Billionaire Brits Series by Rosa Lucas

Liam London's most ruthless financial hotshot and the big boss at Ashbury Thornton Equity Group. Just whisper his name and even the city’s toughest traders break out in a cold sweat. And lucky me, Gemma Jones, as the head of HR at his company, I’ve got a front-row seat to the McLaren Show. Brooding intensity, perfectionist demands, and a glare that could stop your heart mid-beat. Every. Damn. Day. I’ve spent years perfecting my professional mask... moreLiam London's most ruthless financial hotshot and the big boss at Ashbury Thornton Equity Group. Just whisper his name and even the city’s toughest traders break out in a cold sweat. And lucky me, Gemma Jones, as the head of HR at his company, I’ve got a front-row seat to the McLaren Show. Brooding intensity, perfectionist demands, and a glare that could stop your heart mid-beat. Every. Damn. Day. I’ve spent years perfecting my professional mask. It’s the only way to survive in this cutthroat corporate shark tank. Never let them see you sweat. Or cry. Or show any human emotion, really. But now, I've gone and committed the ultimate HR I've accidentally shared my diary with him. Yes, him. And when I say shared, I mean all of it. Every scathing thought about him and the company. Including some, ahem, personal musings that were never meant for public consumption. And certainly not for Liam’s piercing dark eyes. And the look on his face? Oh, I’ve seen Liam angry—I’ve watched him verbally eviscerate boardrooms and turn grown men into blubbering wrecks. But this? This is pure, unfiltered fury that would make the devil himself cower. God help me. Love to Loathe Him is a standalone office romance with a grumpy, arrogant, billionaire boss. less

Edward Cavendish is the embodiment of British elite—composed, controlled, and permanently unimpressed. Born into old money and even older expectations, he carries the weight of generations of stiff-upper-lip tradition and emotional repression. A world-renowned surgeon. A ruthless perfectionist. A man who does not tolerate chaos. Which is unfortunate. Because I am chaos. He grew up in a sprawling 120-room manor with chandeliers in every hallway and bidets in every bathroom... moreEdward Cavendish is the embodiment of British elite—composed, controlled, and permanently unimpressed. Born into old money and even older expectations, he carries the weight of generations of stiff-upper-lip tradition and emotional repression. A world-renowned surgeon. A ruthless perfectionist. A man who does not tolerate chaos. Which is unfortunate. Because I am chaos. He grew up in a sprawling 120-room manor with chandeliers in every hallway and bidets in every bathroom. I grew up in the staff quarters, peeking through the hedges at his world. He has every reason to frown disapprovingly at me. And trust me—he does. A lot. I’m his little sister’s best friend—the bad influence. I had a disastrous fling with his younger brother. His ice-queen mother loathes me. My mum scrubs her floors. I sell gardening tools on a late-night shopping channel… in a pleated miniskirt, no less. We’re opposites in every way that matters. He’s Savile Row; I’m thrift-store chic. He’s vintage champagne; I’m corner-shop wine in a can. And honestly? I’m not even mad about it. And now, thanks to an unfortunate turn of events, the most intimidating man in Britain has caught me in his bed. Uninvited. In a situation that’s… let’s call it compromising. This isn’t just a disaster. This is the disaster. less

Patrick McLaren: CEO of McLaren Hotels. Helicopter pilot. Part-time adrenaline junkie who treats frostbite like a mild inconvenience. The kind of man who can silence a boardroom with one raised brow. Which is deeply unfortunate, because I, Georgie Fitzgerald, have been sent to his remote Scottish hotel to overhaul their IT systems. That means weeks of working in close proximity to him and his lethal combination of jawline, arrogance, and disdain... morePatrick McLaren: CEO of McLaren Hotels. Helicopter pilot. Part-time adrenaline junkie who treats frostbite like a mild inconvenience. The kind of man who can silence a boardroom with one raised brow. Which is deeply unfortunate, because I, Georgie Fitzgerald, have been sent to his remote Scottish hotel to overhaul their IT systems. That means weeks of working in close proximity to him and his lethal combination of jawline, arrogance, and disdain. And I know exactly what he thinks of me, because the man doesn’t bother hiding it. I’m his best friend’s little sister—the pity hire who tanked her interview and only got the job because my big brother pulled strings. The tech gremlin occasionally allowed out of her cupboard to reset the router before being shoved back in again. He climbs mountains for fun. I break into a sweat ordering coffee. He’s brooding intensity in a bespoke suit. I’m anxious energy and catastrophic overthinking in a cardigan. It doesn’t matter how hard I work to prove myself at his company. He doesn’t notice. He doesn’t notice much about me at all. Which is fine. It’s not that I want his attention. It’s just… I can’t help being shy. I can’t help that I’m still rebuilding myself after someone else tore me down. But maybe I’m tired of being anxious, apologetic, router-resetting Georgie who lives in the background, worrying about what everyone thinks. About what he thinks. Maybe it’s time to reclaim my narrative. And maybe that includes claiming him. less