Her Dom

By: A. D. Justice


There are so many people who help make this journey into writing books enjoyable. I want to take a minute to personally thank those who specifically helped with this book.

First and foremost, I want to thank my Lord and Savior for His continued grace and love.

My husband and my boys, for believing in me and supporting my endeavors, my long nights, and the times I missed time spending with them.

My friends who stuck by me, through thick and thin: A.M. Madden, Christine Davison, Tricia Daniels, J.M. Witt, Skye Turner, Ren Alexander and Tabitha Stokes. I love every one of you!

My cover designer, Kari Ayasha, who created this gorgeous cover.

The cover model, Bobby Creighton, for bringing my character to life.

Every member of my Street Team, who tirelessly promotes my books and recommends them to their friends. I love my Wicked Devils!

Every single blogger who supports authors just for the love of the books. You are all rock stars in my book!

Chapter One

Today has been the day from hell. There’s no other way to describe it but as the shittiest day in history. Well, in my history anyway. I am the Chief Executive Officer of my company, Dominic Powers Software, also known as DPS. We develop the software programs that run most of the other Fortune 500 companies. The software engineers that are the backbone of my company are the best in the world. Recruiting globally from the top universities, we bring the talent to the office here in Dallas, Texas.

My problem is that I’m hiring a Personal Assistant and, so far, not one person has been qualified enough to even wipe my ass much less be my right hand. My assistant must be able to make executive decisions when I’m not available, know what my expectations are, and have the gumption to carry out my orders with employees at all levels of my company. After endless interviews and countless yawns, I’m almost convinced the ideal candidate doesn’t exist.

There are department leads for each of the major divisions. We also have a Vice President, Darren Hardy, but his main focus is being our Chief Financial Officer. He has no interest in making decisions that don’t require number crunching. His recent revelation is the reason behind my current search through an endlessly disappointing applicant pool. My phone buzzes as my secretary, Dana, calls from her desk outside my office.

“Not another one, Dana. I can’t deal with one more Ivy League graduate with no damn common sense,” I say as a greeting.

“Mr. Powers, your four o’clock appointment is waiting to speak with you. Her name is Sophia Vasco,” she responds professionally. However, since I know her so well, I can hear the motherly admonition in her voice. She won’t allow me to be rude and brush off the last interview of the day and I love her for it. She’s saved me from myself more than once.

“Do I really want to talk to this one, Dana?” I ask, genuinely interested in her opinion.

“I do believe so, sir,” she replies and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Give me five minutes then send her in, Dana. Thank you,” I instruct before hanging up.

I rise and walk toward the fully stocked bar at the other end of my executive office. After pouring a tumbler of bourbon, I quickly down the amber liquid, enjoying the sweet burn as it flows down my throat. One more quick shot and I’m ready for the last interview of the day. This candidate better be good because I’m quickly losing faith in being able to find a good match.

The familiar, three-rap knock alerts me that Dana is at the door and I call for her to enter. Dana walks into my office and gives me a knowing smile. She’s been with me since the very first day I was able to afford a secretary. In her later fifties, she is old enough to be my mother, but young enough to understand what I’m looking for in an assistant.

Her smile tells me she approves of this candidate. I straighten my stance and walk across my office toward her. Approaching them, my feet halt in mid-stride when the latest applicant steps out from behind Dana. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the lady standing before me. There’s an unmistakable air of innocence about her, combined with a determination and steeliness that’s evident in her perfectly straight stance.

She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever seen before, especially in this cutthroat business. I’ve never been caught up in a woman to the point where I forget my own name, or what my purpose is, but she has me completely and utterly enthralled. Her long, reddish brown hair cascades over her shoulders with wavy curls scattered throughout. She’s petite but her high heels provide just the right amount of lift to make her perfectly fit my six-foot height. As she looks down at the floor, her black eyelashes are fanned out across her cheeks. When she looks up at me from under her lashes, her deep brown eyes are full of both anticipation and trepidation.