The Billionaire Boss Next Door, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
My new boss has it all. In spades.
Gorgeous green eyes? Check.
Hard-and-sexy body? Check.
Success? A big fat billionaire… Check.
Too bad I haven’t started out on the best foot.
My big mouth has already turned him against me, and tempting good looks and success aside, Trent Turner is no peach either. He’s stubborn and thick-headed, and son of a fruitcake, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the hotel business.
With him running the development of the new Vanderturn New Orleans Hotel and me doing the design, our work relationship is far too intimate for two people who absolutely despise one another.
But that’s not all.
See, he isn’t just my billionaire boss from hell. He’s my new neighbor, too.
Trent Turner is my billionaire boss next door.
Holy moly, let’s hope my career—and hormones—can survive.
Disclaimer: If you generally love to suffer, hate fun of any kind, and are allergic to laughter, this book is not for you.
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I love Max Monroe. Ever since I read Tapping The Billionaire I've been hooked on their work. The blurb for this book had me grinning in anticipation, and overall I enjoyed it.
Greer and Trent have an initial meeting in this book that made me laugh out loud. I literally shook my head and couldn't wait to see how these two would interact with each other when they saw each other again. The spark was there for both of them-but neither were ready to admit there was attraction when focusing on the fact that they didn't like one another was easier.
These two both have their share of quirks, though Greer definitely is more loose lipped about them than Trent. I really was rooting for them from the start because, in my opinion, they both brought something to the table that the other so desperately needed. Trent could give Greer the support she needed to flourish (and no, I don't mean money) and Greer could make Trent LIVE and laugh. It was fun to tag along on their journey.
We met some other interesting characters along the way here in Greer and Trent's friends. I know some of these characters will be featured in their own stories later, but there was almost a bit too much time spent with them here. I appreciate the set up, and look forward to the other books that I'm sure will be coming, but I did feel it almost took away from Trent and Greer just a tiny bit.
I liked the pacing of this story. I like that it had a slow burn element to it. I appreciated the characters staying true to themselves-even though I desperately wanted to shake Greer at one point.
This story definitely made me laugh. There were swoonworthy moments for sure as well. I was left with a smile and I can't wait to see what the next book has in store. I recommend this book.
Going into a Max Monroe title, there's an expectation that at least one of the characters is going to be quirky. In this title, it's Greer. She says what she is thinking, and it is not always the most appropriate response, so that gives it some humor.
But I also think that there were places in the title that the funny parts seemed to remove me a little from the story, like the comedy and the romance were 2 separate plots in the same story. It didn't leave me unable to enjoy the story, especially as the humor is less of a focus when they get to the part of the story where Greer and Trent become involved and move past enemies.
It was also obvious in places that the other characters we meet in this will be getting their own stories, or at least it seemed that way by how much time they got in this story.
Overall, humor and somewhat over-present secondary characters all, I enjoyed the story and I am looking forward to the next in the series.
I do recommend this title.
It only takes five minutes inside the hotel gym to realize why my original plan was to eat a hamburger in bed. I do not got this. I’m not good at working out, I’ve never been good at working out, and I’ll never be good at working out. I don’t know what to do with the equipment, and it doesn’t know what to do with me. Clearly, it’s been designed for people with half a foot more height and fifty percent more muscle, and even on the lowest of settings, I fumble my way through biceps curls like an uncoordinated inchworm. I can barely reach the handles, so I have to kind of stoop to get in position, but the newly formed curve of my spine makes me have to arch and wiggle to complete the curl. If it weren’t for my kick-ass Metallica T-shirt, I might start to worry that I look foolish. The ten-pound weight clanks as I drop it the inch and a half I managed to lift it in the first place, and I stand up to find a different machine. Surely there’s something in here I can operate without having a special license. I find some kind of seated thing with weights on one end and a padded face rest on the other. I sit, lay my face down, and attempt to slide my legs underneath the weighted bar. But, it’s completely awkward and uncomfortable, and I start questioning what in the fuck this thing is even supposed to do. Just before I give up completely, a throat clears deeply beside me, and I look up to see a far too muscular man staring down at me in confusion. “Uh…wow…I didn’t realize you could use it that way…” Huh? I nearly ask him what he’s talking about, but his actions answer any and all questions I might have. He sits down on the machine beside mine—an identical machine to mine—and it’s then I realize the face rest is not a face rest. It’s a seat. For asses. A seat for sweaty, workout asses. Jesus Christ. I shudder and disentangle myself from the machine. “You okay?” Arnold Schwarzenegger’s long-lost brother asks, but I just nod off his question and put some much-needed distance between us. Also, I scrub my face with the hand towel I brought down from my room like it’s a fucking Brillo pad capable of removing the ball sweat that’s probably found itself a home in my pores. Note to self: take one thousand scalding-hot showers tonight. With a deep inhale, I try to regain some of the pride I lost back there by Mr. Muscles and peruse the room until I find a machine that’s labeled with instructional pictures to boot. Hip. Abduction. Do I need aliens to use this thing? Against my better judgment, I study the pictures and peptalk myself into sitting down on the seat and swing my legs over to the inside of the knee pads. No face-to-butt-sweat mistakes happening here, folks! The weight is set on one hundred and fifty pounds from the person before me, and it makes me wonder if Thor is staying at this hideous hotel too. I pull out the pin and put it on forty instead. After a quick test push with my legs, the setting seems doable, so I take out my phone and start scrolling through it to set up some music to accompany me. Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I need. Some workout jams. Of course, once I’m on it, I get distracted by Instagram, and five minutes go by before I realize I’m sitting on a machine, not a couch, and the purpose here is to do something other than lounge. I glance up from my phone and scan the room, wondering slightly if anyone knows how long I’ve been sitting here. Mr. Muscles has moved on to a new machine, but a different guy across the room makes eye contact and smirks. Busted. Normal human decency dictates he should let me off the hook and go about his day, but this fit, Adonis-looking, sweat-covered, brown-haired, green-eyed—good God, he’s attractive—man apparently has no manners. Shit. His sleeveless white T-shirt clings to his tanned body as he strides my way, and his athletic shorts conform to a muscular set of thighs and ass. I look everywhere but at him, fiddling with the machine as though I’m doing something productive, but he still doesn’t get the hint. Raspy and firm, the clearing of his throat sounds right next to me. I look up as innocently as I can manage and pull out my earbuds as though I had music playing. “Um, hi,” I say with a cute little manufactured laugh. “I’ll be done in just a second.” He laughs too, but his seems genuine and undeniably directed at me. “If you keep up your current pace, I think it’s going to be a little longer.” “Excuse me?” “Come on,” he says good-naturedly—the prick. “You’re just pretending to work out.” Oh no, he did not just say that…. “I’m not pretending to work out,” I deny. “I’m just getting warmed up.” He nods knowingly. “And setting up my music,” I continue. He hums. “I’m just about to catch my stride.” “Sure you are.” He calls bullshit with his smug, green as fuck eyes, and for the briefest of moments, they glance down at my chest and my legs before meeting my gaze again. “But there are people who would like to really use it, so if you’re done…” What. The. Fuck. Who does this guy think he is? “Are you always this rude?” I question, and his green eyes lighten a bit. “All right, you’re right. I’m really not trying to be a dick,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. Should it really take that much effort not to be a dick? “Let’s start over…” He pauses and pushes a small smile to his full, kissable lips. “How are you enjoying the hotel?” Start over? How about let’s never have started at all? Still annoyed, I don’t censor my answer. “It’s…swell.” He laughs at first, but when I raise an eyebrow in contention, he frowns. “You don’t like it?” “Maybe ugly décor and a whole buttload of pretention are good for some people, but not for me.” “Ugly décor? Really?” How can he be shocked by this? Anyone with eyes could see the design flaws here. “Are you kidding? I feel like I’m in my ninety-year-old grandmother’s living room, except it’s a waking nightmare and I’m about to be eaten alive by the curtains.” “I don’t think it’s that bad. It’s timeless.” Normally, I’m not such a snob about design, nor do I make a point to make other people feel bad for their likes and dislikes, but for some reason, this handsome prick and his dickish attitude just bring it out in me. Before I know it, I’m channeling Regina George. “Well…” I pause and scrunch up my nose dramatically. “I’m sorry to break the news to you, but the design of this place looks like it was done by a blind rat. Gilded sailboat pictures and tapestries with oxen on them aren’t timeless. They’re old.” His eyebrows pinch together, highlighting the otherwise perfect features of his face. Goddamn this ugly hotel for housing such perfect-looking humans. “What did you say your name was again?” Shit. Emory will absolutely murder me if she finds out I got into some kind of confrontational tête-à-tête with a random Romeo in the hotel gym. Let’s also not forget this hotel gym is located inside a hotel that is owned by the company you’re about to interview with… Shit. Yeah. I’d better cut and run while I can. “I didn’t.” I jump up from the machine with the exact agility I’ve lacked during the rest of my workout and offer a saccharine smile. “But, hey, good news. Machine’s all yours.” “Aren’t you going to wipe it down?” he asks as I walk toward the door, and I can’t help but turn around for my parting shot. “Why?” I smirk at the pouty-lipped asshole. “After all, I was just pretending to work out.” Because you know what dicks can do? They can go fuck themselves and wipe down their own workout equipment, tight asses and chiseled jaws be damned. Suck on that, workout Romeo.
About Max Monroe:
A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads. Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
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