Head Over Heels for the Boss (Donovan Brothers)

Fantasizing about the boss is one thing. Falling in love with him is quite another…

Isabelle Cooper’s in big, big trouble. Her flower shop? Well, it was just bought by the man she’s had a crush on forever. Her new boss, Devon Donovan, is a tall glass of melt-in-your-mouth hotness. The problem? Devon is definitely not interested in love. No ifs, ands, or buds about it.

Devon knows Isabelle has been crushing on him since college, but buying her business shouldn’t be a problem. Not only is she his employee, but as the eldest Donovan brother, he’s too busy protecting the family fortune for romance. But tomboy “Izzy” is all grown up now. And he’s finding it impossible to resist her, no matter how hard he tries…

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Susan Meier. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit
http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

Edited by Stacy Abrams and Lydia Sharp

Cover design by Heather Howland

Cover art from Shutterstock and iStock

ISBN 978-1-63375-428-7

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition September 2015

For my friends at Entangled, who helped me make this series even better than I dreamed, especially Stacy Abrams and Lydia Sharp…with special thanks to Liz Pelletier who found me way back when and said I was made for better things.

Chapter One

“W
e sold the flower shop to the Donovans.”

“You
what
?” Isabelle Cooper gaped at her parents in absolute horror. “Why?”

“To fund our retirement.” Her tall, slim, nearly bald father caught her hand. “Sweetie, you’ve proven you can run the place on your own. But then the three of us would have to share the monthly income. This way, your mom and I cash out and you still have a job. A job with a
salary
, not just a percentage of unstable profits.” He smiled proudly. “I took care of all of us.”

She combed her fingers through her long, straight red hair, pushing it off her face. “All right. Okay. I think I get it.” From a fiscal standpoint, her dad really had taken care of all of them by selling their family business to Donovan, Inc. He’d gotten enough money for him and her mom to retire in the south so they could escape Harmony Hills, Pennsylvania’s cold, cold winters as they’d always dreamed, and a salary for Isabelle as manager of the town’s flower shop.

It made perfect sense, and was not only responsible but also sweet that he’d done his manly duties for the family—until you factored in that she’d always had a crush on Devon Donovan, oldest of the Donovan brothers. The man who managed the reportedly one billion dollars the family had inherited from their maternal grandfather.

The man who was her new boss.

And the problem wasn’t just that she had a crush on him. She’d very stupidly walked up to him right after he’d returned from Afghanistan and asked if he’d like to go with her to her prom. He’d looked at her as if she was crazy, said no, and walked away.

Now
she knew how stupid that had been. He was a grown man who wouldn’t want to go to a school dance. He’d also just returned from a war. But from the time Isabelle was fourteen, she’d thought he was the handsomest of the Donovan brothers. Tall, dark, brooding. Seeing him in his uniform, looking so brave, she’d lost her breath and her crush had formed. But four years later, watching the way he rarely spoke to anyone and kept to himself, she could see he was a man who held secrets. A man who needed her love. Steeped in her infatuation, and a high school girl with a huge crush and very little experience, she’d asked him to her prom and made a complete fool of herself.

When you factored that in, her working for Devon now seemed like the first level of Hell.

“He told us that once we talked to you, we were to have you go to his house—”

Isabelle’s pretty blonde-haired mom tapped her dad’s forearm to stop him. “Not house.” She sighed. “Well, it
is
his house. But he’s got a great big office in the back. It’s not like he’s a spider saying ‘come into my web.’”

Her face flamed. If her mother only knew. She might have taken a few side roads in her crush on the oldest Donovan brother, but when he’d permanently returned to town last year—still tall, still dark, still brooding—her crush had returned full force. She’d gladly enter any web of Devon’s. But he’d never ask. And now she had to work with him.

She rose from the sofa. “Maybe I’ll just get another job.”

Her dad looked appalled. “You can’t! You were part of the deal. We sold them on taking over the florist shop because they wouldn’t have to do a thing, touch a thing. Buds and Blossoms virtually runs itself.”

“It doesn’t run itself, Dad. I run it.”

“Exactly my point.” Her dad beamed. “Go see Devon. He’s expecting you.”

She left her parents’ big craftsman-style house through the bright white kitchen with new hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances, and a pale green, white and shiny silver backsplash, suddenly realizing they’d probably remodeled the kitchen in anticipation of selling the house—which meant they’d had this planned for a while. Stepping out into the sunny June morning, she walked across the perfectly paved parking spaces in front of the garage where she’d left her Hyundai, an ordinary, but surprisingly comfortable, car.

She waited until she was behind the locked door to curse. Working with Devon Donovan? That had disaster written all over it. The possibly awful situations that could arise were too numerous to contemplate. However, two or three effortlessly sprang to mind. Like getting breathless, drooling, and tripping over her own feet if he got too close.

He could mention that she’d asked him to her prom. He could laugh about it. Or, worse, apologize.

Still, there was always the possibility that nothing would happen. At least not anything anybody would see. He worked in the huge mansion-like house that he’d had built for “the family” a few months after they’d inherited all that money from their grandfather. He didn’t really hang around town, so if she did drool over him, it would be in private. And why would he remember that she’d asked him to her prom? Seriously. She’d been a kid. He’d just come back from a war. He’d undoubtedly had more important things on his mind. It was more likely that he’d forgotten the whole darned thing. Nine chances out of ten, he’d bought the flower shop as a favor to her parents, and his decision had nothing to do with Isabelle. He probably intended to tell her that she could manage the blasted thing the way she always had, and her salary would be based on how much money the business brought in—a way to give her incentive to keep it productive.

So she wouldn’t have much contact with him. She’d see him, maybe, once a quarter to review her books. She did not have to worry about ogling him, drooling when he was around, sighing with longing in his presence, or being embarrassed that he’d turned down her stupid, stupid,
stupid
prom invitation.

She would be fine.

Confident, she drove up to “the house.” Two stories, with white siding and black shutters, an attic with dormers that probably also had living space, a four-car garage and wide front porch, the thing sprawled out over a half acre.

Staring at it in awe, she got out of her car.

She supposed that if she suddenly became a billionaire, she’d build a grand house, too. And it was wonderful that though the entire Donovan family didn’t live in “the house,” they all had stayed in small town Harmony Hills. Devon’s brother Finn and his wife Ellie were beloved local business owners. Middle brother Cade and his wife Piper had run the grocery store together at one time. Everybody knew and loved the Donovans.

Isabelle just loved one Donovan a little too much.

Still, she would be fine.

Really.

She strode up the brick walk with her head high. This was not a big deal. She’d be working for him daily, but only seeing him once every few months for debriefing sessions on the business she ran. No. Big. Deal.

Two hits of the knocker brought the sound of footfalls on the other side of the door. As it opened, she braced herself to be face-to-face with gorgeous Devon. But his mom, LuAnn, stood before her.

“Izzy, sweetie.” Short, blonde, once dowdy LuAnn was now a beautiful woman. She folded Isabelle in a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Donovan.”

“How are your parents?”

“Fine.” She winced. “Better than fine. Apparently they’re
wonderful
since they can now live their dream of moving south because they’ve sold the flower shop to you guys.”

LuAnn laughed. “They have always wanted to move to Myrtle Beach and play golf all winter. I’m glad we could help. And you’ll like working for us. We’re nice people.”

Indeed they were nice. Unfortunately, one of them was particularly fine.

“My parents told me Devon would be explaining the particulars of our situation to me this morning.”

LuAnn’s smile got even brighter. “Great! He’s in the office. Right this way.”

They walked through an open floor plan downstairs with gray walls trimmed in white wood and nearly black hardwood floors. The sitting area had a white leather sofa and black-and-white print club chairs. White upholstered chairs surrounded a shiny black dining room table. Accent pillows, floral arrangements of yummy yellow roses, fat fuchsia peonies, orange blossoms and irises, and artwork, provided splashes of color.

“Holy cow. This house is amazing.”

LuAnn peeked at Isabelle. “Devon had a decorator come in.”

“Well, she earned her keep.”

“I know!”

Even as LuAnn spoke, Bob Bailey came running down the back stairway. When he saw Isabelle, he stopped.

“Hey, Izzy.” His gaze ambled over to LuAnn’s.

LuAnn said, “You know Bob.”

Though Harmony Hills had about five thousand residents, it was hard not to know the guy who’d been chief of the volunteer fire company for the past twenty years.

Still, Isabelle didn’t even blink at the odd introduction. “Hey, Bob. Nice to see you.”

“You, too.” He smiled at LuAnn. “I’ll call you this afternoon about dinner.”

LuAnn nodded and Bob left. Isabelle didn’t ask LuAnn about Bob. She didn’t have to. A man racing down the backstairs of a woman’s house, who told her he would call about dinner that night, had probably slept over. Given that LuAnn had been in a miserable marriage for decades and Chief Bob had lost his wife a few years back, Isabelle figured they were both due a little happiness.

LuAnn motioned down a hall, and they entered an area of the house where a couple of smaller rooms were walled off. The theme of black hardwood floors, white trim, and gray walls followed them back so far they almost reached a pair of French doors through which Isabelle could see a sparkling blue pool, an outdoor kitchen, and enough patio furniture to be its own department in Ikea.

“Here we are.”

LuAnn pointed into a room with a desk in front of one wall and a sofa and chair beside another. Isabelle dutifully followed her as she walked toward it. After a tiny hall, LuAnn knocked on a closed door.

Devon said, “Come in.”

His deep, masculine voice ran over Isabelle like warm water, and her heart tumbled. Dear God. She was going to be in the same room with the man she’d had a crush on almost half of her life, discussing her future, hoping he didn’t remember her dumb-ass prom invitation. Should she faint? Was she allowed to faint? Could fainting actually get her out of this?

LuAnn opened Devon’s office door, and Isabelle blinked. For all the stark black and white throughout the house, Devon had chosen warm mahogany for his office. Though the trim was still white, the walls were a soothing tan. A brown leather chair sat behind the desk. A soft beige sofa and matching chair took up the right corner.

Looking out the wall of window in the back of the room, at the sparkling pool and the ancillary patio department of Ikea, stood Devon. His dark hair had been cut in a no-nonsense businessman’s style. A neat and tidy white shirt slid over broad shoulders and across muscles of a chiseled back. Gray pants caressed a perfect behind.

When he turned, his intense, almost black eyes caught her gaze.

All the air disappeared from the room.

LuAnn brightly said, “Izzy’s parents told her you wanted to see her.”

“Yes, I do. Come in, Izzy.”

Izzy
. Yeesh. She felt five again. Here she was with the most handsome, sexy man she’d ever met and he called her Izzy? She’d had the nickname since she’d ridden her tricycle up and down the Maple Street sidewalk in front of her parents’ craftsman. When someone called her Izzy, even she saw herself toothless with freckles and red pigtails.

Oh. Sigh. Would she ever be allowed to grow up in this town?

LuAnn grabbed the door handle and began backing out of the room. “I’ll just let you two alone now.”

When the door clicked shut, Isabelle turned to Devon. His probing black eyes. His full lips. His broad torso that made sport of the shirt trying to hide all those glorious muscles.

“So, Izzy…”

“Actually, I prefer to be called Belle.”

His eyebrows rose. His serious eyes clouded with confusion. “Belle?”

Sure. Why not? Considering that she’d had about a second and a half to choose a new name, Belle wasn’t a bad choice. “I’m not five or ten or even eighteen anymore.”

His gaze took a quick trip along her sunny yellow T-shirt and threadbare jeans, making her breath stutter.

“No, I guess you’re not.”

That out-and-out froze her lungs.

D
evon pointed to the seat in front of his desk, indicating Izzy…Belle…should sit, as he fell to his seat, not quite sure what was happening. He’d bought Buds and Blossoms as a favor to the Coopers. Newly rich, the Donovan family was finally able to do things for their friends, and Brooke Cooper had stood by his mom in the first year after she’d left his dad. Now here he was sitting across from a
woman
who sort of looked like their teenage daughter Izzy, except more mature. And she wanted to be called Belle.

Hunting for her college transcripts, he fumbled with the papers on his desk as he surreptitiously raised his gaze and took in the way her breasts filled out her T-shirt with the big sunflower on the front, and her butt made ordinary jeans look…fantastic. She definitely wasn’t eighteen anymore, as she’d said. Or twenty, even. She’d graduated from college and gotten her MBA.

Where had the time gone?

Finding her transcripts, he cleared his throat and caught her gaze again. Her gorgeous green eyes surprised him. How had he never before noticed they were so green? He shook off the thought. It didn’t matter. She was his employee now, and she hadn’t really changed all that much, just grown up. She’d always be tomboy Izzy to him. He set the transcripts on the desk in front of him and folded his hands on top of them.

“You have a master’s degree in business.”

“I do run a business,” she countered, as if he were an idiot not to realize that, and that was the typical Izzy he remembered. Straightforward. Practical. “I’d gone to school knowing that the flower shop would be my life. So I prepared to do a good job managing it.”

“You over prepared.” He smiled. “Which is why I don’t want you running the flower shop.”

Her emerald eyes bugged out. “You’re firing me?”

“I’m
promoting
you.”

“To what? There’s nowhere else to go in a flower shop. You either make the bouquets, run the register, deliver the flowers, or manage the bloody thing.”