The Billionaire's Assistant

by Mackenzie Gray

  I went with option three. Pursue her as myself. Cut off contact as Pizza Guy. She never has to know it was I who dropped filthy nothings over the phone.

  That’s why I haven’t responded to the message she sent me over the weekend. As of today, Pizza Guy no longer exists.

  “Please let me know when Leila arrives,” I say smoothly, making my retreat. Peg laughs. Fuck. Now I’m paranoid. “And order some doughnuts for the office,” I add over my shoulder. “Pink icing with sprinkles.” Once or twice a week I’ll order baked goods, especially if my team has been working harder than usual. That’s been the case with Solonay’s international launch. Plus, everyone likes free food.

  To pass the time, I organize my desk and go through my emails. Technically this is Leila’s job, but since I receive over one hundred emails a day, she can never get through them all. Am I doing this to help her out? Maybe. She never has to know, anyway. I have the right to respond to my own emails, even if I don’t do it very often. There’s nothing of importance in my inbox, so I delete the irrelevant messages. Near the end of the unread emails, I spot the Alzheimer’s Charity Gala reminder email about the event this Saturday evening.

  I’m allowed a plus-one to the event. In the past, I’ve taken Peg and causal dates, but no one in recent years. I doubt Leila’s ever attended an event like this. It might be a nice opportunity for a night out.

  Through my closed office door, I hear Peg say, “Good morning, Leila.”

  My cock jumps, like it knows a beautiful woman isn’t far off. “Sorry I’m late, Peg. Am I in trouble?” The worry in her voice is plain.

  I frown. Have I really been that hard on her? When she first started working here, I needed to keep her in line. The best method of doing that was through fear. But things have changed now.

  Peg says something in response, and then Leila’s high heels click down the hall. I let a few minutes pass so Leila can get settled before poking my head into her office. “Leila.”

  She startles, snapping her head up from where she studies her phone. Irritation claws at me. Was she talking to someone? Pizza Guy?

  “Mr. Schaffer. Hi.” She sets her phone face-down. Her hands go to her lap, and the most beautiful blush darkens her cheeks, as if she’s remembering the last time we were alone together. I certainly haven’t forgotten. It fueled my fantasies over the weekend.

  “Leila.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend it to. I’m displeased. “I thought I told you to call me Byron.”

  Her mouth works. Those lips. They were made for my cock. “But we’re at work.”

  She has a point. A point I no longer care about, in any case. In order to get closer to her, the existing barriers need to disappear, one of those being name formality. “I’d prefer if you called me Byron,” I say.

  As if unconscious of the gesture, she touches the skin of her neck. It’s damp. “All right.” The word is a whisper.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  She jumps. “Say what?”

  “My name.”

  It’s so quiet I can hear Peg’s phone call through the closed door. It no longer feels like it’s Byron and Leila in the room, but Rose and Pizza Guy. This is how it was before I learned of her identity. I demanded things of her, and she obeyed me. I’m in control of this situation. That’s just the way I like it.

  “Byron,” she whispers.

  My cock stirs at how thick her voice is. Good girl, I want to say. But I’d probably get sued for sexual harassment. I nod stiffly. “Thank you, Leila. How are you feeling? Well?”

  “Very well. Thank you.” She swallows. “Um…”

  Onto orders of business. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but this Saturday is the annual Alzheimer’s Charity Gala at the Lincoln Center, and I need a date. I’d like for you to accompany me.”

  It’s not really a request. It’s more a command, but I don’t want to scare Leila away. As long as she thinks she has an out, I can convince her she’d rather spend the evening in my company.

  The last thing I expect, however, is her laughter. It’s not intentionally cruel, but it still makes my spine snap straight. “That’s funny, Mr. Schaffer. I mean Byron.” Her hazel eyes twinkle as she takes me in. A minute passes. Then another. And gradually, her smile fades. “Wait, you’re serious?”

  Coldly: “I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

  Leila looks almost distraught at the thought of being my date. A growl swells in my lungs. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. I can’t go to one of those things. I can’t afford it. Aren’t they like ten thousand dollars a plate?”

  “Twenty thousand.” But who’s counting? “And you don’t need to pay for anything. I’ve already got it covered.”

  But Leila shakes her head. “Thank you, Byron, but I can’t accept that. Peg might enjoy the event though.”

  Peg is not the woman I plan on sharing a bed with at the end of the night.

  Instead, I say, “What time should I pick you up?”

  She blinks in disbelief. “Did you not hear what I said?”

  “Yes. And I won’t accept it.”

  Ah, there’s the fire I’ve been missing. It flares in her pupils as her luscious lips press together. “You won’t accept it. I see. I didn’t realize you were my keeper.”

  Moving away from the door, I approach her desk. Leila’s nostrils flare. No one says no to me. No one.

  “Leila.” My voice is a caress. I place my hand on the back of her chair, my fingers brushing her neck. A soft sound catches in her throat. Blood drains from my head and moves quickly south. Why does she always smell so damn tempting?

  I get no further than her name before she huffs. Almost as if she’s afraid of what I’m going to say if I continue. “I don’t have anything to wear. I’m assuming jeans and a t-shirt is unacceptable, right? So there. Guess you’ll have to ask someone else.” She turns to her computer, a clear dismissal. She holds her body in high tension. Every few seconds her eyes dart to where I stand.

  “Come with me,” I say, reaching down to grab her hand. Leila blinks at her clasped fingers. Her skin is so much paler than mine, soft, delicate.

  Flustered, she allows me to lead her from the office. I stride with purpose to Peg’s desk, pulling her behind me, and ask Peg, “Is there anything on the schedule today that requires you or Ms. Engleton to be in the office?”

  Peg’s face lights in curiosity. She studies the younger woman with no lack of glee. “No, Mr. Schaffer.”

  Excellent. “I’d like you to take Ms. Engleton shopping. She needs a dress for the upcoming gala. I’ll call Tony to let him know you’re coming.”

  Leila sputters beside me. “Now wait a minute—”

  “Leila.” I cut her a serious look, and she goes quiet. “Don’t think of it as charity. Think of it as you doing me a favor. I need a date to the gala. You’re free for the evening. What’s the problem?”

  Her upper lip curls. I’m sure she thinks it looks scary, but in actuality, it’s adorable. “How do you know I’m free? You didn’t even ask.”

  “Are you free?”

  She crosses her arms like a petulant teenager. “Yes.”

  I clap my hands together as Peg smiles wider than before. “Excellent.”

  Chapter 19

  Leila

  “So.”

  I peek at Peg from the corner of my eye as I rifle through the line of dresses hanging in the dress shop. That single word makes me tense for reasons unknown. “So.”

  The older woman pulls out a long blue gown with silver beading along the neckline. She tilts her head, studying it. “Too sparkly.” She puts it back. For that, I’m grateful.

  Almost a full minute passes in silence before I pause my perusal of the gowns and face her, crossing my arms over my chest. Byron insisted I shop for a gown for the Alzheimer’s Charity Gala, so that’s what I’
m doing, with a hefty amount of reluctance. It’s not like he held a gun to my head or anything, but I sense he and I moving in a direction I’m not sure I want to go in.

  The shop itself is a tiny thing, yet stuffed with silk and chiffon, ribbons and crystals. It’s sparkly, like a diamond, and has the shiniest, polished marble floors I’ve ever seen. Considering the evening wear costs more than five times my monthly rent, I’m unsurprised, really. Peg and I have been here for thirty minutes and I’m only just starting to relax. The shopkeeper, a hawk of a woman, continues to track me as I wind my way through the store. It’s like she knows I don’t belong.

  When another minute passes in silence, I sigh. Peg isn’t someone who cracks easily, but I can’t say the same thing for myself. “Are you going to explain that whole so thing?”

  Peg shrugs, though her eyes dance behind her glasses, making her appear decades younger. “You and Byron.”

  I choke out what may be a curse. Or a prayer. It’s hard to say. We are not going there. The memory of sharing laughs and surprisingly good conversation over drinks with my boss brings a flush to my cheeks. Then my mind wanders to other moments, like the feel of his palm burning against my bare thigh. The way his mouth dipped near my ear.

  The worst part? I wanted to kiss him—badly. I haven’t thought of Pizza Guy since.

  “Wh-what about me and Mr. Schaffer?”

  Peg sends me a knowing glance. “Something’s changed between you two. I don’t know what, but I can feel it.”

  What I’m not planning to do: divulge every single detail of my run-in with Byron last Friday.

  What I do: divulge every detail of my run-in with Byron last Friday.

  To her credit, Peg listens to the entire story without interrupting. It pours out of me. Peg is the second person I’ve told, the first being Charlie, who screeched over the phone at my news, claiming my boss totally wanted to get in my pants. I told her it wasn’t like that, even though I wonder how big his cock is. I bet it’s massive. A donkey dick.

  Peg sounds like she’s having a heart attack. I lunge toward her, thinking she’s going to collapse, my features pressed in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Her skin is white as a ghost. She shakes her head, unable to get the words out.

  “What?” If Peg dies on my watch, I’ll surely be fired.

  “Leila! You can’t… just… say those things in front of me.”

  All right, I’m extremely confused. “What things?”

  “About Byron’s… you know. Please, keep it to yourself, okay? I think of him as a son.”

  I slap my hands over my mouth, so mortified I wish I could sink into a puddle and slink out of sight. “Did I say that out loud? About his… er… wiener?”

  She nods stiffly, her mouth pulled tight. Whoops.

  I anticipate Peg telling me to steer clear of our boss, considering it’s against the rules according to the employee handbook (which I, uh, haven’t read). Instead, she tells me the last thing I expect.

  “Be gentle with him.”

  My hands drop to my sides in shock.

  Wait, what?

  Peg takes in my perplexed expression, and her face softens in a motherly way. I can understand why Byron depends on her so much. I feel safe in Peg’s company. “You might not think it looking at him, but Byron has a lot of vulnerabilities. It’s not often he lets people in.”

  “I mean…” What do I mean? Honestly, I have no idea. “There’s nothing like that going on. I’m his assistant. He doesn’t confide in me.”

  “He’s starting to open up with you. It’s subtle, but it’s there.” She studies me in closer detail, as if trying to see what lies in my heart. “He’s not as bad as he comes off, you know.”

  Weeks ago, I would have blatantly disagreed, but our conversation at Glass showed me he has a softer side. He can be charming. He makes me laugh. He’s a surprisingly good listener, too.

  “You’ve known him for a long time,” I say, “right?”

  She nods and pulls out a pale pink gown, holding it up to my body. “This is a possibility.”

  As if appearing from out of thin air, the storekeeper plucks the gown from Peg’s hands and moves off to hang it in my designated dressing room.

  “I’ve known him since he first founded Solonay. Back then, he was still a poor guy trying to make it big. He worked like a dog. Ten, twelve-hour days, seven days a week. I think there’s always been that drive to reinvent himself, so to speak. He and his brother were raised by a single mother. It was a difficult life.”

  “He put his mom in a nursing home,” I say harshly. “Who abandons their own mother?”

  Peg’s mouth thins. I’m afraid she’s going to slap me, but the woman has too much class for that. “Byron’s mother suffers from Alzheimer’s and dementia. Her facility is state of the art. He visits her once a month. The only reason she’s not in New York with him is because she can’t cope with the Northeastern winters.”

  My stomach bottoms out. It feels like I’ve been shoved off a high ledge, and I keep falling, not knowing when I’m going to hit the ground. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Peg says. “You assumed, as everyone does. That’s how the world works.”

  I did not expect to feel so awful learning about Byron’s situation. My stomach churns. “Sorry,” I whisper.

  Her shoulders relax, and she smiles at me, though sadly. “It’s okay. This is why I think you’re good for him. You’re kind, and Byron doesn’t receive a lot of kindness in his day-to-day life. People always want something from him.”

  For now, I decide to overlook her comment about me being good for Byron, and ask, “What happened to make him so cold?” The persona he gives off is not who he truly is, though. Who else would loan a failing restaurant money so they could stay afloat? Who visits his mother every month even if she might not remember him?

  Peg waves me over to a collection of black dresses. I’d rather look at the clearance section, but I have a feeling it would be unacceptable to wear a reduced-price dress to the event. Gasp, it cost only two thousand dollars instead of five! Ridiculous.

  The woman says, with a scathing tone, “He was engaged a few years ago to this awful woman. I knew she was all wrong for him. But of course, as his employee, I had to smile and grit my teeth every time she came to the office. She was a very good actress. After a while, I thought I had been wrong and she really did care for him. Then he told her he wanted her to sign a prenup before they got married. The woman had a fit and dumped him. If she wasn’t getting a dime of his money, he wasn’t worth it to her.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’s a shame, right?” She continues to pull out gowns, passing them off to the storekeeper without input from me. Peg knows what’s acceptable to wear to a gala more than I do. “I’m telling you this so you know. His heart is vulnerable. So if you decide to pursue things with him, keep that in mind.”

  My heart gives a hard kick to my ribs. Is that what I’m doing? Letting him in?

  If anyone is pursuing anything, it’s him. He’s the one who wants me to accompany him to the gala. He’s the one who looks at me like he’d enjoy eating me for breakfast. The chemistry is there. To deny it would be to lie.

  The question is, if Byron is pursuing me, do I have a choice? The man gets what he wants, always.

  The storekeeper again appears. “Are you ready to try on some of your gowns?” she asks me with a stiff smile.

  “Yes,” I say, somewhat relieved. At least looking at myself in the mirror will take my mind off Byron.

  Peg and I are led to the dressing rooms in the back. Each stall is concealed by royal purple curtains. There’s a lovely sitting area and a platform placed in front of an enormous curved mirror that shows your reflection from every angle. The storekeeper ushers me into one of the dressing rooms while Peg ta
kes a seat. I stare at the five lovely gowns in front of me. Reach out and touch, gently. They’re too expensive, too stunning for the likes of me, but if Byron is paying for it, then I guess I have to accept.

  I try on the silver one first. It takes a few minutes to zip myself up in the back, but I manage. Then I emerge from the dressing stall. Wearing this fine fabric, I feel extremely out of place. It makes me question my decision to attend the gala. “I don’t know about this, Peg. Byron should choose someone more sophisticated to attend the gala. Someone who’s not going to embarrass him.”

  Peg’s expression is utterly serious as she says, “Why do you say that?”

  I stare at myself in the mirror, color warming my cheeks. “Look at me. I don’t belong in his world.” My fingers touch the gossamer fabric of the skirt, trace the subtle rose patterns in the top layer. “Knowing me, I’m going to say something dumb to someone important.”

  “And? So?” Peg’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Byron goes to these things because it’s expected of him, but that doesn’t mean he necessarily enjoys it. He asked you to attend because he wants you there. There’s no other reason for it.”

  “But I’m just his assistant.”

  “And I’m just his receptionist. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and turn around so I can see the back.” Head tilted, she examines me from every angle. “No.”

  I look down at myself. “I thought it looked nice.”

  “It’s too tight around the hips. We want something that emphasizes your waist. Try the blue one.”

  Well, fine. She’s probably right anyway. I switch out the silver dress for the blue one. It’s made almost entirely of beads and clacks annoyingly when I walk. I’m already shaking my head as I step from behind the curtain. “It sounds like I’m a walking maraca.”

  Lips pursed, she studies me. “All right. Try the pink one.”

  I do. As soon as I slip the silky fabric over my head, I feel like I can breathe easily. There’s no fancy beading or crystals. The bodice hugs me like a second skin, while the skirt flows around my legs like water. The allure is in its simplicity, the beautiful draping. I smile at myself in the mirror. It makes me look like a princess. More than that, I feel like one.