Spreadsheet Daddy & Coffee Boy
MM Contemporary Romance
by Jace Wilder
Free with Kindle Unlimited
Pairing: MM
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Workplace Romance, Boss/Employee, Grumpy/Sunshine, Age Gap, Competence Kink, Secret Relationship, Praise Kink, Touch Starved, Forced Proximity, He Falls First
He tracked every number. He forgot to count how many times his temp made him laugh.
Garrett Cole doesn’t need people.
He needs spreadsheets, black coffee, and the silence of an empty office at 10 p.m. As CFO of Whitmore & Associates, he’s brilliant, demanding, and has chewed through three assistants in eleven months. When a crisis buries him under impossible deadlines and a client threatening to walk, the last thing he expects is for his new temp to be the only person brave enough to push back.
Eli Navarro doesn’t break.
He’s been temping for eight months with a finance degree that should have opened doors and a student debt balance that keeps them closed. He takes the placement because it pays forty percent above usual. He stays because the CFO with the steel-gray eyes and the rolled sleeves is the loneliest person he’s ever met, and Eli has never been able to leave lonely things alone.
Late nights. Loaded banter. A tie straightened in a hallway full of colleagues. A laugh that sounds like it’s never been used. The professional boundaries they swore to maintain start cracking the first week and shatter on a conference table after hours.
But when Eli uncovers an embezzlement scheme that threatens to bring the firm down, their secret relationship becomes a weapon in the wrong hands. And Garrett has to decide what matters more: his career, his control, or the man who taught him that the opposite of control isn’t chaos. It’s trust.
He kept every Post-It note I ever left on his desk. Every coffee ring on yellow paper. Every scrap of evidence that someone was here. That someone stayed.
SPREADSHEET DADDY & COFFEE BOY — a scorching MM workplace romance about spreadsheets, praise kink, and the temp who dismantled the CFO one Post-It note at a time.
You’ll love this book if you enjoy:
✅ CFO x temp assistant with escalating tension
✅ “I’m not done with you” control that cracks into raw vulnerability
✅ Praise kink, competence kink, and a “you’re so good” that rewires everything
✅ Slow burn that DETONATES (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ — graphic, explicit, emotional)
✅ A grumpy hero who keeps Post-It notes in a desk drawer like love letters
✅ Conference table, desk chair, and supply closet scenes
✅ HEA guaranteed
⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MM scenes including praise kink, power dynamics, and D/s undertones), strong language, emotional intensity, workplace power imbalance, and depictions of financial fraud. Intended for readers 18+.
📖 Read Chapter One Free
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Chapter 1: The Temp Problem
My alarm goes off at 4:47 a.m. because 4:45 feels like everyone else and 5:00 feels like surrender.
I’m already awake. I’ve been awake since 3:12, staring at the ceiling and running amortization schedules in my head because my brain doesn’t have an off switch — it has a dimmer, and the dimmer is broken. Three hours of half-sleep punctuated by the mental image of Vanessa Park’s resignation Post-It, which said, in handwriting so calm it bordered on sociopathic: I can’t do this anymore.
She left it on my monitor. Not my desk, not my inbox, not even taped to the door like a civilized person. My monitor. Right over the cell in the spreadsheet I’d been reconciling, so when I sat down Monday morning with my coffee and my last functioning shred of patience, the first thing I saw was her neat, damning cursive covering Q3’s operating expenses like a tiny paper headstone.
I kept the Post-It. I don’t know why. It’s in my desk drawer with the other two — Raj’s, which said I got a better offer (he didn’t; I checked), and Tomás’s, which just said Sorry with a period, not even an exclamation point, which I respected.
Three assistants in eleven months. HR has started sending me emails with subject lines like Retention Strategies for High-Demand Roles that I delete without reading because they’re not going to tell me anything I don’t already know. The problem isn’t the role. The problem is me. I’m aware of this. Awareness has not historically been the same thing as change.
I run. Not because I enjoy it — I enjoy very few things, a personality trait I’ve been told is both my defining characteristic and the reason I’ll die alone — but because the alternative is lying in bed cataloging everything that will go wrong today, and at least the running has cardiovascular benefits.
Central Park at 5 a.m. is the only version of New York I find tolerable. No tourists, no small talk, no one expecting me to perform the version of human interaction that involves smiling. Just pavement, breath, and the particular masochistic pleasure of making my lungs burn in August humidity because suffering I choose is the only kind that doesn’t make me feel out of control.
Six miles. Shower. Black coffee from the machine I bought specifically because it does not require me to speak to a barista, select a size, or express a preference about foam. One cup, consumed standing at my kitchen counter, looking at an apartment that a therapist I saw twice described as “emotionally arid” before I stopped seeing her.
Suit. Today is charcoal — Tom Ford, because the last thing my father taught me before drinking himself into a disability check was that people treat you like you look, and I have spent twenty years making sure I look like someone who will destroy you in a quarterly earnings call without raising his voice.
Whitmore & Associates occupies floors eighteen through twenty-one of a glass tower on Sixth Avenue. I arrive at 7:04. The floor is quiet. Diane is already at her desk.
“Good morning, Garrett.” She doesn’t look up from her screen.
“Diane.”
“Your 9 a.m. with legal moved to 10. You have three hundred and forty-seven unread emails, and I’ve flagged the twelve that actually matter. Also, I arranged a temp.”
I stop walking. “You arranged a what?”
“A temporary administrative assistant. He starts tomorrow.”
“I didn’t request—”
“You have a board presentation in seventy-two hours. A quarterly filing in two weeks. The Haldane Group is making noises. And you have no one managing your calendar, your correspondence, or the seventeen voicemails I watched you delete without listening to yesterday.”
“Fine.”
“His name is Eli. He comes highly rated.”
“They all come highly rated. Then they meet me.”
“Try not to make this one cry before lunch.”
He looked at me like I was a problem he hadn’t solved yet. I should have hated it.
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Performance Review — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon
Six months after the epilogue, Eli visits Garrett at the office after hours for their “anniversary” of the conference table incident. Full power reversal, the glasses come out on purpose, and the CFO who never loses composure loses everything. The filthiest, most intimate chapter in the book — and it’s yours free.
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