Rendezvous with the Billionaire: A Billionaire Workplace Romance (2 page)

I could almost imagine him naked, standing proudly before me with neither care nor insecurity. He was a man, I was absolutely sure, who was completely confident in his body. He worked hard for it and reaped the rewards with aplomb. I scraped a hand over my stomach and imagined what his abs, a six-pack I was sure, would feel like. Would he lean into the touch? Or shy away?

My leg hiked up, knee falling to the side to offer me easier access for that one questing hand. That heat I generated was verging on uncomfortable now, and I wanted to cry out at the pleasure racking me as I stroked at my clit between two fingers. My other hand dipped in and out of me, two fingers nearly simulating the feel of being fucked.

But not enough, still not enough.

I flipped over to my stomach, leaving only one hand between my drenched thighs. The other clutched at the sheets as the new position brought on a new wave of pleasure. My ass lifted towards the chilly air of the room, goosebumps rippling from desire and chill. In my fantasy, Evan's hands would caress my ass, swatting at it playfully until it blushed a nice pink and digging his fingers in as he thrust deeply into me. I ran that spare hand over my ass, clamping down as I hoped he would. But the angle was weird and I had to move my hand away after a moment before it started to cramp.

I smiled into the pillow at my foolishness. And finally ready, I let myself go, stroking madly and ratcheting up the pleasure. Harder, faster, one hand working at the center of pleasure. I pressed my chest down into the bed, rubbing my breasts against the sheets and luxuriating in the delicious friction.

More and more still, I could feel the first tremblings of orgasm sneak into me, and still I did not stop, pitching myself higher and higher until with a half gasp, half moan, I came.

As the wave subsided I pulled my fingers away, curling into the bed and pulling myself into a tight ball. In minutes, I floated off into well pleasured sleep.

The next morning I awoke with not even the gentle memory of that pleasure. Instead I was assaulted by a dry mouth, pounding headache, and sensitivity to the faint morning light that would put cave dwelling creatures to shame. I spared no thoughts to the pleasure I gave myself. There was no need to dwell. Instead I did as I always do, checking my phone for and updates or messages.

And to my horror I saw in my text messages one outgoing to none other than Evan Daringer. I read through it, hoping that it had been some sort of butt dialed message. But no, not even I was so lucky. With the appalling spelling found only in the drunk I told him how sexy he was and how much I wanted to sleep with him.

I let the phone fall to one side of the bed, groaning further when I heard it fall on the floor with a thunk. I buried my head in the pillowcase and yelled, the cry of anguish muffled by cotton and down.

God, I was fired. I was so beyond fired it wasn't even funny. There was no way I'd get another job like mine in Manhattan, and I could say goodbye to any letter of recommendation that I had hoped for. And mine was so perfect! Or it would be in a couple of years when I got promoted to a director of advertising for one of the smaller accounts. At that point I might have even been able to afford a place of my own. I mean, yeah, I'd have to move out to Brooklyn or something, but I wouldn't be sharing a room so I could accept the sacrifice.

And now I'd thrown it all away with a couple of martinis and lusting eyes.

But I wouldn't cry about this. The humiliation evaporated half of my hangover and I crawled out of bed and to the bathroom with only a fraction of the headache that I had moments ago. After a quick wash of my face and the rest of my morning routine I stared at that offending message for a good long while.

Was there any way that it could be misinterpreted as not sexual?

No, intent had been made clear regardless of syntax.

So should I just send in my resignation by email now and not show up on Monday? Send an "I'm sorry" email to a few of my friends in the department for the anti-sexual harassment seminars they'd need to attend due to my stupidity. At least doing that would save me from being fired.

Or maybe he hadn't read the message yet. Not reasonable, but a little possible. At least, maybe. Right? So I could sneak into his office in the morning, snatch his phone, delete the message, and be out of there before anyone was the wiser. Of course, I could only do that in the alternate universe where I was some international woman of mystery capable of pulling off capers on unsuspecting bosses.

So that one was a no go.

Or, there was option three. Go into the office on Monday, wear a killer dress with makeup done to the nines. Hold my head high, my heels higher, and face down the wrath of both Evan Daringer and the HR department. A terrifying prospect, but honorable in its own way. I hadn't ever really considered myself honorable. Sure, I didn't lie too much, and I didn't steal. I didn't cheat on work, or school, or boyfriends, and I only hit someone when they deserved it. But as an entire principle "honorable" sounded way too stuffy. I just did what I needed to do.

So what was it going to be? No matter which I did, I knew I needed to update my resume.

Consequences

I went into work with an updated resume and a raised chin. Yes, this would all crash down around me in no time, but I needed to see it through to the end. My father would have my head if he knew I gave up before I had to. Of course, he was never allowed to know why I was about to be fired. I'd probably just tell him the building exploded or something.

But no one looked at me weird as I walked through our ultra-modern office. Some designer had insisted on an open floor plan with benches and wooden tables to work at rather than desks and chairs. It was absolute hell, everyone hated it, and it wasn't going away. No one had a permanent place to sit, instead we all checked out our laptops in the morning, set up our workstations wherever was free, and packed up the spaces at night. I was pretty sure it was all a ploy to save on cleaning costs.

None of the managers had to suffer from the open design, their offices ringed the open pit, allowing us precious sunlight when they cared to leave their doors open. But the noise of the bullpen was usually too loud and so we were left with only the sad fluorescent lights to keep us illuminated.

Nine o'clock ticked by and nothing happened. Sharon from HR didn't send me a threatening email or have me escorted out of the building. Evan didn't fire me in front of everyone, humiliating me further by reading the text message out loud over a loudspeaker. By ten o'clock I had started to feel something almost like comfort. Maybe something happened and the message hadn't ended up on his phone after all. Just because I had his number in my phone didn't mean it was the right one. I'd never had to text him or call him before.

Maybe I was safe.

But at 10:17 AM a chill raced down my spine. Evan Daringer walked into the office. For one brief moment his eyes met mine, eyeing me where I sat at the edge of the bench, half-wedged against the wall in the hopes of acquiring some back support.

He wore a suit of medium gray, a bright red tie standing out against the muted colors of the jacket and white shirt. His jacket flapped about him like he was some runway model, and I caught a glimpse of some patterned silk lining. He walked directly past me, other than the brief glance making no move to talk to me. So that was the reason for the reprieve, it would be coming any moment now. Either from him or from HR.

And at 10:23 my phone rang. We programmed in our extensions every morning, so it was almost certainly for me. I let it ring twice before picking it up after an angry look from my desk mate. "This is Amy."

"Come to my office." It was Evan, he gave no indication of why. Of course, I knew why.

"Of course." I hung up the phone and took one final look at my desk. My computer didn't even have any work on it done this morning. It didn't seem important when I knew I was going to get fired. I closed the screen and left it on the desk. With a deep breath I straightened out my jacket, adjusted my skirt, and walked down the hall to Evan's office with my back ramrod straight.

The walk didn't take nearly as long as I wished it had, and when I arrived at his office, I closed the door behind me. He was in the biggest office on this floor. Not only did it have a grand desk opposite two guest chairs, it boasted a sitting area with two couches, two armchairs, and one of those single-serve coffee makers. Though he preferred to have one of us bring him coffee instead.

"Good morning, Mr. Daringer." Screwed up already. He was barely over thirty, if that, and no one called anyone in the company mister. This wasn't school. But I didn't correct myself. Better to air on the side of caution today.

He looked me over. I stood up even straighter in my almost could pass as designer suit. If you didn't know designers. Perhaps I shouldn't have chosen something so showy, bright red with a staid cream blouse underneath. In fact, the skirt was even a little short, hitting just above the knee. I had my hair pulled back and knotted up in a bun, slightly messy, but on purpose. And, call me crazy, but the eyes Evan Daringer shot my way were appreciative, not full of condemnation.

Curiouser and curiouser.

He smiled, a slow thing expanding until I could count his shining white teeth. "Miss Bowen." Well, we could both be formal, I supposed. "Please have a seat." He gestured to the chairs across from his desk.

I sat, tucking my legs to the side of the chair and keeping a hand on my knee. Perfectly prim, perfectly proper, and not at all like a woman who sent sexy drunk texts to her boss. He let me stew for several moments. At first I tried not to look at him, really I did. But he just kept not talking to me, and I wasn't sure what else to do.

He had his hair slicked back today, not in that greasy, nasty way where it was shellacked to his head. Just the right amount of product went into it, and it still moved, just stayed out of his face. I tried not to stare directly, but for a moment I would get caught by those bright green eyes and only catch myself after more than a few seconds.

"Did you have a nice weekend?" His words slid over me and I wanted to shift in my seat, desire already making itself known.

I can explain! I wanted to yell, but that would only make things worse, I was sure. "Of course, and yourself?" Maybe he was going to get me off--let me off!--easy? Just call it an honest mistake and not fire me. I almost let myself hope.

"Oh, illuminating." His lips hugged every syllable of the word. I almost licked my own as my hopes that this would all disappear came crashing down around me. "Wouldn't you think?"

My hands moved from my knee to grip the arms of the chair. I couldn't even look him in the face, but I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I had no idea how to respond.

"So, Amy, these next few minutes are very important." He stood from his chair, walking around the desk to lean against it, barely a foot away from me. If I stuck out my foot I would brush my leg against his. He leaned in close, putting one hand on the arm of the chair, his pinky finger barely brushing mine. "Did you mean it?" He whispered it, breathing into my ear.

Oh god, I was clearly still dreaming, maybe still drunk even. My nipples hardened, I could feel myself get wet. If this was a dream, I wanted to grab him close to me and devour his mouth. But I could also smell that faint foresty scent of his cologne. And I couldn't ever remember the smell of anything in dreams. Not with that level of detail. Pinching myself would be to obvious.

I could run away right now, get out of the chair and flee the office. Quit before they could fire me. But if I kept going, brazened this out, maybe I would have an opportunity that didn't even come once in a lifetime for most people. "And if I did?" I hoped the breathiness of my voice sounded more sexy than nervous.

"Now isn't the time for indecision." He sat back, taking that whiff of cologne with him.

Time to take the plunge. I looked into those emerald green eyes and said, "Of course I meant it. Was there much room for interpretation?"

His eyes lit, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "I've had my eye on you for quite some time."

"Wait, really?" Okay, that wasn't exactly flirtatious.

He chuckled, wrapping a finger around the strand of hair that had fallen free from my bun. "Is that so hard to believe?"

I tried to think of any time that he'd shown interest. I mean, other than making me bring him his coffee a few times a week we hardly ever saw each other. Sure, I could form my little crush on him from all that, he was so smoking hot it would be a sin not to, but I had no idea what he saw in me.

"Hmm, interesting." He leaned back once more, crossing his arms. "One night."

"One night, what?" I could barely keep up with this conversation and I felt like there were at least three assumptions that I was missing.

"With me and you, alone. Together." From his pauses I almost expected him to use puppets to act out what he was proposing.

"A night together...as in sex?" Did I really just blurt that out? And was that what he was honestly suggesting? I probably should have been ashamed that I wanted to jump for joy at the thought, but that sounded beyond my wildest dreams.

"I don't do relationships, a night is all you can have." With someone as attractive as him, there was always some sort of clause like that. "And there is one condition."

My heart sank. There was no way that this was for real. I tried to tell that to the throbbing heat at the core of me, but there was no logic to be found in that region. "What condition?" If he said I had to sleep with him to keep my job, I couldn't do it. That would be like prostitution or something, and I could only stoop so low.

"Absolute secrecy." He declared it as if he were planning some major crime rather than a romantic--okay, just sexual, this guy didn't do romance--rendezvous. But he didn't say anything about keeping my job. I decided not to ask.

I had to take a minute to get everything straight. I sent a lewd proposition via text to the billionaire vice president of my department on Saturday night when I had way too much to drink, discovered that I did it on Sunday afternoon, and on Monday morning that same boss offers me a night of passionate sex with no strings attached. Was I gaping at him? It felt like I might be. I licked my lips and watched his eyes catch. "Why?" Why did he want secrecy? Why me? Why any of this? Really, any answer would do.

But ice laced his words, "I don't offer favors or position for fucking me." Desire curled within at the thought of being in bed with him. "And I keep my private life separate from work. However, on occasion, I do find certain people here attractive. You are one of those people." He laid a hand over my own. My pulse jumped at the warm heat of his skin.

So, that seemed to answer my questions. But the thing was, did I want to do it? Yeah, I'd hooked up with guys a time or two, but planning a one night stand days in advance? That seemed a little cold blooded. And I could never tell anyone about it. I mean, I understood discretion, but absolute secrecy? Everyone who knew me knew that I shouldn't be counted on, that I always buckled under the pressure of intense parental gaze.

"I'm not sure," I stuttered out.

Evan's had reached up, cradling my face. Feather light touches of his fingers, but I could feel the strength underneath. "Perhaps you could use some convincing?" He gave me enough time to figure out what he was about to do, to pull away if I wanted. But god knew I didn't want to. And with excruciating and exquisite slowness he leaned forward, placing a hand right on my chin and tilting my head up, pressing his lips gently against mine.

I didn't expect gentle.

My mouth was already half open, ready for the tangle of tongues, the harsh passion of his lips against mine. But he seized the opportunity, capturing my lips and deepening the kiss. My hands sprang off the chair, wrapping around his neck, pulling him close. I wanted to surge up, climb on top of him, wrap my legs around him. Anything to get closer. But before my lips had even the chance to get swollen he pulled back, pulling out of my grip.

Without a word, he walked around his desk and jotted something down on a small sheet of paper. "Friday night, 9pm. Meet me at this address, and tell no one."

I took the paper and slid it into my pocket. It looked like I had a date. But I didn't nod or acknowledge that I was going, I didn't make sure I still had a job. I just walked out of his office, pressing a hand to my lips to hid my smile.

Holy crap, that went way better than expected.