The Billionaire's Assistant

by Mackenzie Gray

  A piece of bread falls from Leila’s open mouth. She doesn’t notice. “Wow. That’s... wow.”

  Her subtle admiration makes my chest swell. Helping out Joe and his family was never about pride. It wasn’t a choice for me. The man helped me so much growing up. It was the least I could do. Originally, I wanted to pay off his loan from the bank and give him the shop, but he wouldn’t accept that. The man has his pride. So we settled on a loan.

  “Byron? Hello?”

  Shit. Liam.

  “Hi. Sorry, Liam. I was distracted.”

  “I’ve been calling your name for two minutes.”

  That long? “I’m sorry, but can we reschedule the call? I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  The man sighs. “Sure. Tomorrow?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” I hang up and head back to the table, which Joe has left to return to the front counter.

  “Good?” I ask, sliding into my chair and watching Leila bite into her pastrami sandwich.

  “Mm,” she says with her mouth full. Leila stares at me in unabashed curiosity. For once, I feel like she’s seeing too much, and I quickly tackle my pastrami on rye.

  “Joe seems like a nice man,” she eventually says.

  “He is.” I leave it at that.

  We finish our lunches in silence. It’s nice. Surrounded by the smell of good food, the murmuring conversation, I’m completely relaxed. Solonay has been my life for the past six year, but I’m at a point where I can ease up. Sometimes that means taking lunch at a local deli. Sometimes that means a day with no conference calls. Other times, it means heading home at a reasonable hour.

  We both finish around the same time. Before I throw away our trash, Leila takes a piece of pastrami and folds it inside a napkin, which she then tucks inside her purse.

  At my puzzled expression, she goes still. “It’s for King Henry.”

  Um... what?

  “My cat,” she explains. “Pastrami is his favorite.”

  I don’t ask her to elaborate, but she goes on.

  “He’s a bit of a dick, most of the time. Most kings are. To him, my only purpose in life is to feed him and clean his litterbox. He’s probably mad I haven’t bought him one of those kitty castles yet. I just can’t afford it right now.”

  I chuckle at that. Her mouth twitches from my reaction.

  I say, intrigued by this slice of information, “Did you adopt him?”

  “About three years ago from a shelter. They were going to put him to sleep because of his aggressive tendencies. I took a chance on him. Thought I could love him into submission.” Using her napkin, she wipes her area of the table. “It’ll happen, eventually.”

  I help her clean the table, then toss out the trash. “I have to say, I’m a dog person myself.”

  “I would have pegged you as a cat person.”

  “Really.” For some reason, the challenge in her tone makes my blood run hot. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because cats treat people like their sole purpose is to serve them.”

  The comment hits home. The last thing I want is for Leila to know her perception of me means anything, because it doesn’t. So I let the insult roll off my back, and I smile. I’m going to have a lot of fun getting under Leila’s skin. Indeed, I am.

  Chapter 9

  Leila

  I’m having an internal crisis.

  Mainly, it has to do with the fact that I can’t read my boss. He runs hot and cold with me, and in turn, my body runs hot and cold in response.

  It’s my second week at Solonay, and I’m no closer to settling in than I was the first day. I still perch on the edge of my fancy chair, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. Sometimes I’m working with Peg. Sometimes I have to ask Karen for billing help, and she wastes both our time by fucking up my work so I look bad in the eyes of our boss. Other times, I’m typing up meeting minutes for a conference call or buying coffee for Mr. Billionaire. Once I even picked up his dry cleaning while he was off galivanting in Florida. I thought that only happened in the movies.

  A week after my earth-shattering orgasm, I’m still blocked by Pizza Guy. At this point, I’ve given up that he’ll unblock me. We had hot sext. A one-time deal. He decided he’d had enough.

  It makes me want to cry. The best sex I ever had was through text messages. It’s sad. So sad I can’t tell anyone about it, not even my new friend Charlie.

  Scratch that. Not without a few drinks in me, anyway.

  She and I have been in touch. At first, it was a hey, how are you. Now we talk constantly. She complains about getting hit on by customers, her lack of money, her icky boss, and how she thinks she’s gained five pounds and can no longer fit into her favorite pair of jeans. Meanwhile, I complain about my asshole boss, the constant out-of-order bathroom, stupid Karen with her stupid snide remarks, and how King Henry will never love me, even though I buy his favorite wet food.

  I’m hoping to make it to Tippy’s this week. It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend that I don’t want to screw it up. I don’t want to be judged either. The truth is, I’m struggling. I’m behind on rent and I don’t have nice things. It’s always been this way. For the most part, I’m okay with it, because I work hard and I don’t give up. But sometimes the insecurity creeps in.

  Following work one evening, I make my way to the grocery store. On the menu tonight: tacos. Plus new cat food for Henry. Every few months he decides he no longer likes the food I feed him, so he sends me on a wild goose chase to buy better, more expensive food. Pretty soon he’ll expect wild caught salmon every night. Since I want that little fucker to love me, I’ll probably purchase a fishing pole and catch the fish myself.

  Grabbing a cart, I make my way through the aisles, chucking whatever my heart desires into the basket. Once I have all my taco ingredients and Henry’s food—as well as junk food I don’t need—I pay for everything and catch the next train home.

  It’s as I’m setting out all of my ingredients on my tiny kitchen counter that I realize I not only have one less bag than what I left the store with, but I forgot the tortillas.

  With a heavy sigh, I look down to where King Henry sits at my feet. “Of course I forgot the most important part of a taco,” I say to him woefully.

  He glares, like I caused him offense for being so dumb.

  “Hey,” I snap. “I feed you. Be happy about that.”

  He sniffs and trots off, tail high in the air.

  Mrs. Maria, my neighbor, might have tortillas on hand. I stride across the hall to knock on her door. Although she’s retired, she’s half Mexican and a few times a month the smell of quesadillas wafts into my apartment.

  “Leila, hi.” She smiles in confusion when she sees me at her door. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hi Mrs. Maria, sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you have any tortillas on hand. I forgot them at the store.”

  “Oh, sure. One minute.”

  She disappears back into her apartment, leaving the door open, and at that moment another door opens at the end of the hall. My spine locks up and my heart tries to flee my chest. A tall, rail-thin woman with small, beady eyes pokes her head into the hall. Her gaze latches onto mine, and my stomach takes a nose-dive. I feel sick.

  Ms. Hayes. My landlord.

  “Ms. Engleton!” she screeches.

  I bounce on my feet. Mrs. Maria hasn’t returned. Should I make a break for my apartment? I really need those tortillas.

  Ms. Hayes makes a beeline toward me. I brace myself for the inevitable impact. Too late to run now.

  Lifting my chin, I do my best to look her in the eye, but the woman is scary as fuck and I’m not a confrontational person. Especially when I’ve been avoiding Ms. Hayes for the past two months.

  “Ms. Engleton.” She stops a few feet away and crosses her spindly arms over her ches
t. She wears a long blue dress and a necklace of pearls. Grandma garb, for the win. “Funny I should find you here, considering I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for almost two months now.”

  I laugh nervously. Sweat pools in my armpits. Mrs. Maria needs to hurry up. “I’ve been meaning to get back to you, Ms. Hayes. I swear.”

  “Stop lying,” she snaps. “You’re two months behind on rent and I’m not waiting on my money any longer. If I don’t get my money by the end of the month, I’m evicting you, Ms. Engleton. Got it?” She pokes one of her fingers into my chest. I flinch.

  “Ms. Hayes, you don’t have to worry about that.” I spread my fingers in a gesture of goodwill and supplication. “I got another job and I’ll be paid soon. You’ll have your money, okay? No need for eviction here.” I offer her a strained smile. If I’m evicted, I’ll be on the streets and finding another place will be impossible.

  Mrs. Maria finally returns with the tortillas. She looks between Ms. Hayes and I, as if sensing the tension in the air.

  “Oh, would you look at the time,” I say, glancing at my invisible wristwatch. Snatching the tortillas from Mrs. Maria, I start backing away. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have things to do. Thanks again for the tortillas, Mrs. Maria. I’ll pay you back this week.” Ms. Hayes begins to follow me. The door to my apartment is wide open, and I make a break for it, tripping over my feet in my haste to escape my landlord.

  “Ms. Engleton!” she screeches at my back.

  I lunge, grab the door, and slam it shut, bolting it behind me.

  Slumped against the back of my door, I grip the handle in my fist to keep myself standing and listen to the conversation between Ms. Hayes and Mrs. Maria. They’re bickering—about me, no doubt. I’m not trying to live here rent-free. I know I have to pay. And as soon as I have the funds, I will. I just don’t have them right now.

  Returning to my kitchen, I then remember the bag of missing groceries. I peer out the front window, which looks down at the entrance to the building. There’s the bag, sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. It contains my tomatoes, sour cream, and shredded cheese.

  That’s great. Just great. How am I supposed to get past Ms. Hayes without her going for my jugular?

  Despite all good sense, I crack open my front door. A shriek flies out of my mouth. One of Ms. Hayes’s bulbous eyes stares back at me. “Ms. Engleton!”

  I slam the door shut, breathing hard. That lady is creepy as hell. How long is she going to squat outside my door, waiting for a rent check that won’t come? I really want my tacos.

  My only option is to use the fire escape. It’s not ideal, but as time goes on, I’m utilizing it more to avoid run-ins with Ms. Hayes.

  The window screeches as I push it open. The fire escape itself it rusted and barely holding onto the side of the building, so I step gingerly as I climb down the ladder. Thankfully, I only live on the second floor. Then I creep around the corner of my building, glancing left and right to ensure Ms. Hayes didn’t follow me out the front door. My bag of groceries sits in the middle of the sidewalk, unharmed. Good. I snatch it and bolt back up the fire escape, only releasing my held breath when I’m safely back in my apartment.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pile five tacos onto my plate and head to the couch to chow down. It’s as I’m stuffing my mouth full of cheese and sour cream that my phone rings. I answer without looking to see who the caller is. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Rose.”

  Chapter 10

  Byron

  Seconds after I say hello to Rose, I hear her choke. The breath rattles in her throat. Concern worms through me. The woman sounds like she’s dying.

  “Everything okay?” I ask smoothly, not wanting to reveal I’m worried about her health. I don’t know her, after all. The only thing I know is the color of her skin when it’s warmed by arousal, the splay of her legs as she touches herself.

  After a pregnant pause, Rose says, “Hi. Sorry about that. You startled me, is all.” She breathes deeply, as if preparing herself. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.” Her voice seems to shrink.

  And suddenly, I feel like an asshole. I mean, what I did was a dick move, but I’ve never felt remorse over putting my company first. I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid that by admitting what I did, Rose will hang up, but I’m afraid I’m shooting myself in the foot if I say nothing.

  “Why did you block my number?” she asks.

  A long list of excuses unrolls on my tongue. It was an accident—a lie. I didn’t block her number and she’s imagining things—another lie. The list is endless.

  I decide on, “It’s not about you, Rose.”

  “Oh, that’s rich. You know who else said that to me?” she spits out. “My ex-boyfriend, just after he told me he’d been cheating on me for almost a year with another woman. And he was a lying piece of shit, so what do you think that makes me think of you?”

  My gut clenches in unease. Why do I care if this woman thinks I’m a piece of shit? I shouldn’t care. Yet I do.

  Fuck me.

  “You want the truth?” I say, dragging my hand down my face as I turn from the window.

  “I do, actually. You should have started with that in the first place.”

  Ouch. The woman isn’t pulling any punches. I’m oddly grateful to her for that. “The truth is I can’t risk you finding out my identity because of my business.”

  “Your pizza parlor? I thought you were just the delivery guy.”

  Rose still thinks I’m Pizza Guy. Normally, I’d see this as a blessing, but the longer I play out this charade, the fouler my mood gets. Is it so bad to reveal my true identity? I wouldn’t. Too much risk of backlash. But still. Maybe she wouldn’t care about the money. Maybe she’s never even heard of Solonay or Byron Schaffer. A man can dream.

  For now, the pizza charade remains. “Yes,” I say, settling in my office chair. “I own my own company.” At least that’s an island of truth in a sea of lies. “What are you doing, Rose?”

  “I’m eating tacos on my couch. Well, I was eating tacos. They’re all over the floor now, thanks to your surprise call.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I gaze out the glass wall and watch the people through the windows in the neighboring skyscraper. For a second there, I could have sworn Rose sounded exactly like Leila.

  I shake my head. I’m imagining things. Paranoia. Because if Rose were Leila? I’d be risking a lot more than blue balls. I’d be risking my entire company.

  I swore to myself I wouldn’t reach out to this woman again, but I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. At least, the times I’m not thinking about Leila Engleton, which is bad enough, if you ask me. The woman has managed to get under my skin. They both have. I believe it’s due to their similar personalities. There’s a certain level of vulnerability to them both, and a streak of fire, too. An intriguing combination.

  “What kind of tacos?” I ask.

  “Chicken and veggie and avocado. Sour cream. Cheese.” There’s a faint banging through the phone, then Rose whispers, “Shit.”

  “What’s happening over there?” I reach up to loosen my tie. Everyone has gone home for the evening except me. Surprise, surprise. One of these days, I’ll manage to leave the office before ten.

  In a loud whisper, Rose says, “It’s my landlord. She keeps demanding I open my door. I owe her rent.”

  At this, I sit up straighter in my seat, not liking the sound of that.

  She must not notice my silence, because she goes on. “I’ll be able to pay her half this week once I get paid. I’ve been behind because I lost my previous job. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  And how does she know that’s what I am—worried?

  “Do you need money, Rose?” I ask calmly.

  Now it’s her turn to pause. “No, I’m okay. It’s a nice gesture though.” As if
wanting to change the topic of conversation, she hurries to say, “So why did you call?”

  As if she doesn’t know. “Are you free?” I’m already palming my semi. Pleasure shivers through me. Anticipation tightens my lungs.

  Rose makes a light, breathy sound. “Oh. Um… yes?”

  “Is that a question or an answer, Rose?”

  “An answer. Definitely an answer.”

  I hear her moving around, rustling fabric. Using the tips of my fingers, I trail them across the damp spot having formed on my pants from my leaking cockhead. I give myself a gentle squeeze before pulling away. Not yet. “I’ve been thinking about you, Rose.”

  “Y-you have?”

  “I haven’t wanted to. You’re a distraction, and I don’t like distractions.”

  She clears her throat delicately. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

  Something shimmers in my chest. This is so messed up. I want this woman. I shouldn’t want this woman. Once I get her out of my system, that’ll be the end of it. “How,” I ask, “have you been thinking of me?”

  “Um.” It sounds like she’s biting her lip. I don’t know what Rose looks like, but if her face is anything compared to her sexy body, I bet she’s stunning. “On the way to work, on the subway. When I crave pizza, which is every other day.”

  “Only every other day?” I chuckle, and she gasps. “You’re lying to me, Rose.” Somehow, I know exactly what and how and when Rose has been thinking about me, because I’ve done the same to her. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself at night? As you flick your clit and shove your fingers into your wet pussy? Hm?” My voice is a low rumble, a hot caress.

  She pants. Swallows. “Yes.”

  Heat licks through me, and my cock throbs once, hard. This woman is going to drive me over the edge with merely a word. That’s never happened before. The only other woman who’s wound me this tight is Leila, but she’s not here.

  “Tell me,” I demand. “Walk me through how you get yourself off when you think of me.”

  Rose’s breath hitches. Her pants come quicker, harder, like she’s performing intense cardio. “First, I usually lie down. Sometimes I’ll take my clothes off, sometimes I won’t. I’ll close my eyes and start running the tips of my fingers over my stomach. Then I’ll move to my nipples and touch them lightly.”