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Casanova Novel Cover

Casanova

My favorite hobby is infuriating Elliot Miles. Just the sight of my boss’s handsome face triggers my sarcasm. God knows how he earns his Casanova reputation—if a million women want him with his personality, what the heck am I doing wrong? Disgusted with my love life, I join a dating app under a fake name. I start chatting to a man named Edgar. He’s not my type and lives on the other side of the world, but we hit off a friendship, laugh and confide in each other. But lately things are getting weird at work. Elliot’s being…attentive. His eyes linger a little longer than they should, and there’s a heat behind them that I haven’t felt before. And then, in the shock of all shocks, he tells me that my vulnerability is appealing. But when was I vulnerable? Horror dawns…Has my boss been reading my emails to Edgar? Damn it, why did I use my work email? Oh no, does he know what I really think of him? I’d rather die than ever admit it. Or, even worse: is it possible that the man I loathe in real life is the man I’m falling for online?
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Chapter 1

Prologue

ELLIOT

I stare at the numbers above the door as they go down with each floor I drop; my phone vibrates in my pocket, I take it out, it’s from Christopher.

Warning!

Witch is looking for you.

Fuck.

I stuff my phone back in my pocket and exhale heavily, not in the mood for her shit today. The elevator doors open and I stride out, glance up, and catch her in my peripheral vision. I pretend not to see her and turn toward Courtney, my PA.

“Mr. Miles,” I hear her call from behind.

I keep walking.

“Ahem.” She clears her throat. “Mr. Miles. Don’t ignore me.”

I feel my temperature rise.

My nostrils flare and I turn toward the voice, and there she stands. The most infuriating staff member to have ever walked the earth.

Intelligent, bossy, arrogant, and fucking annoying.

Kathryn Landon, my arch nemesis.

The official wicked witch of the west.

A title well deserved.

I fake a smile. “Good morning, Kathryn.”

“A word?”

“It’s nine a.m. on a Monday morning,” I snap. “Now is not the time for”—I put up my fingers to do fake quotation marks—“a word.”

I swear she spends all weekend brainstorming ways to fuck up my Mondays.

“Make time,” she barks.

I run my tongue over my teeth: this bitch has me over a barrel and she knows it. A complete computer geek, she designed our new software. She knows she’s indispensable and holy fuck, does she ride my ass.

She marches to her office and opens the door in a rush. “I’ll be quick.”

“Of course you will.” I fake a smile, imagine myself slamming her head in the door as I walk through it.

She sits down behind her desk. “Please, take a seat.”

“No, I’m fine standing. You’re being quick, remember?” She raises her eyebrow and I glare right back at her. “What is it?”

“It has been brought to my attention that I won’t be getting my four new interns this year. Why not?”

“Don’t play games, Kathryn, you obviously already know the answer to that question.”

“Why would you give those traineeships to offshore employees?”

“Because it’s my company.”

“That isn’t a good enough answer.”

I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears as I tilt my chin to the sky; nobody riles me up like this woman. “Miss Landon, I don’t have to justify any decisions on the running of Miles Media to you. I report to the board, and the board only. Although, I do have to wonder about your intentions.”

She narrows her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Well, if you are so unhappy here, why do you stay?”

“What?”

“There are a million other companies that you could go and work for and yet you insist on staying here and complaining about every little thing. I’m not going to lie, it’s getting very old.”

“How dare you!”

“I think you should remember that nobody is indispensable. I’m more than happy to accept your resignation at any time. Hell, I’ll even pay you a bonus to leave.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “I want a written report on the internships you have taken from the London office and the reasons why. Your excuse is not good enough and I will be presenting this issue to the board myself.”

Of course she will. My fury bubbles.

“And don’t roll your eyes at me,” she huffs.

“Kathryn, I need a damn retina transplant from all the eye rolling you cause.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

We glare at each other and I don’t know if I’ve ever hated someone like I do her.

Knock, knock, sounds at the door.

“Come in,” she yells.

Christopher comes into view, just like I knew he would. He always interrupts my meetings with Kathryn moments before my impending explosion. “Elliot, can I see you?” he asks. He nods to her with a smile. “Morning, Kathryn.”

“We’re not finished, Christopher, you will have to wait,” she snaps.

“We are finished.” I turn. “If you have any more complaints, which no doubt you will, take it up with HR.”

“I won’t be doing that,” she snaps again. “You are the CEO and I will be taking up any issues I have with you. Stop wasting my time, Mr. Miles. I’m more than happy to report to the board on your incompetence. Lord knows there’s enough of it. I want those intern positions returned to the London office immediately.”

“Not happening.”

She shuffles the papers on her desk. “Fine, see you on Tuesday week.”

The board meeting.

I glare at her as I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Fucking bitch.

“Ahh . . . Elliot,” Christopher prompts me. “We have to go.”

I clench my jaw as I glare at her. “Name your price to resign.”

“Go to hell.”

“I will not be accosted with your trivial complaints every single time I walk through my office,” I growl.

“Then stop making stupid decisions.”

Our eyes are locked.

“Goodbye, Mr. Miles, close the door on your way out.” She smiles sweetly. “See you at the board meeting.”

I inhale sharply as I grapple with control.

“Elliot,” Christopher prompts me again. “This way.”

I storm from her office straight into the elevator. Christopher is hot on my heels and the doors close behind us.

“Holy fuck. I hate that woman,” I whisper angrily.

“If it makes you feel any better”—he smirks—“she hates you more.”

I loosen my tie with a hard jerk. “Is it too early for a Scotch?” I ask.

Christopher looks at his watch. “It’s nine-fifteen a.m.”

I inhale heavily as I try to calm myself down.

“Who fucking cares.”

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