Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  When I reach the mansion after an hour of fighting L.A. traffic, I see a pearlescent pink-and-cream Cullinan parked in the driveway, past the gates. It can’t be Vanessa’s car. She’s more the fiery red type, and Justin knows better than to get her something in pink, of all shades.

  I park my Lamborghini and go inside. Vicki, the nanny I helped Justin and Vanessa hire, beams at me, coming out of the kitchen. “Hi, Nate. Everyone’s here already.”

  “Everyone?” I echo stupidly.

  She nods, like I should know.

  “Nate!” A sweet, high-pitched voice is heard first, before I see the little blue-eyed, golden-haired angel dashing toward me.

  “Hey, princess!” I pick her up with a huge grin, hoisting her up high and settling her against my chest like the precious bundle she is. Isabella is Dane and Sophia’s child, which means…

  That frothy pink Cullinan is Dane’s.

  Whoa.

  I shake my head, trying to shove my world back on its axis. Vanessa’s oldest brother, Dane Pryce, is cold enough to make Antarctica seem tropical. The image of him in the driver’s seat of that girly car—even though it’s a Cullinan—is so incongruous that it’s sick.

  Maybe he was high when he bought it. Or maybe not, because the man is never high, never drunk and certainly never out of control.

  Carrying Isabella, I walk to the gigantic open space that is the living/entertaining/sitting room or whatever. It has the requisite TV hooked up to the best surround-sound system money can buy, and lots of couches and armchairs. There are enough throw pillows to stock a showroom.

  “Hey, bro!” Justin says with a grin. Although we aren’t twins, we’re very much alike in our looks—the same dark hair and dark eyes. But everyone says I’m the softer one—probably because I’ve never had the expectation of carrying on Sterling & Wilson’s vast business interests. Justin was always the chosen one, the heir apparent, the one groomed since birth for his position. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  His son, Ryan, is cuddled against him. He waves at me, his hand shiny with I don’t even want to know what. It doesn’t seem to bother Justin, though. He’s gazing at the boy like the child just cured cancer.

  “Hi, Nate! How are you?” Vanessa comes out of the kitchen with a huge pitcher of margarita and four glasses, and kisses me on the cheek. She’s a stunner, her bottle-red hair pulled into a simple ponytail that swings with each step, every facial feature fine and delicate.

  Motherhood hasn’t seemed to faze her one bit. Energy crackles around her, but then, just because she isn’t with her old firm doesn’t mean the woman’s sharklike instincts are dead. She is still a scarily good lawyer.

  “Did you see Dane’s new car?” I say, gesturing outside.

  Vanessa laughs as she pours generous amounts of margarita into the glasses. I pass one to Justin and take another for myself, before sitting down in a plush armchair with Isabella eyeing my glass greedily. “That’s not his car,” Vanessa says. “It’s Sophia’s.”

  Something in her tone lets me know he’s not here, which is a bit of a shock. The man refuses to be away from his wife if he can help it. “She’s here? Just her and Isabella?”

  Vanessa nods, then takes her drink and settles down next to Justin.

  Whoa. Is he in the doghouse? That’s just not how I imagined Dane would be. He’s so pussy-whipped—er, in love with his wife that if she said cars run on water, he’d agree with her and eviscerate anybody who tried to say otherwise.

  “He’s out of town, and I thought maybe she should visit us.”

  “Why is he out of town?” Ever since he met his wife, he quit working overtime and weekends. Whoever pulled him away is going to end up dead.

  “Oh, some emergency,” Sophia says, coming from upstairs and taking Isabella from me, then plucking a glass from the table and settling in an empty love seat. “You know how it is.”

  She’s a pretty blonde, petite and slim. She was a U.S. national figure-skating champion and was on her way to the Olympics when an unfortunate accident ended her competitive career. She’s one of the warmest and most genuine people I know, and I still don’t understand how she fell for someone as undemonstrative as Dane. I’m certain the pink diamond the size of a quail’s egg on her finger isn’t it.

  “It was nice of Vanessa to invite us over,” she says. “Dane was rather…umm…worried.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t like to be out of town, leaving his wife and daughter behind, obviously,” Vanessa says.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. It’s only for a day or two, right?” You’d think he was going to be stuck in a Siberian salt mine for the next couple of decades.

  Sophia smiles. “He’ll be back tonight.”

  “You’ll know how it feels when you meet the right woman,” Justin says.

  “Oh no,” I say. “I’m never letting myself get pussy-whipped. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Uh, language?” Vanessa says.

  “Sorry,” I say. Ryan does like to parrot what he hears.

  Vanessa shakes her head. “You’re being ridiculous, trying so hard to be un-whipped. Is that why you wrote in your bachelor auction date proposal that you plan to take the winner to Vegas and”—her gaze flicks over to the kids—“do bad things?”

  I frown at her, surprise and annoyance tugging at me. “How do you know that? You aren’t going, are you?” Justin would never let her bid on some other man.

  “Not participating, if that’s what you mean. But I am helping Elizabeth organize things. When I read it, I thought you had to be joking. But she told me you were actually serious when you sent that in.”

  “Yes. I take dating very seriously,” I say, although my mood is deflating rapidly as I remember why I had to write such crap for my date plan.

  “What’s wrong?” Justin asks. There’s no hiding it from my brother.

  “It’s Georgette.”

  He hisses, while Sophia and Vanessa wince.

  “Didn’t she die of an overdose? I thought I read that somewhere,” Sophia says.

  “No, she’s alive. And out of rehab, and apparently clean, if you can believe that. She came to find me at the Sterling Medical Center…wearing a mink bikini.”

  Justin starts to laugh. “A what?” Vanessa says, sitting up straighter. “Okay, tell us everything. Start from the beginning.”

  So I do, including the part about Evie’s refusal to rescue me from Georgette’s gold-digging clutches. Laying it out like this makes my anxiety spike. This fucked-up shit with Georgette is too damn real.

  Justin’s the first to open his mouth. “Restraining order, bro. You need a restraining order.”

  “Doesn’t do much if you’re dealing with a determined stalker,” Vanessa says.

  “Do you think it would be self-defense if I accidentally threw her out of a window?” I ask.

  Vanessa considers. “Nooo… I don’t think that would fly.”

  “But she would,” Justin says.

  “Maybe Elizabeth can just ban her or something?” Sophia suggests.

  Vanessa shakes her head. “Georgette’s parents are huge supporters of the foundation. She’d never do anything to humiliate them like that.”

  That’s the problem with being nice: caring about what others think. “I can’t let her win me. I’d rather eat dog sh—uh, poop.”

  “Don’t eat dog poop, Uncle Nate!” Ryan says. “Mommy said it’s unsaintly.”

  “Unsanitary, Ryan,” Vanessa says, over-enunciating the middle syllables.

  “If your assistant won’t bid on you, get somebody else to do it,” Justin says.

  “It sounds easy, but it’s not,” I say. “You know how hard it is to find a woman who won’t be expecting more from me than just some money to do the job? Oh no, they’re going to want to be my girlfriend. To get involved. Maybe more.”

  My brother makes a face. He never had to deal with this problem, but knows how it is.

  I continue, “I asked Court t
o get his girlfriend to bid on me, but I don’t know. He didn’t seem too keen. For all I know, he never even told her about it.”

  He’s pretty gooey-eyed over his girl, whose name I can never seem to remember. Although they aren’t married or anything, I have a feeling he doesn’t want her bidding on me. It was always “bros before hos” for Court…until now. Traitor.

  I eye Isabella. “You think Isabella’s too young to be bidding at a bachelor auction?”

  Sophia laughs. “Not at all. But you’ll have to convince Dane first.”

  I give her a dry look. “Yeah, that’ll totally work. But if you ask…”

  “Not doing that,” she says. “It would only upset him.”

  “But what about me? Doesn’t anybody worry about my fate?”

  “Make Evie an offer she can’t refuse,” Vanessa says.

  I thought I already did that. “Like what?”

  She shrugs. “How am I supposed to know? She’s your assistant. You figure it out.”

  Chapter Five

  Evie

  Despite Kim’s advice, I don’t broach the subject to Nate immediately. To be honest, I don’t know how. The new statue that appeared over the weekend seems hugely accusatory. This is what’s going to happen to Nate because of you!

  And it’s pretty horrific. It looks like the woman’s trying to literally suck the soul out of the guy’s body through his cock. I mean, maybe I’m overthinking this after Nate said the thing about Georgette and his bone marrow, but I’m pretty sure the statue is depicting Nate getting violated in more ways than one.

  Then there’s Nate himself. He seems distracted, irritated and anxious. I’ve never seen him like this. He must really be worried.

  And he couldn’t find anybody to help him.

  Despite what I told him, I didn’t put an ad up on Craigslist. What Kim said is right. Nate trusts me to take care of everything, and I can’t just dump him onto some unvetted stranger off the Internet. For all I know, an ad might attract an even crazier person than Georgette, and no one needs that.

  Besides, Georgette’s becoming increasingly more disgusting. Or unhinged. Maybe she doesn’t know Nate doesn’t check his own emails, except for one very private account only a few of his family and friends know about. (Not even I know the address for that one.) She’s been sending nude photos of herself in various twisty poses designed to show of what she can do in bed. Forty-six of them so far.

  Every single one of them has the subject line: Feel free to do what comes naturally with this. ;) ;) ;)

  Ugh.

  She doesn’t seem worried about the possibility that Nate might post them all over the Internet. Or that I might sell them to a porn site in exchange for hazard pay.

  Actually, no amount of hazard pay would be enough to compensate for all the eye bleach I’m going to need. Since I’m a good assistant, I don’t bother Nate with the crass porno shots. But they cement my decision to rescue him from this obviously disturbed individual from his past, popping back into his life like a genital wart that refuses to die.

  Except I’m not exactly sure how to broach the subject after turning him down so firmly earlier. But like Kim said, it’s my job to guard him from the likes of Georgette.

  On the sixteenth day since he asked me to bid on him at the auction, I add broccoli to his kale and protein shake for an extra dose of antioxidants and vitamins, all the goodness he needs to fend off the crazy folks and help make the world a better place with the Sterling fortune. I know he enjoys nutritious food to keep himself healthy, and I give him mad respect for that, even though I could never drink what he does because it tastes like sewer every time I sample a bit. But no pain no gain is a real guidepost for Nate.

  He comes down to the kitchen from his bedroom. His dark brown hair is carelessly styled, like he just ran his fingers through it, although he goes to this unbelievably expensive barber. He hasn’t had a single drop of coffee yet, but his eyes are clear and alert. He’s dressed in a pale cream shirt, the collar undone, and some black slacks I picked out for him. He looks fabulous, as usual—strong and powerful. Watching him is how I learned what men who work out look like with clothes on.

  I hand him the shake with a smile. “Here you are, Mr. Sterling. I put a little broccoli in for extra folate.”

  “Oh, good. Thank you, Ms. Parker.” He takes it with an appreciative smile, then drinks it like a champion.

  When he’s finished, I take the empty glass. Then I take a deep breath and start. “You know, I gave what you said a lot of thought.”

  “Which ‘what I said’?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve said a lot of things since you started working for me, Ms. Parker.”

  It’s been so long that he probably forgot what I’m talking about. “About Elizabeth King’s bachelor auction.”

  “Ah. That.”

  “Yes. Have you, um, found somebody to help you?” Maybe it’s presumptuous of me to assume he’s been sitting on his hands. He might not be capable of picking his own outfits, but he’s still a billionaire with more connections than the Internet.

  He glances at the coffee on the counter, and I pass it to him immediately. He probably needs some caffeine now.

  He takes a slow sip, his eyes on mine. “I asked Court’s girlfriend to bid on me, although that annoyed Court quite a bit. So I owe him a kidney if he ever needs one.”

  Court is one of a very few people Nate counts as a true friend. So it makes sense he asked, and I feel bad that Nate feels like he’s going to owe Court a huge favor later.

  A kidney-level favor, Evie. All because you turned him down earlier.

  Nate adds, “But maybe none of that matters, because they broke up.”

  Now I feel doubly bad. Both about Court’s breakup and the fact that Nate is back to square one. But it also tells me I made the right decision. “Well, then. I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?” he asks, then takes another sip of coffee.

  The caffeine probably hasn’t hit his bloodstream yet. Normally he’s sharper than this. “Bid on you at the auction.”

  He goes still in the middle of lowering the coffee mug. A smile slowly breaks on his face. It’s so radiant, so beautiful, like the heavens opening up, that air catches in my throat. Holy shit, I always knew he was gorgeous, but right now, he’s stunning.

  “Thank you, Ms. Parker. You’re a gem.”

  You’re welcome. My pleasure. If I can see you smile like this again, yeah. Sure. No problem.

  “Ms. Parker?”

  I realize I’ve been staring without saying a word. I clear my throat. What the hell’s wrong with me? I’ve never spaced out like this before at work. “Yes, Mr. Sterling?”

  “I was just saying you need to take a day off.”

  “I do? But why?”

  He looks mildly confused. “Don’t you have to get ready?”

  “For what?”

  “The auction. I distinctly remember you telling me you have nothing to wear. So you’re going to need to shop.”

  Oh, that. I flush. “Yes, but I don’t need to take any time off for that. It won’t take long.”

  He shoots me a dubious look. “Are you sure? Don’t you also need shoes and other stuff?”

  I take a quick mental inventory of my closet. Yeah, I’m definitely going to need to buy everything else that goes with the new dress. “Yes, but I can do it on Friday after work.”

  “Well… If you’re sure. But you can take comp time. It is work-related, after all.” He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a black American Express card. “Here.”

  I stare. He said he’d pay, but I thought it meant I’d have to pay for everything myself first, then he’d reimburse me. I didn’t realize it meant he’s going to give me his credit card. A freaking black AmEx! How much does he think I’m going to spend? Or is this the only card he carries?

  When I don’t move to take it, he places it in my hand. His fingers are warm and gentle against my skin, and I shiver as a fris
son of electricity travels up my arm.

  “Put everything on it,” he says. And there’s that smile again.

  “What’s the budget?” I ask, my voice a little faint.

  “Budget?” He looks at me. “Don’t be silly.”

  Chapter Six

  Nate

  Cha-cha-cha, cha-cha-cha. Oh yeah.

  If I could, I’d tap-dance to the office, but it’s too damn far. And I’m sure Evie wouldn’t want to join me. The stilettos she’s wearing are sexy, but probably aren’t that great for tap.

  I should’ve known she’d come through. She’s never let me down since she started working for me. Well, she is obtuse about my attraction to her—and irritatingly immune to my charm—but that’s personal, not professional.

  So now I don’t have to rely on Court’s ex, who disappointed me by breaking up with him. I mean, seriously, what woman would break up with Court? If I were gay, I’d do him. The fact that she doesn’t recognize his coolness makes her stupid. She would probably only bid like fifty bucks and think that was enough to win me. I’m better off in Evie’s lovely, competent hands.

  We might even have a real date. That’s the least I’m going to owe her.

  “You have a meeting with Elizabeth King to go over the May fund-raise for Ethel Sterling Memorial,” Evie says, her soft blue gaze on the tablet.

  Her gaze isn’t the only thing soft on her. Her palm is soft too. I enjoyed touching it, placing my card into it. Maybe I should have her buy stuff every week.

  She keeps talking, reading off the day’s agenda. I watch her mouth move. She’s wearing some kind of plum-colored lipstick, and her lips look scrumptious and extra juicy. I wonder if she tastes like plum? Some lipsticks are flavored—something I learned when I was thirteen.