Working Girl:Mr Monday

By: Shana Gray

About the Book

Meet Mr Monday . . . in Working Girl: Part 1.

A sexy seven-day job interview.

Seven irresistible interviewers.

Who will she choose at the end of the week?

Tess vowed to get revenge for her father when he was falsely accused of misusing company funds and let go from Diamond Enterprises. Applying to be Executive Assistant to the elusive head of the company, Mr King, seems the ideal way to get inside the firm and clear his name.

But the job interview is not what she expects. On arrival, Tess is escorted to a helicopter, blindfolded and flown to a secret location, A disguised voice introduces himself as Mr King and says the real job on offer is CEO of Diamond Enterprises. The catch: the job will only be hers if she can pass a seven-day interview.

Seven mysterious men will assist her – one for each task, each day. And Tess will need all her skills if she’s to succeed and to resist the powerful magnetism of the irresistible men sent to help – or distract – her. Or will Tess find herself losing her heart when she meets her man of the week?

Mr Monday, Mr Tuesday, Mr Wednesday, Mr Thursday, Mr Friday, Mr Saturday and Mr Sunday. Meet all seven in Working Girl – who will be your man of the week?


I lost my mom to listeria food poisoning in December 2012. She was my champion but after her passing dad took over, even though he had no clue what publishing was all about. He even read my HQ Blaze, which was a tad uncomfortable because it was steamy. He followed everything I did with gusto. Sadly, my dad died on July 23 this year. It was right in the middle of wrapping up this fabulous Working Girl serial. I was finishing Mr Sunday when I got the call from the hospital. To say I was absolutely gutted doesn’t even touch how devastated I was/ am. Dad was 93, a WWII vet, Polish lad forced to fight for the Germans and had seen a lot of things in his lifetime, even his daughter achieving her dream of being published. This book is for him. My dad, who I love with all my heart and miss terribly. I only wish he was here to see it. xoxo


First to my fabulous agent Louise Fury. Thank you for everything! Kristin Smith, aka Hawk-Eye, heartfelt thanks. Working Girl wouldn’t be possible without Kate Byrne and everyone at Headline! It has been such a wonderful experience working with them in every way – thank you! My family, since for the last four months I’ve been glued to the computer. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your patience and understanding. Meat Man for not feeling abandoned or jealous when I was busy with my other seven Mr-s and instead, kept singing to me – Mr Monday me-o-my! Love you all. xo


I settled into the soft leather armchair and quietly took in the posh reception area of Diamond Enterprises. It was all marble, honeyed-colored wood, thick carpets and soft lighting, with one wall housing hermetically sealed first-edition classics behind beveled glass. It gave the impression of an elegant sitting room. Under normal circumstances, I would be drawn to the shelves, eager to see which books rated being so carefully protected.

Not today.

The whole place gave off an aura of old money and, in my opinion, also reeked of arrogance and entitlement. I didn’t belong, but that wasn’t going to stop me. I’d nurtured my revenge since I was fifteen, when my father died. Just five years earlier, he, only fifty years old, walked into our house, the contents of his office stuffed into a battered cardboard box, and the direction of my life changed. Now that a window of opportunity had finally opened, I’d leapt at it. The head of Diamond Enterprises needed an executive assistant.

In the weeks since I’d seen the job on an executive-jobs search site, I’d quit my position as corporate librarian for an international mining exploration company, and done my due diligence, researching and cramming as if this interview were the exam of a lifetime, in order to be absolutely ready for it. At the library, I’d done everything from ordering reference materials and tracking down obscure theses on mineral rights to supervising a small staff of archivists and researchers. To leave all that and become somebody else’s secretary was a step down, a waste of my degrees and the scholarships that paid for them. But the opportunity to bring down a huge corporation didn’t come along often . . . and I was prepared to do whatever it took. There was nothing they could trip me up on now. I’d learned all I could about the company – at least, what was in the public domain. What wasn’t public knowledge was what I needed to find out now, and the only way to do that was from the inside.

From my seat, I had a clear view down the elaborate hall into the mysterious and very secretive inner sanctum of Diamond. The very sanctum in which my father, Charles Raymond, had once walked, moving with the exclusive executive management team, until he’d been let go, falsely accused of misusing company funds, and it had cost him – us – everything. He’d been ousted unceremoniously, cut off at the knees, his pension taken away and with no golden parachute to see him through his senior years. It left him with a reputation that haunted him until he died, a bitter old man. (I’d been born when he was forty, rather late in his life, before his fall from grace.)