My Billionaire Boss (Book 2)(Erotic Romance) (5 page)

“
August left his jacket,” I explain, trying to hold my tears in
long enough to get the jacket and get out.  Jordon sees it on the chair
back and hands it to me, winking as he walks me to the door.

“
I can’t wait ‘til next week is over and I can bring you what I
owe,” he whispers, his eyes flowing down the length of my body. I nod like an
android and turn to leave. I hear him address the intern as she stands in the
hall. “Don’t let anyone else in.”

I make it to the
bench in front of the elevator before I start sobbing. I feel like I’m going to
be sick all over August’s jacket. Fortunately, it’s just a few dry
heaves.  What have I done?  I’ve put everything at risk: my
reputation, my job, August, Marcus, all for a stupid crush. I’m so dumb I
couldn’t see he was using me, even though Marcus has been pounding that fact in
all our heads from day one. I fish out some tissues and manage to dry my eyes,
taking off more makeup than sorrow and then say a prayer Chloe doesn’t ask too
many questions. I need a plan before I mess up anything else.

When I get down to
the car I ask her if I can sit up front. I know she has something to tell me
about Marcus, and I figure maybe when she tells me what a shithole he is I’ll
feel better about what I just did and what’s about to happen.  She takes
August’s wrinkled, tear-stained jacket from me, frowning at its appearance, and
places it in the trunk. Opening the front door, she settles me in and pulls out
into traffic. At the first red light she begins to speak.

“
I know Marcus is falling in love with you. He looks at you the
same way he did Missy. Stars in his eyes. Nothing you do is ever wrong.”

“
That will change,” I mutter under my breath ominously.

“
No. It won’t. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”  Chloe
manages the most efficient lane change that’s ever been done in the history of
Boston traffic and soon we are nearing our hotel. She pulls into the limo’s
spot and leaves the car running. She takes her seatbelt off and turns to face
me. “Marcus is a good man.”

“
What?”

“
All the women who work for him owe him a great debt. Not because
he got us into modeling; because he got us out. Most of us started as teenagers
and some of us are from countries where modeling is the only way out. But, it’s
hard, and when age, over-exposure or scars reduce your ticket — you’re left too
young for assistance and too old to start school. Many are drug addicted to
deal with the pressure, pain, weight loss, or boredom. Some have been raped or
sexually abused. Marcus helped all of us. That’s why he keeps Dr. DeLong on
staff. It isn’t just Missy he was helping. It was all of us.”

“
DeLong is a quack,” I quote August, managing to say the word
correctly. “And if he wasn’t, why is Melissa Eliott dead?”

“
Missy messed up,” Chloe sighs. “That’s not DeLong’s fault. Addicts
are a tough set of clients. But, most of us are here today —working jobs we
love and living a good life — because Marcus Eliott got us the help we needed
when we needed it.”

“
Well, thanks for the heads up,” I say, somehow feeling even more
shitty than I did ten minutes ago.

“
That’s all I wanted you to know. Don’t listen to Jordan Davis and
the rest of the ‘publicity’ department. Marcus is a good man. Don’t break his
heart. Okay?”

I open the car door
and leave, not bothering to answer her question. I have no strength left to
tell her I already have.

~

The next day goes
by in a flurry. I’m either sitting in my bathroom crying, waiting for the call
to come from Marcus, or Jim or someone that a video has arrived, or affirming
August that he can read his work from that stage without drugs and do just
fine.

The night of the
reading has blessedly much less chaos than Philadelphia. The biggest trauma is
helping August pick out what to wear. Marcus wants him in a shirt and tie,
DeLong recommends at least a long sleeve so his arms don’t show, and August
wants to wear a guayabera he picked up in Mexico.

“
It’s white, Auggie,” Marcus tells him, looking at the hideous
Mexican wedding shirt.

“
So what? It’s my favorite shirt.”

“
You look like a Q-tip!” DeLong groused.

“
A tie will be the noose that kills me,” August complains
dramatically. Marcus throws up his hands.

“
A blue business shirt, not buttoned down, sleeves rolled up to the
mid-forearm, no tie. We will have the hotel wash it several times so it’s
soft,” I say, taking charge of the moment.  They all agree and by the
night we are standing in the wings of Ritz Carlton Auditorium with one suitably
dressed, shaking author. August’s stark white hair glistens in the stage light.

“
Now he just looks like a blue Q-tip,” Dr. DeLong pouts.

“
Don’t worry about him,” Marcus says as he holds my hand backstage.
“He hates everything. You did a great job.”

“
I’m not so great,” I say.  No anonymous videos have shown up
and nothing has been said. Part of me feels like I should confess just to get
rid of the “other shoe” feeling; and part of me hopes the whole thing really
will just blow over.  I mean, a video like that means I can’t run for
President, but it’s not really a smoking gun. Maybe Jordan and Dagney will just
store it. It’s worth the risk of keeping quiet just to believe that’s true.

I see the poison
couple in the audience. Dagney’s taking pictures and Jordan’s typing on a
tablet when August sits down to open his portfolio. A long moment goes by where
August looks out into the lights. Marcus holds his breath and squeezes my hand.

“
Hello,” the author says, as if he just woke up and found hundreds
of people in his bedroom staring at him. Marcus starts to move forward but
DeLong puts his wrinkled hand on the billionaire’s chest.

“
Let. Him. Do. This.” DeLong says. Eons of time go by (or maybe
just thirty seconds).

“
I am August Kalle,” the author says to a thunderclap of applause,
whistles and praise. He soaks in the attention for a moment, getting used to
the warm temperature. “I am happy to read to you from my new book, The Boy Who
Was Made of Sky and I hope you will like the words I chose.” 

Entranced with the
lilting cadence and beauty of August’s work, the audience wasn’t able to hear
the collective sigh of relief given by everyone in the back. By the time Marcus
took the stage to announce the launch date and prominently mention Eliott
House, August was getting congratulating hugs from Chloe and DeLong (even Jim
shook his hand) and Jordan Davis’ seat was empty.

We got back to the
hotel later than expected, and end up going our separate ways. August was
exhausted and fell asleep quickly, with Jim stationed outside his door and the
windows bolted shut.  DeLong too claimed to be weary from the long day so
he gave his congratulations to Marcus and left.  The rest of us watched
the Bookfeed videos and review go up. It was generous, praising August’s work
and the return to the traditional format of reading. A few clips from our
interviews played, but nothing out of the ordinary.

I had just gotten
out of the bathtub when Suzanne, Marcus’ assistant, knocked quietly on my
door.  “Mr. Eliott is holding a meeting in his office. He would like you
to attend.”

“
At one in the morning?”

“
We leave for New York tomorrow and all of our plans have to keep
changing to keep Dagney Van Der Vine off our tail. He needs to talk about
changes, I guess.” Suzanne yawns and shrugs.  In the drama and shame over
my foolish actions with Jordan, I forgot all about New York — the city I dread
most on the tour. 

By the time I get
dressed and arrive at Marcus’ suite there are fewer people in the room than I
expect. I guess he must have gone over things before I arrived.  Marcus is
sitting at a desk with a laptop open and he invites me to sit beside him. Chloe
and Suzanne are on the couch and Talbot, the IT guy and technical advisor from
Eliott House.

“
As you know, Carrie,” Marcus speaks in soft tones, his hand
brushing my arm. “Someone is leaking information to Bookfeed and Vineyard.com.”

“
It isn’t me,” I blurt defensively. At least that’s the one thing I
haven’t done wrong.

“
I know. You see, I’ve had Talbot doing some surveillance and
rigging up some things to help me take control of the situation. For example,
for the Boston trip we put cameras in front of everyone’s door, to see when
they come and go.”

“
That’s a smart idea,” I affirm, thanking God Jordan never came to
my suite for any reason.

“
We also rigged up some cameras to see what happens when our
employees aren’t at the hotel.”

Marcus gestures
toward Talbot who holds up August’s jacket from the suit he wore to the
Bookfeed interview. The one he left on Jordan’s sofa. He opens the cuff of the
sleeve and pulls out a tiny camera on a very thin wire. Marcus taps a button on
his laptop and the screen saver disappears. On the screen is a frozen still of
me, with my head in Jordan’s lap, paying oral homage to the “Little Emperor.”
Marcus sits back, the pain from my dagger in his back dripping sorrow through
his deep blue eyes.

“
I’m a publisher and I make my living telling stories,” he says,
his voice is solemn and final. “I’m ready to hear yours.”

-END-