The most palatable was that her assistant, Linda’s, overly romantic boyfriend had once again filled the office from floor to ceiling with balloons. Holly shuddered. It could take days for three hundred heart-shaped balloons to pop. Any suggestion of a mercy killing—attacking them all at once with a very large needle—would be interpreted by Linda as a personal insult. And assistants who worked to Holly’s level of detail were hard to find.…

Holly flipped her visor down to check her makeup in the little mirror. Then she remembered she didn’t worry about that kind of thing anymore and flipped it back up. As she climbed out, she directed her most carefree smile at the people milling around. No one smiled back.

She was headed across the narrow strip of concrete when a flash of insight hit her.

A fire alarm .

That would explain why everyone was out on the sidewalk. But why the ominous air? Unless it wasn’t just a false alarm—could her office have truly been on fire?

Even more reassuring than the absence of fire trucks was her distinct memory of following her “old Holly” routine before she left the office late last night. She had turned the printer, the copier and everything else electrical off at the wall, and then stood on her chair and pressed the test button on the smoke alarm. These precautions made her business partner laugh, on the occasions Dave stayed late enough to witness them, but no way would Holly allow her office to burn down through inattention.

By the time she’d discounted the fire theory, she’d reached the sidewalk, and the crowd parted to let her through, their muted “good mornings” almost a sigh.

Holly had barely put one black pump over the threshold when a burly man with thinning, sandy hair materialized from the dimness of the office and barred her way. “You can’t come in here, ma’am.”

“This is my office,” she said. “Let me through.” Okay, that did sound just the tiniest bit controlling. “Please.” She tacked on a smile of apology as she peered past the man to count at least five more of his ilk swarming the cream-and-gray interior.