Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  “Nate, it’s so good to have you here,” he says. “Hello, Evie.”

  “Hi, Robbie.”

  Fuck me. Robbie? And with a smile?

  But I can’t fire Robbie. He’s good at his job.

  I give him a miniscule smile. “It’s good to see you, too.” We shake hands. “I already reviewed the reports you sent. Everything looks good.”

  He beams. “I’m happy to hear that. There’s something—”

  “Oh my God! You’re finally here! I was dying waiting for you.”

  A woman I’ve never seen before rushes toward us, her arms spread wide. She’s practically naked, her wild black mane flying around like some dark miasma as she comes on in a tottering, breast-quivering run on ridiculous stilettos. And is that a…fur bikini that she’s wearing?

  Clearly, she’s in the wrong hospital. The Sterling Medical Center does not have a psychiatric ward.

  I’m about to tell her so when she hugs me, her limbs wrapping me up like tentacles. “Nate! I missed you so much!”

  Chapter Two

  Nate

  An internal alarm goes off as goosebumps break over my skin. I couldn’t tell by looking at that hideous, flour-white Frankenface. I mean, it’s obvious she’s had a few too many plastic surgeries. But up close, that whiny, high-pitched voice is unmistakable.

  Georgette the Psycho.

  An ex-girlfriend. We broke up a year ago. She’s a social climber whose family isn’t anywhere close to poor. They have hundreds of millions of dollars in their coffers. But she wants more.

  The Sterling fortune more.

  “Georgette, what are you doing here?” I ask, desperately trying to unpeel her arms. I can feel Evie’s gaze on us, and damn it, I don’t need this spectacle.

  “I missed you so much.” She looks up, fluttering her fake lashes. “Did you miss me?”

  As much as dysentery. “Aren’t you supposed to be in rehab? And what is that you wearing?”

  “Do you like it? It’s mink!” she squeals. “I ordered it special from Moscow, thinking of you.”

  What the hell? I inspire mink bikinis now?

  “And rehab is all finished.” She clutches me tighter. “Nate, darling, I want you to know I’m clean now. I got clean for you. To be worthy of you!”

  Oh boy. Maybe she didn’t get the memo last year when I dumped her after she pulled a crazy fake-pregnancy stunt. Absolutely nothing this woman does is going to make her worth my time or energy. I mean, she thinks I like mink bikinis.

  “I even redid myself. What do you think? I remember how you said you like Angelina Jolie’s mouth, so I got it for you!”

  “You got—”

  “And Natalie Portman’s nose, and those boobs you were eyeing when we watched that cheerleader movie that time.” She pushes the enhanced mammaries against me, making them impossible to ignore. “I had my floating ribs removed, like Cher…”

  I stare in horror. She piecemealed a face and body together out of random features I said were pretty? Is she insane?

  Stupid question. She is insane. Certifiably. Everyone knows this. The only reason she isn’t locked up somewhere is her parents. They’re overly loving parents, and they’ve hired a great legal team to protect her.

  “Georgette, I’m working. And this is a hospital. You need to let me get on with my job,” I say, forcibly separating our bodies.

  “Working?” she whines, stumbling back a step. “But why? You have all the money. Just tell Justin to take care of whatever it is.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. If she were a man, I’d punch her in the face, just to shut her up. Justin takes care of the profit-generating side of the family business, and I deal with the charitable portion. That isn’t changing, not for her, not for anybody.

  Evie steps closer to us. “You need to go,” she says to Georgette.

  I wince. Evie doesn’t have to get involved in this madness, and Georgette is most definitely an equal-opportunity bitch.

  “Who the hell asked you?” Georgette glares at Evie. “The hired help doesn’t get to talk unless addressed first.”

  Evie’s jaw drops. Red colors her cheeks, but this time it’s an angry red.

  “Georgette, shut up. If you aren’t sick—and I mean physically sick—then you need to leave,” I say furiously. I’m seriously embarrassed for her. And at myself for having dated her. I was young and stupid, thinking with my dick more than anything else.

  “I’m not going anywhere without you!”

  Her whiny voice makes me clench my teeth until it feels like I’m going to chip a tooth. Thankfully, security has finally arrived.

  “Take this trash out,” I say coldly, gesturing at Georgette.

  The guards approach her.

  “No, stay away! He and I are meant to be!”

  She launches herself at me again, but I’m quicker this time. I sidestep, and Georgette flails, off balance. She screams when the guards grab her arms, but I don’t hire donut munchers for security. They start to drag her away.

  “Nate, don’t let them do this to us! I’m going to have you, no matter what! We’re destined! Fated, like Troilus and Cressida!”

  Slapping my hand over my eyes, I grind my teeth. Georgette and her degree in classical literature. Are our attorneys good enough to get me off on a technicality if I kill her? It wouldn’t even be murder, just self-preservation. She’s a soul- and money-sucking monster who’ll drain me of life if I let her.

  Robbie clears his throat. “I apologize. That was…um…unfortunate.”

  “Yes. Very,” I say tightly. My schedule isn’t exactly a national secret, but how the hell did she find out that I was going to be here? When I find out who told her, they’re fired, effective immediately.

  I inhale deeply and force myself to relax. “But it’s done now. Let’s continue.” I’m not letting Georgette derail my agenda.

  The rest of the visit is uneventful. Everything is as described in the reports. Robbie runs a tight ship. Doctors and nurses—at least the ones we see—treat patients with compassion and patience. We screen them carefully to ensure that they’re dedicated to helping people, rather than just fattening their bank accounts, although the center pays well.

  I thank Robbie for his time, commend his staff on a job well done and leave with Evie. She didn’t say a word after Georgette got dragged away. But she must have a lot on her mind. She’s never been this quiet during an inspection before.

  When we’re back on the road toward the office, I say, “You can tell me what you think, Ms. Parker.”

  She looks at her tablet, as though needing to consult her notes. “I’m thinking the Sterling Medical Center is in good hands.”

  “Really? That’s all?”

  She shrugs. “You don’t think Robbie’s good?”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. She knows that’s not what I mean. “Of course he’s good. I picked him. But I’m wondering…” I don’t know how the hell I’m going to ask this without sounding ridiculous. I just want to know if she was disappointed or disgusted that Georgette made such a spectacle. But it’s ludicrous for me to expect Evie would have a reaction. To have one, she would need to feel something for me. But she thinks I’m just a guy who makes her do things for money. Okay, that sounds a little dirty, but that’s basically what a job is.

  “You’re wondering…?” Evie prompts when I don’t continue.

  “Never mind. Nothing.”

  “Okay.” She returns her attention back to the infernal tablet.

  I fantasize about chucking it out the window. It’s company issued. She wouldn’t miss it. And it would give me at least several hundred dollars’ worth of satisfaction to Frisbee the damn thing into traffic.

  But I don’t do that. I don’t want her to think I’m crazy.

  I park the Bugatti in the underground garage of the tall, contemporary Sterling & Wilson building. It’s our new second headquarters here in L.A. The original HQ is in Chicago, but Justin moved to L.A. to be with his wife, Vanes
sa, when he got married. And the hub of Sterling & Wilson is basically wherever he is. I followed, partly to hang out more with Court, who was studying at UCLA at that time, and also because L.A. has better weather.

  Evie and I walk into the executive elevator. She hits the button for the thirtieth floor, where my office is.

  “Mr. Sterling?”

  “Yes, Ms. Parker,” I say, my voice tighter and more proper. Like I have a stick up my ass for real. Ugh. I shouldn’t be like this with Evie when the morning’s embarrassment has nothing to do with her. I should apologize and—

  “An email just landed in your inbox. I think it’s from that woman in the medical center…”

  I’m going to run Georgette over with my Bugatti. Actually, no. My baby cost nineteen million bucks, and Georgette isn’t worth it. Obstacles, obstacles…

  I know. I’ll call Uber and have them run her over. They can do it with a Prius, in an environmentally friendly way. “Just delete it. She’s a sociopath.”

  Evie tilts her head and blinks up at me. “You don’t want to know what she said?”

  “It isn’t like I have to read it to know what she wants.”

  “She isn’t asking for money. In fact, she says she’s going to pay money to get you.”

  “What?” That’s so unlike Georgette that it makes me wonder if she got part of her brain surgically replaced as well.

  “She plans to attend Elizabeth’s auction and bid on you.” Evie purses her mouth, a frown pulling her eyebrows together. “She says she intends to win.”

  Oh, holy fuck no.

  The elevator door opens, and I walk out on autopilot, my mind whirling. Why did Elizabeth invite her? Actually, she probably didn’t. She invited Georgette’s parents, maybe, and Psycho Girl got one of the tickets.

  Georgette’s parents would never give her money to bid on me. They know how I feel about her, and they’re embarrassed and worried about pushing me too far. I might have a rep for being nice, but I’m still a Sterling. Barron has made it clear more than once that he worries about gold diggers trying to snatch me up, since I’m the only unmarried man left in the family.

  But Georgette has a decently large trust fund. She can win me without their help.

  Others are undoubtedly going to bid on me, but not with the level of mindless zeal that she has. I need a plan if I want to avoid her clutches.

  And that means…

  My gaze slides over to Evie, who’s following half a step back. My trusty assistant. The one who makes me a kale shake every morning. Surely she wants me to live a long, happy life, and that won’t happen if Georgette wins me at the auction.

  “My office, please, Ms. Parker.”

  She takes one look at my face. “Yes, Mr. Sterling.” She follows me in and shuts the door.

  I pace for a moment, then stop and turn to face her, my mind made up. “I need you to go to the auction and bid on me.”

  Evie blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “If you don’t, Georgette will win me. So you have to do it.”

  She bites her lip. “I’m sure you can ask somebody else to do it for you. Vicki, perhaps?”

  “Vicki…? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Last Wednesday? That sudden lunch meeting?”

  “Oh. No. Definitely not.” Vicki is fifty-six years old, goes to bed by nine and loves children. I met her to screen her for Justin for a nanny position because he had an emergency meeting in Chicago that day.

  “How about Melinda? Or London?”

  “No, no, no. None of them will work. They’re all going to want something.”

  The look she gives me is dubious. “Like what? The date they won?”

  “Like a ring on their finger. Like to become Mrs. Nate Sterling.” I shudder at the very idea of having a missus.

  “It could go that way. There are all sorts of possibilities when you’re dating someone.” Her tone is patient, like a kindergarten teacher explaining the way life works to a toddler.

  “Hah. In bed, maybe,” I say before I can stop myself. “Commitment strips you of choices. And why settle for one when I don’t have to?” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Evie, listen. You’re the only person who can save me from Georgette. You saw how she was back at the medical center. She won’t just want to marry me; she’ll want suck the marrow out of my bones.”

  Evie makes a face. “She can’t be that bad…”

  “Oh my God, worse,” I say, desperate to convince her. “She punctured our condoms. When that failed, she faked a pregnancy to trap me into marriage, then ‘miscarried’ when she realized she couldn’t hide the fact that she wasn’t pregnant anymore.” The shit she put my family through was criminal. The only reason Barron hasn’t buried her and her family is because her parents are nice people and apologized profusely. And she was crazy enough to accuse me of dumping her over her “pronounced nasolabial folds.”

  “Nasolabial…?” Evie says faintly. She takes a moment, then clears her throat. “Well, even if I wanted to, I can’t help you. You understand that I don’t make enough to go to an auction like Elizabeth’s and bid, right?”

  I smile, sensing a victory. It’s cute how she worries about such an inconsequential aspect. I pull back, dropping my hands from her shoulders. “Bid to your heart’s content. Better yet, bid as high as possible so I’m not embarrassed. I’ll take care of the cost.”

  She presses her lips together. Oh, right! She said she doesn’t make enough. That must’ve been one of those famous female hints. “And you’ll get a pay raise and a bonus for helping me out.”

  That earns me a frown. Does she want a company car? If so, I can arrange—

  “I really don’t have anything to wear to an event that fancy,” she says.

  Ah, she wants an expense account. “Not a problem. Buy yourself a new dress and send me the bill.”

  Her frown only deepens, which is definitely not the reaction I was expecting. I think for a moment, then snap my fingers. Of course a woman can’t simply buy a new dress. “And get matching shoes, purses, clutches, jewelry and whatever else you need to complete the look.” Magnanimity is a cardinal virtue.

  “That’s very generous…”

  Hah. I have her now.

  “…but I’m afraid I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling.”

  “Why not?” What more does this woman want? A new watch, maybe…?

  “It really does go beyond my job description. And what would people think if I were to bid on you?”

  “People? People? Why would either one of us care about that?” The only thing she should care is what I think! She works for me, not for “people.”

  She continues, “You’re better off finding a friend to do it. There must be at least one female friend who can help you out.”

  “But I don’t have—” I say, then inwardly wince at how bad that sounds. “I mean, all my female friends are married or engaged. I can’t ask them.”

  “Hmm. Well, there’s always Craigslist. If you want, I’ll put up an ad there for you.”

  What the hell? I said I wanted to be saved, not have another sociopath after me! The Internet is full of psychos!

  Then she leaves the office, closing the door quietly. Somehow the fact that she’d rather foist me off on a random stranger hurts more than the fact that she can’t do it herself.

  Chapter Three

  Evie

  By the time I arrive home, it’s almost eight. As promised, Nate had my car waiting for me in the office garage. Thoughtful of him to remember, because I totally forgot about it. But then, he’s a very considerate boss.

  I tried to ignore his mood all day long, but of course he’s upset that I refused to bid on him at the auction. He never said anything, but he seemed a bit…broody, I guess, is the word to describe his mood for the rest of the day. He even shot me a few resentful glances while I worked on my tablet.

  But I’m not going to bid on him at the auction. No way.

  I walk into the ap
artment, and there’s Kim in a tank top and boxers, stretched out on the couch. She’s a stunning brunette with the most beautiful caramel-brown eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s a small, jagged scar on her jaw line that she can’t hide, even with concealer. But instead of diminishing her allure, I think it adds to her mystery. How did the super-efficient assistant to a man as wealthy and important as Salazar Pryce get a scar like that?

  I’ve never asked, not wanting to be nosy. I’m lucky to have her as a roommate, because this place isn’t far from Nate’s house, has two lovely suites and is way out of my price range. Not to mention, she’s been mentoring me. There’s no way I could’ve survived in my job for nine months without her help and advice. As a matter of fact, she’s the one who referred me into my current position.

  “Hey, you’re finally home,” she says. “I left you some Thai chicken and rice.”

  “Yes, please.” I kick off my heels and dump my purse on the dining table before rushing to the kitchen. “And thanks. You’re a goddess.

  She waves airily. “I bestow my Thai chicken favor upon you.”

  I microwave the food and bring it over to the couch with a glass of Merlot. She sits up, and I plunk down next to her and dig into my dinner.

  “Didn’t Nate feed you lunch?”

  “He offered, but I opted for having my PB&J at the desk.” It was obvious he was going to try to wine and dine me into changing my mind about the auction.

  “Why? Is he becoming too irresistible for you? Was he extra hot today?”

  I almost choke on the rice. “Shit. Not like that.”

  Kim raises an eyebrow.

  “I mean, yeah, of course he’s hot.” Oh my God, sooo hot. “And he did greet me in nothing but a towel again today.”

  My hormones start to stir at the memory. I can’t decide if he walks around half-nude on purpose. I don’t think he does, though, because A, he does whatever he wants all the time anyway, and B, I haven’t done anything to discourage or encourage him. The first time it happened, I used every ounce of willpower and kept my eyes on his face, even though my traitorous peripheral vision told me his shoulders are super-wide and his chest is lean and totally made to lay my head on, among other things.