The Billionaire's Assistant

by Mackenzie Gray

  What he gave me… it’s a gift. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay him.

  Suddenly, Henry jumps onto the couch beside me. I sniffle, blinking at him. His yellow eyes are round as orbs, and we stare at one another. Then he bumps his head against mine, tickling me with his soft fur. He does it again. I’m so shocked I can’t move. He’s never done anything like this. Ever.

  He doesn’t stop there though. He climbs into my lap and begins to knead my legs. His claws are retracted. He’s not trying to harm me. He’s trying to comfort me.

  My heart melts. “Henry.” He’s purring.

  I sob harder—huge, ugly tears. It’s taken three years for King Henry to accept me. I thought for sure he’d hate me forever.

  Squeezing him to my chest, I bury my face in his fluffy gray fur and cry until the tears run out. My life is shit. Every time I get beaten down, I get back up, only to get beaten down again. It’s disheartening.

  But I will stand on my feet again. Maybe not today, and maybe not the day after, but eventually, my heart will heal. I will shed this dark cloak of misery and put myself out there again. I’ll meet a wonderful, loving man who loves me for me. The wait will be worth it.

  A knock sounds at the door. “Leila, I know you’re in there.”

  Henry squawks as I accidentally squeeze him too hard. He scrambles free of my hold and darts into the kitchen, where his food awaits.

  Byron has returned.

  Yesterday, he arrived only minutes after I got home. For nearly two hours, he begged me to open the door. I didn’t speak, but I listened. He told me how sorry he was for hurting me, how he was an idiot, a fool. Still, I didn’t speak. He promised he would return tomorrow, and he has.

  A lump of pain lodges in my throat. Is this what my life has become? Will I be forced to listen to the man I love pour his heart out every day, never allowing me space to move on?

  There’s no way I can stay here. I’ll head over to Tippy’s, find peace with a glass of wine and Charlie’s company.

  “Leila, please open the door. Please.” He knocks again, softer than before. He sounds defeated, worn down.

  Moving as quietly as possible, I inch to the edge of the couch and stand, slowly. My knees crack in protest. The sound echoes.

  A pause. The quality to the silence shifts.

  “Leila.”

  I can’t move. His voice wraps around my heart and tugs. Tears sting my eyes. Do I want to open the door and fall into his arms? Of course. But how can I move past Byron’s betrayal?

  “Please, Leila.”

  It’s the pleading tone that does me in. I harden my heart against it. No. What I needed from Byron was the truth, and he fed me lies instead. He can grovel for weeks—years—for all I care. I’m not opening the door.

  Moving on tip-toe, I creep around the back of the couch to the window leading to the fire escape. Throwing open the window, I stick out my head to check the weather. It’s raining. Gray and miserable. Even worse, it’s a cold rain.

  No time to grab my jacket. I grab my purse, slinging it over my shoulder, and step out onto the fire escape. The rusted metal is slippery. I hold onto the railing and carefully shuffle toward the steps. Within seconds, my clothes are soaked through, and my hair is plastered to my skull. My teeth chatter uncontrollably.

  “I’ll be back, Henry!” I call, in case he’s worried about me. Now that he and I have turned over a new leaf, maybe I’ll upgrade his food. Fresh steak and salmon, every night.

  Keeping hold of the railing, I inch closer to the staircase. The world is one huge gray blur. But something stands on the sidewalk below, looking up at me. A man.

  Byron.

  The rain comes down in sheets, and I can barely see what he’s holding. His eyes, however, blaze like the purest of stars.

  There I stand, shivering, on my decrepit fire escape, as the rain beats tattoos into my chilled skin. I have half a mind to go back inside, but then Byron’s just going to keep knocking on my door. It’s better if I get this conversation over with. At least then he’ll leave me alone.

  “What do you want, Byron?” I call, curling my arms around myself to contain what little warmth I can. Water streams in rivulets down my face, clinging to my eyelashes. I blink to clear my sight.

  He steps closer, but doesn’t climb the staircase. Giving me space. “I want to talk to you.”

  “You’ve already talked to me through the door. I heard everything you said. I’m not interested in hearing anymore.”

  “You didn’t hear everything I said, because I didn’t say everything I feel.”

  It’s not the words Byron speaks but the way they sound. Frayed. Tired. On the verge of giving up.

  My nostrils flare. New York City, drenched in fresh rain, muddling the rust and grime, pooling in the trash, sweeping it down into the gutters. This is the city I’ve lived my entire life in. I love it with my whole heart, cracks and all. That’s what it means to love. To love something or someone despite their flaws, not because of them.

  “Make it quick,” I snap. Three minutes seems like an adequate amount of time. My warm, dry apartment awaits.

  Byron shifts what he holds from one hand to the other. It looks like a flat, slender box. “Leila Engleton,” he begins, “you quite literally stumbled into my life.”

  My heart trembles. My hands tremble. Everything trembles. I’m afraid of what Byron is going to say. More than that, I’m afraid of what he won’t say, should I leave.

  “I should have fired you that first day, but something stopped me. Call it fate. Call it curiosity. Call it intrigue. Something held me back.

  “As time went on, your strengths began to shine through. I was attracted to your kindness, your steadfast nature. Your gumption. Even when you did everything wrong, you never gave up, never quit. You didn’t accept any of my bullshit.” He swallows, then goes on, his voice having softened. “But what attracted me the most was how you saw me, as no one else did.”

  I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. The raw emotion on his face is too much for one person to take, and my heart is already bruised. Yet each confession is like a balm to that bruise. Healing it.

  “I was terrified of feeling things for you. I told myself it would go away, but it didn’t. The fear grew larger. I was afraid to let you in, afraid of getting hurt again. But instead of running from my fear, I should have embraced it, and you. Instead of living behind my lies, I should have confided in you, trusted that you would hear me. I should have told you a long time ago how much I admired you, your spirit and tenacity.”

  Tears course down my face along with the rainwater. Of course he would do something so asinine like confess his love to me while I stand on a fire escape. But you know something? This is me, and he’s taking me for who I am.

  “But most of all,” he says, “I should have told you how much I love you, and that I never want to be apart from you.”

  The unexpectedness of his confession spears me through the heart. I cover my mouth with one hand, crying harder. I can barely see. “How can I believe you,” I say, “after all the lies you’ve told?”

  “I was wrong to lie to you. I have no excuse. But here I stand, a man in love, and I’m willing to do anything if you’ll give me a second chance.”

  “You’re just saying that!” The last word cracks. He’s using my weakness against me. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter what I feel for you. You killed it with your lies.” My fingers tighten on the slippery railing, knuckles shoved white against my skin.

  “Death cannot stop true love,” he says. “All it can do is delay it for a while.”

  Oh, damn. There goes my heart.

  “Why do you have to quote The Princess Bride?” I shout at him, unsure if I’m laughing or sobbing. The sound of the rain hitting the metal is so loud it nearly drowns out his answer.

 
“Because it’s your favorite movie,” he shouts back, “and I want to be worthy of you, just as Wesley wants to be worthy of Princess Buttercup.”

  Another sob rips into me. I’m shaking so hard I’m afraid I’m going to topple from this death contraption.

  “Please come down. I’m afraid you’ll slip and break your neck.”

  A moment of hesitation wars within me, but then I slowly climb down where the water has pooled into a muddy puddle. Byron hurries forward, yet doesn’t touch me. I’m not sure if I’m glad he’s being respectful of my boundaries, or sad that he’s so close yet so far away.

  “Leila.” Water droplets cling to his dark lashes. He licks the rain from his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so deeply sorry I hurt you. I’m asking for your forgiveness, knowing I don’t deserve it, but hoping you have it in your heart to grant it to me.” The pain in his voice feeds the pain in my chest. It tightens inside me. I shouldn’t. I should leave him standing in the rain, and climb back up to my apartment. Move on.

  But I can’t. I love this man, and he loves me too. Love is scary. Love is anger and hurt. At the end of the day though, love is forgiveness. Love is grace.

  “I forgive you.”

  His face collapses in relief. The weight he must have carried… “Thank God,” he says, lowing his forehead to mine. “Thank God.”

  That’s when I notice the object in his hand. “Is that…?”

  He opens the drenched box. Inside sits a gross, soggy pineapple pizza. Byron removes a slice and takes an enormous bite, muttering an enthusiastic, “Mm!”

  I giggle, swatting at his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Are you going to force me to eat this entire slice?” he asks.

  “I should.” My eyes sparkle. “But no, I’m going to let you off the hook.”

  “Oh, thank fuck.” He drops the offensive pizza slice into the box, then drops the box onto the flooded sidewalk with a splash. Wrapping his arms around me, he tugs me close. The love shining from his eyes is plain. I didn’t see it before, clouded by the fog of my mistrust, but I see it now.

  His smile fades. He’s serious once more. “Leila.” A gentle touch to my cheek. “You are everything I want in a woman, a partner in life. Please, come back to work. Come back to me.” Gripping both my hands in his, he draws them to his chest, covering them. “Give me another chance. I swear I won’t let you down.”

  Clearly, Byron is at the end of his rope. No matter how much he hurt me, in order to move forward, I have to let go of my anger. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “I don’t want to work as your assistant anymore.”

  His face falls. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

  “I want to be a part of your marketing team.”

  His smile returns, slowly inching up his face, banishing the dark sadness. “That can definitely be arranged.” His mouth dips closer to mine.

  “And I want doughnuts every day,” I whisper, loving the spice of his breath against my mouth. “Strawberry with sprinkles.”

  Soft, fond laughter. Blue, twinkling eyes. We’re both soaked to the skin, but I don’t think there’s been a more beautiful day in all of New York history. “Done.” He leans forward.

  “Wait!” I press a hand to his lips, stopping him. “One last thing.”

  Lines crinkle out from the corner of his eyes. “Tell me and it’s yours.”

  My mouth wobbles. I can’t keep the words inside any longer. “I love you.”

  “Leila.” The name is whispered against my mouth. His hands tenderly cup my face. “I love you, too. More than you will ever know.” He finally gives me the kiss I’ve been longing for, deep and tender and hungry all at once. This, I think, is more than enough.

  This is everything.

  Epilogue

  Byron

  Today, I’m going to ask Leila to be my wife.

  It’s been a long time coming. Leila and I have been in a relationship for a year now, living together for half of that. It’s been the best year of my life.

  It’s morning. The sun has risen, but there’s no rush to get out of bed. It’s Saturday, after all. And I get to wake up to the most beautiful woman at my side.

  Leila is curled beneath the covers, her nose pressed into my shoulder, one of her soft hands resting on my leg. A slight shift turns me to face her. I trace her features with my eyes, as I do almost every morning while she sleeps unaware. Nerves flutter in my gut. It’s to be expected. I’ve wanted this for a long time. Hell, I bought her a ring after only a month of dating. But it was never the right time to ask. I’ve realized there’s never going to be a right time. There’s only now. Today. Tomorrow might never come.

  Leila stirs, eyelashes fluttering against her cheekbones. She opens her eyes. They’re more brown than green in the mornings, but I love how swiftly the colors can change.

  “Morning,” I whisper, kissing her sweetly on the mouth.

  “Mmm.” She stretches, releasing a long groan. “Morning, Mr. Schaffer.”

  I smile. Leila still works for me, though she’s now in a leadership role on the marketing team. She still calls me Mr. Schaffer, just to tease me. Still a spitfire, this one.

  I tug her against my chest. On the weekends, we usually eat a late breakfast and discuss what we’ll do for the day. I was thinking of taking her to the botanical gardens, asking her to be my wife among the plants. It’s a beautiful day outside. Clear skies, sunny. But chances are everyone and their mother will be at the gardens too. I’d like some privacy.

  “Have I told you how lovely you look this morning?” I pepper kisses over her shoulder.

  Her arms curl around me and squeeze tight. My heart is almost too full. One of the best things about Leila is how she isn’t afraid to show affection. Over time, I’ve grown to crave her touch. I’d even go so far as to say I’ve grown more outwardly affectionate myself. “No,” she says through a grin. “You should say it again.”

  “You, Ms. Engleton, look positively ravishing.” And I plant a deep, hungry kiss to her mouth. Leila moans. Her arms twine around the back of my neck, and she rocks against me. Two seconds flat, and I’m hard as a steel pipe.

  While I’d love to fuck her senseless, now isn’t the time. So I soften the kiss, ease the heat to a steadily burning ember instead of an inferno. With a blissful sigh, Leila pulls away.

  “How about breakfast?” she asks. “What do you want? Eggs? Pancakes?”

  “Mm, pancakes sound good.” Since moving in together, my takeout days have been vastly reduced.

  She wiggles in excitement. “How about banana pancakes? Oh! Banana and chocolate chip. Let me find a recipe.” She grabs her phone and starts searching for a recipe. Leila is so absorbed in her task she doesn’t notice me reach into the bedside table to grab the ring box. It’s now or never. I don’t want to wait for the perfect moment. I want to ask when it feels right. And right here, right now, the two of us in bed, completely at ease, crazy in love… now is the right moment.

  After setting down her phone, she turns toward me. I’ve already climbed out of bed and stand in front of her. Confusion lines her face. It’s time. I love this woman. I want to live my life with this woman, and at the end of my days, I want to die with her by my side.

  “Leila Engleton,” I say, lowering myself onto one knee, the ring box opened to her. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife and making me the happiest man alive?”

  Her mouth drops. She’s frozen in shock. A long moment passes.

  And then another.

  A third.

  Nerves threaten to consume me. I thought for sure Leila was going to say yes…

  She chokes, sucks in air. “Byron.” Tears spring to her eyes. “Yes.” Her face crumples, and she laughs through her tears, reaching toward me with shaky hands. “Yes. I will absolutely be your wife.” Sh
e plants a kiss on my mouth. I’m smiling so wide I’m sure she can feel it, because she’s smiling too. Hell yes. I’m going to marry this woman and make babies with her, and we’re going to grow old together in our beautifully imperfect life, and I can’t fucking wait.

  I slide the ring onto her finger, marveling at the perfect fit. Leila screeches, tackling me, her cackling laughter bouncing off the ceiling and windows. “Look, Henry! Look!” She waves her left hand in the air so King Henry can see it. “We’re getting married!”

  Henry, who sits atop his enormous kitty castle, twitches his plumed tail left and right. From his position, he glares down at us haughtily, but Leila is too deliriously happy to notice.

  After all this time, King Henry has finally gotten his throne.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you so much for your purchase! If it’s not too much to ask, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. Reviews really do make a difference, and I appreciate every single one of them!

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  Acknowledgements

  My thanks goes out to my family and everyone who supported me in this endeavour. And to you, dear reader. My thanks goes to you.

  About the Author

  Mackenzie Gray read her first romance novel while flying on an airplane at age thirteen—a rather scandalous affair. Many years later, she decided to try writing one herself. That book, thankfully, will never see the light of day.

  She writes contemporary romance with humor, heart, and plenty of steam. When she’s not writing, you can find her traveling, gorging on chocolate, or watching Ever After reruns, sometimes all at the same time.