Chapter One

One, two, three . . .

Dreamy Daniels closed her eyes and counted to keep from exploding as Gordon Mathison, her helicopter boss, paced the narrow space behind her desk. She should be used to his peeking over her shoulder while she worked and questioning everything she did, but not today. Today she wanted to hog-tie him to his desk chair, in his office, and stuff a pair of his boring black socks into his mouth.

But she wouldn't.

Why? Because he couldn't help himself. Gordon was an anxious genius with horrible people skills who drove her and anyone else in his orbit absolutely batty most days.

Dreamy opened her eyes and gripped the edge of her file-laden desk, then blew out a long, cleansing breath, willing herself to think before she spoke. Once she was sure her professional demeanor was securely in place and there was no chance of saying what she really wanted to-like Get the hell away from my desk-she leaned back in her seat. Slowly swiveling her gray tweed chair around to face her boss, she waited until he realized she was watching him.

Gordon stopped pacing, and eagerness bounced off him in waves. "You're done?" he asked, excitement lacing his words as his green eyes gleamed like those of a child who'd just received his desired Christmas present.

"Of course I'm not done!" she growled through clenched teeth. Frustration seeped out with every word. So much for maintaining professionalism. "Gordon, you gave me the assignment five minutes ago. I can't just fold my arms, blink my eyes, and nod my head like a genie and expect the report to magically appear, especially with you hovering behind me. Don't you have some fancy tech idea to work on?"

At around five nine with a slim build and olive skin, he appeared younger than his thirty years. His thick, dark hair stood up and out every which way, looking as if he had run his fingers through it one too many times. Add that to the dark rings under his eyes, and it was safe to say he hadn't been sleeping well. Dreamy could understand why he might've been on edge. He had a lot riding on his upcoming meeting.

He huffed out a breath and ran his left hand through his hair and shoved his other hand into the front pocket of his navy-blue dress pants. Normally, his attire consisted of jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. But today he wore his navy-blue suit, the only suit he owned, along with a white dress shirt. Since arriving in the office an hour ago, he had shed the jacket, and the boring blue-and-white-striped tie was askew. Obviously, he'd been tugging on it.

"Yeah, yeah, I have plenty to work on, but I need this information. Karter Redford will be here later this afternoon," Gordon said of the venture capitalist he planned to hit up for money for a new product idea he had created. "Are you going to be able to get that report to me in time?"

"Don't I always?"

"Yes, but this one is really important."

"Aren't they all?"

"Well, yeah, but . . ."

For the last few months, Dreamy had gotten to know Gordon better than most. His need to be involved in every detail, his lack of delegating skills, and his inability to trust his staff to do their jobs was enough for Mother Teresa to consider him a lost cause.

Dreamy rubbed her temples. The man might be a tech genius, but in the real world, he worked her last nerve. "Gordon, I'll email the information to you once I'm done."

"You do that. I'll just go back to my office." He turned on his heel and Dreamy swiveled her chair back around and watched as he marched down the short hallway toward his office.

She leaned forward and banged her head on top of the desk a few times. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to work out the irritation drumming through her body. She'd had just about enough of Gordon's micromanaging, but she needed her job. He was lucky her one-week gig down at the Purple Pony Strip Club hadn't worked out. If only she could've walked in those five-inch heels without stumbling every few feet. It also probably would've helped if she could've stayed upright on that slippery pole. Who knew the damn thing spun?

"Hey, chica! Clearly you have forgotten that your walls are made of glass. What are you trying to do, knock some sense into your head?"

Dreamy lifted her head as Mariana strolled into the office suite grinning.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. I see you've got jokes. I was just letting off a little steam."

Stylishly dressed in a red wrap dress that accentuated her curves, Mariana dropped down in the chair next to the desk. Her tawny brown skin with minimal makeup glowed under the fluorescent lights, but the grin she'd had moments ago slid from her pretty face.

"What's wrong? I'm used to your bright smile greeting me whenever I stop by. What's got you banging your head on the desk? Wait, let me guess. Mr. Man is being his usual pain-in-the-butt self."

Dreamy nodded, determined not to let Gordon get to her any more than he already had. The only reason she had survived working for him over the last eight months was because she maintained a positive attitude. She refused to let him run her out of the office the way she'd heard he'd done with his last three assistants. Three assistants in six months? Not a good record.

Dreamy told her friend about the short conversation. "I should be used to him standing over me, waiting for whatever project he's thrown my way. But some days, like today, it bugs the heck out of me. I've talked to him about the hovering, but it's like talking to a steel beam. At least the beam is doing some of the heavy lifting. Mr. M just makes everything heavier. He's stressing me the hell out."

"Mr. M?"

"M is for Micromanager," Dreamy explained.

"You mean Micromaniac?"

Dreamy laughed at the title that fit Gordon to a tee.

"But seriously, I feel for you. I'm just glad he's not my boss. Otherwise, I probably would've strangled him by now. Okay, enough about Mr. Micromaniac. Are you feeling lucky? I heard Powerball is at one hundred twenty million dollars."

Dreamy rubbed her palms together. "Yes. I know I've said that before, but for real this time. This is going to be my big break."

Most people who knew she was banking on winning the lottery thought she was delusional, but not Mariana. She knew Dreamy played the lottery faithfully, and not once did she tell her she was crazy or that she was just wasting her money. Her exact words were anything is possible if you believe.

"Okay, just remember your girl when you hit it big." Mariana didn't play the lottery for religious reasons, but she'd already made it clear that she wouldn't turn down a gift from someone who did win.

"You know I got you."

Dreamy had already identified people she planned to give gifts to once she won, and Mariana topped the list. They met years ago at a homeless shelter where they had volunteered to feed the hungry on Thanksgiving Day. They'd been friends ever since. She knew Mariana was one of the kindest, most giving people when she spied her scooping extra mashed potatoes onto every plate.

If it hadn't been for her, Dreamy wouldn't have landed the job with Gordon. After Dreamy had been laid off for months and was settling for any type of work, like the strip club gig, Mariana had told her about the secretarial position. It had come right on time, because Dreamy had been down to her last hundred dollars.

Now it was time for her to start thinking bigger, because her ultimate goal was to be a badass boss lady.

Thanks to her small-business class and the assignment to create a business plan, she had already begun pulling ideas together. The nonprofit she wanted to start one day would cater to women looking to become entrepreneurs.

Granted, the idea was lofty, especially since she had limited business experience and no money. But she never let a few obstacles keep her from going after what she wanted.

Dreamy propped her elbow onto the desk and rested her chin in her hand as she stared out the glass wall in front of her desk. It gave her a panoramic view into the main hallway of the top floor.

"I need to get my act together. I don't plan on working here forever, but right now, all of my goals seem so out of reach," she murmured.

Mariana waved her off. "It's only a matter of time. Soon you'll have your bachelor's degree and, after that, I have no doubt greater things will follow."

Dreamy hoped so. Recently, her self-esteem had taken a big hit. Her boyfriend . . . well, her ex-boyfriend, Brandon, dumped her the day after he made partner at his law firm. Their relationship hadn't been perfect, but she thought with time, it could develop into the type of relationship she dreamed of having. Instead, it exploded in a heap of a mess in front of his co-workers, who were there at the party celebrating his promotion.

Not cultured.

Not sophisticated.

Not educated enough, the jerk had told her. She might not be polished or classy, but what she lacked in sophistication, she made up for in resilience. No matter how often things didn't go her way, she never quit. Which was why at twenty-eight, she was still trying to finish college.

Between the obscene amount they charged for tuition, and having to care for her ailing grandfather, she'd ended up dropping out of school after her first year. Dreamy had returned to college a few years ago, and now she only had one more semester before she graduated with a public administration degree. Then she'd look for a job that paid more than her secretary's salary, and from there, she'd dive deeper into starting her nonprofit. That's assuming she didn't win the lottery first.

"I just have to keep believing in myself," she said.

Mariana frowned. "I don't know what's going on with you right now, but whatever's got you in your feelings, get over it, because you're amazing. Your confidence alone is going to take you places."

Dreamy gave a slight smile. On the outside, she put on a front to make people think she had it all together. She wanted them to believe that her self-confidence was fully intact. Yet, since breaking up with Brandon, there were days when his negative words rattled around in her mind like a crappy 1980s song playing on loop. She knew everyone experienced moments of self-doubt, but it had been almost two months since their breakup. She shouldn't even be thinking about his bougie ass.

I am beautiful. I am confident. I am lovable. I am a lottery winner.

That was her new mantra. She had added the part about the lottery winner a couple of weeks ago. Now all she had to do was keep reciting the chant until every single word stuck.

"Now, if you want to climb the corporate ladder or own your own business," Mariana said, "start making small changes and build on that. Maybe start with tweaking your wardrobe. I get that you're eccentric. Which is one of many things I love about you, but I don't think skinny pants with humongous flowers covering them and an equally bold striped shirt really say, I'm a boss, and I mean business."

Dreamy glanced down at her attire. "What? This is boho-chic."

"Okay, but fluorescent yellow, green, blue, and that splash of hot pink in those pants don't exactly scream corporate America."

Dreamy studied her outfit. Yeah, the flowers and stripes were bold, and maybe there was some rule about putting the two patterns together, but both pieces had the same colors.

"I love you and the colors are cute against your dark skin, but they're a bit much for this boring office. You look like a walking, talking flower garden. The shoes are cute, though."

Dreamy laughed at the "flower garden" comment, then turned her left foot to the side to admire her Mary Jane heels that were killing her feet. She had two weaknesses in life: shoes and wigs. She had very little restraint when it came to buying either . . . but especially shoes.

"They are cute, aren't they? They came in the mail yesterday, and I couldn't wait to wear them. I just wish they weren't so noisy when I walk. I paid a pretty penny for them. Yet I can hear the squeaking all the way down the hall. I'm going to need to lube them up with some WD-40."

"Was that you earlier? I wondered if a cat was being stepped on."

"Girl, yes. But I'm sure once I break them in, they'll be fine."

Mariana shook her head and grinned. "You're too much. You gotta stop buying shoes from Discount Joe's. He uses fake leather. That's why you sound like you're killing someone's pet with every step you take."

"You might be right, but I told you I stopped shopping there when I got this job. These little beauties weren't cheap. As for my outfit, when I win this money, maybe I'll get a stylist to hook me up. But first, I'm getting a nurse to come to the house a few times a week to help Gramps."

"Good plan, and how is he? You haven't mentioned him lately."

"Girrrl, that man is going to be the death of me and Jordyn," Dreamy said of her cousin. The three of them lived together in a sketchy part of Hollywood in a house that was an earthquake away from crumbling around them. Dreamy frequently prayed nothing higher than 3.2 on the Richter scale ever hit the city. "There are days when I think Gramps won't be here with us much longer, and other days when I think he's faking his illnesses. I got home last night and a woman was coming out of his bedroom adjusting her gray wig. He had the nerve to say that she was his nurse making a house call."

Mariana's mouth dropped open. "Get out! Are you serious?" She burst out laughing.

Dreamy couldn't help but join in. The old woman had smoothed down her house dress, planted on a smile, and walked out of the house as if nothing had happened.

"Well, he might be old, but he ain't dead," Mariana said between giggles. "I just love that man."