My Boss Says Good Boy

MM Billionaire Age-Gap Romance
by Jace Wilder

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Pairing: MM
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Billionaire CEO, Boss/Employee, 16-Year Age Gap, Praise Kink, Silver Fox, Corporate Sabotage, Secret Relationship, He Falls First, Competence Kink

A brilliant executive assistant becomes addicted to the rare praise of his controlled billionaire boss — but when a hostile takeover frames him for corporate sabotage, both men must prove their secret relationship is based on trust rather than usefulness.

Mateo Cruz can anticipate every need of the most demanding man in Manhattan. He manages Lucian Vale’s schedule, protects his billion-dollar hotel empire, and solves disasters before the CEO knows they exist.

Lucian notices everything. He simply praises nothing.

That changes after Mateo saves Vale House’s largest acquisition before breakfast. One quiet good boy leaves Mateo flushed, shaken, and desperate to hear it again.

Lucian recognizes the response immediately — and knows acting on it while Mateo reports to him would be unforgivable.

Mateo’s promotion should create distance. Instead, it gives him the freedom to ask for what he wants.

Their rules are careful. Their disclosure is documented. Their nights are anything but professional.

But someone inside Vale House is sabotaging the acquisition, and the evidence is being arranged to make Mateo look guilty. When Lucian trusts the company’s systems more than the man in his bed, Mateo loses the one thing he thought he’d finally earned. Not the promotion. Not the praise. Lucian’s belief.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Billionaire CEO × executive assistant MM romance
✅ 16-year age gap with a controlled silver-fox hero
✅ Praise kink that evolves from earned to unconditional
✅ “Good boy” deployed with devastating precision
✅ Corporate sabotage with real stakes
✅ A hypercompetent hero who deserves better
✅ Twelve explicit encounters (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ — graphic, explicit, emotional)
✅ Dual POV, both men top and bottom
✅ HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MM scenes including penetration, oral sex, rimming, and praise-kink dynamics), strong language, corporate betrayal, workplace investigation, emotional manipulation in family history, and a temporary breakup. The direct reporting relationship ends before sexual contact. Intended for readers 18+.

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Chapter One: The Impossible Before Breakfast

My phone buzzed at 5:12 a.m. on a Tuesday, which meant one of three things: a hotel was on fire, a board member was drunk-texting the press, or someone had done something catastrophically stupid with confidential numbers.

I was already awake. I’d been awake since 4:40, because my body had long since decided that sleep was a luxury reserved for people whose bosses didn’t own twelve luxury hotels across three continents.

The text was from Noah Kim, VP of Communications, and it said exactly four words:

We have a problem.

Thirty seconds later, the email hit. A financial newsletter had published confidential acquisition figures for the Bellwether Hotel Group deal. Not ballpark estimates. Actual internal numbers pulled from a document accessible to fewer than fifteen people inside Vale House.

I was on my feet before I finished reading. By 6:30, I was in the office — tie knotted, suit pressed, coffee untouched — sitting at my desk outside Lucian Vale’s corner office with a printed briefing packet, a color-coded timeline, and a calm expression that had taken me nine years of hospitality work to master.

I wasn’t calm. I was running on adrenaline and the specific kind of competence that happens when your brain decides panic is inefficient. But I looked calm, and in this building, looking calm was half the job.

The other half was making sure Lucian Vale never had to.

He arrived at 6:47. I heard him before I saw him — the elevator’s soft chime, the measured rhythm of his shoes on marble. Lucian Vale did not rush. He moved through space the way certain buildings occupied a skyline: deliberately, with the quiet certainty that everything around him had been arranged to accommodate his presence.

I cataloged him the way I always did. Navy suit, not charcoal. White shirt, no pattern. The silver at his temples was sharper under the office lights than in photographs. Gray-blue eyes swept the floor as he walked — checking, always checking.

“Mr. Vale.” I stood. “We have a situation.”

He adjusted his cuff link and said, “My office,” and walked past me close enough that I caught cedar and black tea and something underneath both that I refused to name.

I gave him everything — the leak, the correction strategy, the board call logistics, every contingency I’d built in ninety minutes of controlled fury. He listened without interrupting. When I finished, he asked two questions. I had answers for both.

He was quiet for three seconds. I counted them because I always counted his silences — they were a language of their own. A one-second pause meant he agreed. Two seconds meant he was weighing something. Three seconds meant I’d surprised him.

At three seconds, he looked at me. This look was different. It lingered on my face in a way that made me aware that my tie was the navy one with the faint stripe that I wore on days I wanted to feel sharper than I was, that my hands were steady but my pulse wasn’t.

“You anticipated every point of failure,” he said. His voice was low. Private.

“Good boy.”

None of the praise I’d ever received reached inside my chest and detonated. Until those two words.

The heat started at the base of my throat and climbed. My hands went wrong — fingers suddenly clumsy, nerve endings misfiring. The briefing folder slipped. I caught it, fumbled, caught it again. Lucian saw it all. The flush. The dropped folder. The way my breath hitched audibly in the quiet office.

Something shifted in his expression. He saw me understand what had just happened between us.

Two words from Lucian Vale’s mouth and I was wrecked at my desk at seven in the morning with a board call in thirty minutes and a career I was actively endangering by sitting here thinking about the way his voice had dropped on the second word.

Good boy.

The conference room emptied after the board call. I kept working. Then he spoke behind me: “We should discuss what happened earlier.”

We were alone. The door was closed. He took one step closer — close enough that I could see the silver threaded through his beard, the gray-blue irises that looked almost silver in this light.

“If my language was inappropriate, I’d like to know.”

“It wasn’t inappropriate.”

“Your reaction suggested otherwise.”

He said my name the way he said everything: slowly, precisely, with the kind of attention that made you feel like you were the only variable in the room that mattered. Ma-te-o.

I should have left. I didn’t. The twelve inches between us had become a country I couldn’t cross in either direction.

“The work you did this morning was exceptional,” he said quietly. “I want you to know that.”

Professional language. Measured. Safe. It landed anyway.

I sat at my desk. In the glass wall’s reflection, I could see Lucian still standing at the conference room window, his back to me, his hands in his pockets, looking out at a city that belonged to men like him while I sat twelve feet away wanting something I couldn’t afford to name.

The email took me four attempts.

My hands would not stop shaking.

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The Elevator Incident — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon

Six months after the HEA, Mateo closes his biggest independent deal and meets Lucian at the Vale House lobby. Lucian hits the emergency stop. The filthiest, funniest use of a private elevator in romance fiction.

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