Brazen Bossman: A Hero Club Novel

questions asked.
Is that so wrong?
My addiction to work has never been more obvious as the clock strikes midnight, and I’m still in my suit, the tie long since forgotten, sitting in front of my computer in the office, even as the cleaning crew does their job around me.
The last thing I ever expected for my life is working here, at fucking Lennox Publishing. I didn’t spend four years in college and another two interning all over New York City for a fucking master’s in architecture to run a fucking publishing house. I’ve loathed this company for as long as I can remember. I’d even venture as far as to say this place is the reason I’m as fucked up as I am.
My father chose this place, this company, over his family. He was here more than he was home, and any time a fight would brew because of it, he’d let me know quickly that this place was the reason we could afford the nice house, the luxuries, and the Ivy League school I attended.
The trademark Lennox guilt. He was a master at that.
The loud, shrill ring of my desk phone permeates the room, pulling me from any and all thoughts that were occupying my mind.
I scrub my hand over my face and put the receiver to my ear.
“Lennox.”
“It’s after midnight, Nathanial. Why are you still in the office?”
My mother’s tone is soft, yet stern. It always has been.
“How did you know I was still here?”
“You’re a Lennox.”
I scoff, “Fair enough. I just needed to finish a few things that couldn’t wait.” Sighing heavily, I sit back in my desk chair. “How is he today?”
“Today was a rough day. He tried to get up this morning to get dressed for work. I had to calmly explain to him that he didn’t work anymore. He got very angry. You know that Carson Lennox temper is ever present, even if he isn’t.”
My father was diagnosed middle-staged Alzheimer’s last year. That was a tough pill for him to swallow. He and my mother knew that day; managing Lennox Publishing wasn’t something he would be able to do anymore, so against my better judgment, and for the sanity of my mother, I took over. They signed over all rights and power to me… and here I am. Owner and CEO of Lennox Fucking Publishing.
I stepped up when it was the last thing I wanted to do.
“And what about you? Are you all right?”
“Oh, you know me, Nathanial, I’m okay. I’m keeping busy and helping with him.”
“But are you taking care of yourself? And don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not the priority right now.”
“You can’t take everything on alone, Mom.” I begin to tap my fingers on the desk. A habit I’ve formed over the past few years when I start becoming agitated or stressed.
“I’m not. I have you. You’re managing the business for us, and that’s helping more than you could ever know, sweetie.”
“I’m doing it for you. I’m not doing it for him.”
She sighs heavily. “Will you two ever put things aside and move forward? Jesus Christ, this has been going on for what feels like forever. He’s your father. You two are so stubborn.”
“Do we really have to have this conversation right now?”
“No, we don’t, but eventually, you’re going to have to. He’s a sick man. You never know what could happen at any moment, and I don’t want you living the rest of your life with any regrets.”
This is absolutely not happening right now. That’s not even something I can think about without feeling a ball form in the pit of my stomach.
“I know, Mom. I know. Look, it’s really late and I have a few things to settle before I call it quits for the night. Gabrielle is going to be here in the morning to discuss a few things on our side of things, so I’ll be back in early.”
When I made the decision to put most of my focus on Lennox Publishing, it left a hole in my position at NCL Properties, which I co-own with my childhood best friend, Gabrielle Hawthorn. She has been a rock throughout this whole process. Picking up where I’m obviously slacking on that side of my life and keeping business booming.
“You stretch yourself so thin. Tell Gabby we said hello,” she sighs.
“I’ve got it handled, Mom. I promise. I will tell her. Get some rest, okay? You need it.”
“Likewise, sweetie. I love you.”
“I love you too. Goodnight.”
When I finally peel myself away from my desk a couple of hours later and step into my cold, dark penthouse apartment, my mind matches that exact aesthetic.
Until I heard from my mother, the plan was as it always is.
Leave work. Invite someone to come keep my bed warm for a couple of hours, fuck her into oblivion—taking out all of my frustration from the day—send her on her way, have a glass of scotch, and collapse into bed for a few hours.
After talking to my mother, and that conversation sending my brain into overdrive in a place it doesn’t want to be, all plans changed.
Now, I’ll start with the scotch, possibly make it two, and I know there will be no sleeping soundly tonight.

Chapter 2
Piper
Dear P,
You do find yourself in quite the predicament, don’t you?
My first thought is to warn you to be careful. Interoffice fraternization can get very messy very quickly.
You have to ask yourself: is this a passing infatuation brought on by the intense negative emotions, or is it vice versa?
Just some food for thought.
Ida
I tuck my cell phone back into my bag after reading the email response from Ida and really let it sink in.
Is this just because, at the end of the day, I’m lonely?
Lonely is never a word I’d use to describe myself, but why else would there be this deep-seated… crush… on someone I truly would rather punch in the face than touch?
That’s not entirely true. I’ve seen small glimpses of a different man in his eyes,