Changing the bad boy

Chapter one:

VALERIE POV:

"Please, please, please," I beg my car as if it will make a difference if I ask it nicely to keep running as opposed to yelling at it. Surprise, it doesn't. The car sputters and smokes and makes some awful kind of grinding sound. I slow for a red light and the screeching gets so loud I know it can't be good. I suspect it's pretty damn bad. I know almost nothing about cars, but even I understand that the way my old clunker is acting up is not a good thing. And it couldn't be happening at a worse time.

I cannot afford for the car to die on me now. Everything rides on me getting to Cartwright & Sons Enterprises on time.

"Come on, come on. come

on," I urge and tug a little extra on the steering wheel as the traffic light changes back to green and the cars ahead of me move forward. Mine lets out a vast cloud of dark smoke and stalls.

"Damn it," I say and slam my hand against the steering wheel. The begging and tugging did not work.

I move my foot from the gas pedal to the brake pedal and reach for the key because there is no push start in this old thing -when I'm startled by a blaring horn behind me. A young man wearing Ray-Ban aviators in a shiny new car is stopped behind me. If it wasn't for him honking his horn like it would make my car go faster, I would have been taken aback by how startlingly attractive he is.

My heart is already beating hard inside my chest, but now I feel the pressure behind my eyes. The one that means the tears are about to come.

I don't have time for this.

I'm already stressed the f**k out from the possibility of being late for the first day of my new job. I can't handle any more nonsense. Especially not a temper tantrum from an entitled snot-nosed kid in his daddy's car.

"Give me a minute," I yell. I'm trying to get the car to move. And I'm pretty sure I need it to function a hell of a lot more than the self-entitled jerk behind me.

He blares his horn again, and I clench my teeth. This bullshit could not come at a worse time. Normally I'd be able to shake this off, but I'm desperate.

I watch the guy in the rearview mirror. There's a sour expression on his stupidly handsome face, and somehow the way he flips his hands up in the air, like it's the end of the world to be stopped for a few seconds too long, annoys me.

As soon as he finds an opening in the lane next to us, he guns his car and flies past me, while glaring at me like I'm making my car stall on purpose, just to annoy him.

"Asshole," I shout. It's not like he hears me, but he might see the bird I flip him, and that makes me feel a tiny bit better.

Petty. I know. But I'm stressed and flustered and in need of coffee.

I turn the key again and beg the car again with "Pretty, pretty please start." It takes three tries, but it finally cranks over and starts back up. It's just in time for me to go before the light turns red all over again.

I hold my breath while the car spits out another cloud of dark smoke and picks up speed. I don't exhale until I am well above 50 mph.

The workday hasn't even started, yet it feels like it has been a long day already. I've been up since the crack of dawn, and it took me longer than expected to get my three-year-old daughter out of bed. When I finally got her dressed, she decided she wanted to color while I got her younger brother ready. And I don't mean color on paper. No, I'm gonna have to scrub the walls in my have anyance of getting my safety deposit back.

After I dragged all our bags out to the car and buckled the kids into their car seats, I realized I had left my coffee on the kitchen counter. But since I didn't have time to go back inside and get it, I had to go without, and that did not help my mood.

Then the daycare worker was late. She didn't expect anyone to get to the daycare center when they opened at 7 a.m., and she didn't seem the least bit apologetic to the fact that it was 7:17 a.m.by the time she opened the door and found me standing there with my 14-month-old in my arms and my three-year-old next to me tugging on my skirt.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Vaughn," she greeted me like she was doing me a favor by actually being there at all. I tried to keep my teeth from grinding as I wrestled everything inside and didn't even bother to correct her. It wasn't Mrs. Vaughn, but Miss.

"You're early today," the girl said as she took a loud slurp out of her mocha chill latte or whatever the hell her fancy drink was.

"Yes," I answered her. "I'm starting my new job today."I bit my lip to refrain from telling her that I'd gone over that with the director several times last week to make sure they would be open on time, as I needed to drop my kids off earlier than usual.

"It's not a problem," the director had promised over and over again. "We have highly experienced personnel here from seven am to six pm, Monday through Friday."

CThatwas not the case.

And I wasn't so sure the ice coffee slurping chick could be classified as highly experienced. She looked like she was still in high school,s o how much experience could she rave?

I glared at her back as we followed her into the main room. It annoyed me she had made time to get her coffee on the way to work even though it made her late when I didn't have time to run back in for mine.

It took me another fifteen minutes to get out of there because my three-year-old found the dark and empty classrooms scary and refused to let go of my skirt.It wasn't until I bribed her with pizza for dinner, for which I really didn't have money, that her lips turned into a small pout, and she nodded.

So, yeah, I was cutting it very close to being late to my first day of a job I really, really,really needed if I wanted to continue to eat.And I did.

I do.

The rest of the ride is uneventful, but I can't relax for the life of me. Itisn't until I pull into the parking lot with just about a minute to spare that I huff out a loud breath of relief. The lot is more than three-quarters full, but I find a spot between two SUVs near the exit.

I know my cheeks are flushed, and my armpits are already sweaty. Thank God for the new blazer I bought on sale just so I'd have something business-like to wear for my new job. At least I know it covers my nervous pit sweat.

I turn the engine off, say a quick prayer to the car gods that my car will start when it's time to leave, grab my purse and my new lunch bag, and exit the car.

I've just closed and locked the door when I hear the screeching sound of tires and obnoxiously loud music behind me.A second later, a shiny new silver car flies past me, so close that I feel the draft from it on my bare legs. I watch in astonishment as it pulls straight up towards the entrance and into one of the reserved spots marked for management.Right in front of the entrance to the modern office building of Cartwright & Sons Enterprises.

"Are you kidding me?" I say to myself, wondering what kind of arrogant middle-aged man drives like that.

But the man that steps out of the expensive car is definitely not middle-aged like I expected. No. I only see him from the side, but I can already tell that he's young. Much younger than I expected someone with a preferred parking spot to be.And he's hot. Ridiculously so from what I can tell. Tall,built like an athlete and dressed to perfection in a suit that must cost more than I can imagine. Probably more than my monthly income will be at Cartwright & Sons.

I stop with my lunch box in my hand and just stare. It's like watching a commercial for sexy man products. Hair gel or shampoo or some s**t like that. The hot guy has the perfect hair for it. A darker color with natural highlights that reflect golden but with some red in the sunlight,and I'm on board. I'll buy whatever he's selling.

If his office job doesn't work out for him, he should definitely try modeling.I bet he could make an absurd amount of money doing that.

I can't wait for him to turn around,to see if the face lives up to his side view.With a body like that, he must be stupidly handsome.

My mood brightens at the thought. I feel a small smile

coming on. I'm very much liking the idea of having someone smoking like that to look at while I'm at work.

Then he turns towards me.

And what the actual hell?

The smile slips off my face.I recognize him immediately as the asshole that honked his horn at me on the way to work. And somehow that makes sense. He's young and has his own parking spot at an affluent company.He probably thinks his s**t don't stink. Why wouldn't he drive like an entitled asshole, with no concern for his fellow commuters?

And now we work in the same place.