Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  The pilot announces we’ll be landing in ten minutes. I breathe out hard. I’m not ready for Vegas, even if the drunken orgy is off the agenda.

  Shoulda had the Brazilian, cuz you never knooow…

  Shut up. Nothing’s going to happen that will require ripping out all my hair down there.

  Nate puts his laptop away.

  “We shouldn’t have cut the working day so short,” I say. “We could’ve left at, like, midnight.”

  “But then there wouldn’t have been enough time for the orgy, and the assholes would win their bet.” He smiles his thanks at the cabin attendant as she takes away his empty glass.

  The woman doesn’t bat an eye, like discussing orgies is what people like Nate do on their jets all the time. I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never ridden on one until now. Nate never asked me to travel with him, and I never volunteered, since traveling means hotels, and hotels mean…

  It’s best I don’t let my mind wander too far. Besides, I have more urgent matters to consider.

  “Can we not talk about that?” I hiss under my breath. “Besides, how many hours do you need to do one anyway?”

  “Oh, at least twelve hours.” His tone is grave—like we’re on the topic of the annual budget for the Sterling Medical Center.

  I put my hands over my ears. I don’t even know why I’m trying. It’s probably because even though he’s obscenely rich, he acts like an everyday Joe from time to time. Fools me into thinking he’s normal.

  But he isn’t. Not even close.

  After this, I’m never going to get involved with his personal drama again. If a Georgette Number Two should happen to pop up, I’m definitely getting him somebody off Craigslist.

  Focus on the triple bonus. Think about how your bank account is going to fatten up.

  Yes. That’s the only reason I’m doing this. For the security it represents.

  A white limo is waiting on the tarmac as we touch down and deplane. It’s flashier than I expected, but maybe that’s what Nate likes in Vegas.

  A smiling driver comes over and opens the door. “Mr. Sterling. Ms. Parker.”

  “Hello, Mario. Good to see you again. How’s Amie?”

  “A pleasure seeing you again as well, sir. She’s doing great! Off to a magnet school this year.”

  “Good to hear. I’m sure she’ll do well.”

  “Yeah, she’s sharp. Like her mom.”

  I watch the exchange. Somehow it’s surprising that Nate has had the same driver enough times to know about his kid. And that he knows and cares enough to remember the kid’s name and ask after her.

  Our overnight bags are delivered into the trunk as we climb inside. And the limo takes off. Mario drives as though he’s transporting a fragile Ming vase. The engine is so quiet, the ride so smooth, it’s almost like some kind of magic carpet.

  Vegas is flashier than Los Angeles. Well, the Strip is, anyway. Lights are everywhere, and we drive past at least three Elvis impersonators walking down the street. And there’s something I’ve never seen anywhere else: instant wedding chapels. One even has a sign that says, “Open 24/7.” Do people really elope 24/7?

  When we reach our hotel, Nate thanks the driver and tips him. My eyes widen. Did he just hand over a couple of hundred-dollar bills?

  It’s the same with the doorman, the bellhop and everyone else who does us a service. Nate greets all of them by name, asks about their families, then hands out money like candy on Halloween. Not crassly and overtly; sometimes it’s a folded bill enclosed in a handshake. But always with a warm smile.

  My mind whirls. I’m pretty sure I’ve been with him when he’s tipped in L.A., but I never really noticed because I always had my face buried in my tablet. I’ve seen him plenty of times before, but this is the first time I’m really seeing him.

  By the time we reach our suite, my mental total on the money he’s passed out is north of two thousand dollars. Even though math wasn’t my best subject, I can add and subtract.

  And as soon as we’re alone, I whirl around to face him and point that out. “I understand you knowing everyone’s name because you come here so much, but did you realize you were passing out hundred-dollar bills to everyone?”

  He looks puzzled. “Of course.”

  “Why?” I ask, genuinely curious. Nate isn’t the type to show off his wealth. I’ve been around him long enough to know he finds it distasteful. “You know that’s a lot of money, don’t you?”

  “Well, Joe had his first baby last month, and Linda’s kid just went off to college. And Bruno’s son’s started piano—the boy’s talented…” Nate lists all the life happenings of the people he tipped. “They can use it. And it’s not that much.” He shrugs like it’s really no big deal to him at all.

  And knowing him, I have a feeling he’s going to tip them again tomorrow. It never occurs to him not to care or be generous.

  It’s weird, but my earlier determination to do the bare minimum to get this farce of a date over and done with has kind of…evaporated. Nate really is the sort of man whose gorgeous face and body match what’s inside his soul.

  A soft feeling wells inside my heart. It’s totally justified…but I can’t afford it, not when it comes to my boss. So I forcibly turn my focus to something else. I let my eyes wander around the suite—taking note of the lively city on the other side of the windows, the elegant seating area, luxurious rugs and beautiful arrangements of fresh flowers. But they’re not enough. I need something else to change the subject…and allow me to bury the emotions swelling inside me.

  Finally I discover a leather-bound room service menu on a desk by the window. “I’m hungry,” I say. “What do you want for dinner?”

  “Can’t eat here, remember?” He waves the menu away. “We have to go out. I made a reservation.”

  “You? But you should’ve said something,” I say, slightly flustered. It’s my job to take care of details like that. This isn’t like our normal routine, and it’s throwing me off.

  “I couldn’t let you do that for the date. Besides, it’s actually the concierge who made the reservation.”

  I give him a sidelong glance. “You aren’t going to pick up orgy buddies at the restaurant, are you?”

  He laughs. “No. We just need to be seen.”

  A shudder goes through me. “‘Seen’?”

  “Yeah. People are saying that we aren’t doing this for real, so we’re going to show that we are. I even had a few paparazzi tipped off, just to be sure.”

  “There are going to be photographers?” My voice is slightly shrill. “Can we just skip that part? Barron didn’t say we needed to be photographed or anything.”

  “Nope. Barron won’t rest until everyone’s satisfied the auction was real. But don’t worry, the vultures won’t be able to follow us in or anything. It’s an exclusive steakhouse. They won’t get past the door.”

  That’s a minor relief, I guess. “But what about between the hotel and the restaurant?”

  “We’ll probably get some attention when we leave the hotel here, and definitely once we arrive at the steakhouse. But I go there every time I visit Vegas, so they’re expecting me and they know what to do.” Nate puts his hands on my shoulders. “Trust me, Ms. Parker. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  I look into his beautiful eyes even as my mouth goes dry, and my stomach churns. I really hate the attention, but like he said, nobody’s going to be able to get inside to take photos or ask me ridiculous questions.

  Besides, I trust Nate. If he says he won’t let anything happen to me, nothing’s going to happen to me.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nate

  I take a quick shower, then let Evie have the bathroom. There’s still an hour until dinner, which will—hopefully—be enough time for her to get ready. I put on black slacks and pale blue dress shirt, then roll up the sleeves. I read somewhere that women find forearms sexy. I don’t know why. They really aren’t that special as
far as male body parts go. Abs are much better—and a more logical choice. You have to work your ass off to get decent abs. Use them more during sex, too.

  I put on a Rolex and study my forearms. They’re looking extra defined, since I’ve been doing a lot of wrist curls and farmer walks. Tonight will be a good time to test them on Evie. Maybe they’ll imbue her with such lust that she’ll leap across the table and rip my clothes off.

  Of all the fantasies I had starring Evie—and I’ve gotten pretty creative over the past few months—none of them had Barron making us go out. I wasn’t going to press her about the date she won because I knew she wasn’t going to get involved beyond helping me out with Georgette. Besides, I want her to go out with me because she wants to, not because of the auction.

  What I still can’t figure out is who the hell is behind all the asinine speculation and ugly gossip. I’m not the only one who hired somebody to bid on them. It’s inevitable if you don’t want to go out with any of the potential winners. Or if you don’t want to bother with a date but want to help the cause anyway. The auctions aren’t just about raising money, because straight donations would net just as much and be a lot easier. They generate publicity and awareness as well. They let the world know there are a lot of people who could use some assistance. Every time Elizabeth does an auction like this, charities see an increase in donations—mostly in money, but also in time.

  But until now, nobody gave a damn. And certainly nobody badmouthed Elizabeth. My mind conjures up Georgette’s furious face when she realized she lost, but not even she would go this far. Besides, she’s probably back in rehab or whatever now. Her parents must’ve heard about the scene she made at the auction. And losing her bid to get me probably caused a relapse.

  Regardless, when I find out who’s been fucking with Elizabeth, I’m going to rip them a new one. Or two.

  About five minutes before we have to leave, Evie comes out. My breath catches in my throat. She’s gorgeous in a pale cream cocktail dress and a pair of nude pumps. The outfit is modest, but gives her an air of innocent allure, like a fresh bloom waiting to be discovered and admired. Her makeup is light and barely there. I love that she isn’t hiding her beautiful face under layers of foundation and colors. But most of all, I thank the stars that she’s let her hair down. It looks so soft and touchable that my fingers itch with the urge to tunnel through the golden mane.

  She flushes. “Do I look okay?”

  “Perfect,” I say. “You look perfect, Ms. Parker.”

  “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure.” She looks down at herself. “I’m not very good at this sort of dress-up stuff. And don’t want to embarrass you.”

  I don’t tell her that she’d look beautiful no matter what she was wearing. I also don’t tell her I’d make the restaurant let her in even if she were in a tattered potato sack, because I’m Nate Fucking Sterling and I won’t let anybody make her feel bad. “You could never embarrass me, Ms. Parker. On the contrary, I’ll be the envy of every man in the city.”

  The flush on her cheeks deepens. God, why isn’t this a real date? If it were, I’d tease her, then kiss her. The hell with being seen; we’d spend all evening and the rest of the night right here in the suite.

  But it’s not, and she’s already going above and beyond to bail me out. “I know you’re nervous about the whole orgy thing, but I promise I’m not going to do anything you don’t want,” I say, offering her my arm. “We’ll just have a nice dinner—you can order anything, not just what’s listed on the menu—and then spend the rest of the evening doing whatever we both feel like doing.”

  She lays her hand in the crook of my arm. It feels warm and right through the thin fabric of my shirt. I wonder if she’s noticing and admiring my forearms until I realize she’s busy studying the rest of the suite.

  Goddamn it. “Shall we get going?”

  We walk out together.

  “I’ve never been to Vegas,” she whispers like she’s confessing a grave crime.

  “Well, we’ve rectified the ‘never been’ part. Ever gambled at a casino?”

  “No. Never.”

  “We can rectify that, too, unless you don’t want to?”

  “I’d love to see one. But I don’t know if I want to gamble.” She wrinkles her small nose.

  It’s cute. And I can read her thoughts—the money. Evie is incredibly frugal. She brings a packed lunch every day, and never drinks those fancy concoctions from cafés around the office. I suspect everything she owns came from a clearance rack, and she drives a modest car.

  “We can play a few hands.” The casino is going to be disappointed, but they’ll live. “You’ll enjoy it. You know how to play blackjack?”

  “Yeah… But nothing too high stakes.”

  “You’ll change your mind when you start to win,” I tease.

  “The house always wins. Otherwise nobody would be operating casinos.”

  “Over time, yeah. But short term, who knows? Besides, it’s an experience you should have, especially since it’s your first time in Vegas. I’ll front it. Part of the date package.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Evie

  The restaurant is fantastic, totally fancy and expensive. I pretend not to see the prices on the menu so I can actually order something to eat. Nate is relaxed and, again, greets the maître d’ by name while slipping him some money.

  I watch him peruse the wine list, liking his semi-casual look. It still amazes me that the man can’t pick out his own clothes, but wears them so well. He’s rolled up his sleeves, exposing his arms almost to the elbows. They’re muscular, defined and utterly hot. I watch them flex every time he turns a page on the list, picks up his water glass, adjusts his napkin. It’s really too bad men don’t know how sexy forearms are. Forearm and hand pics would get them so many more women than dick pics.

  In my peripheral vision, through a huge bay window, I can see photographers lurking outside. A few took photos, but they weren’t too obnoxious. Probably saving the obnoxiousness up for later. When I’m stupid and relaxed, they’re going to pounce, I’m sure of it.

  Shouldn’t they be hanging out at that chapel across from our hotel? I’m sure some drunk and/or high celebrities are getting married there even now. That’s gotta be more newsworthy than me and Nate eating dinner.

  Regardless, I do my best to ignore them and enjoy the moment. I’ve never had a chance to eat with Nate one on one like this, even though I’ve been working for him for months. It’s mainly my doing. I bring my own lunch, and Nate eats out. He asked if I wanted to have lunch together a few times, but stopped when I declined. I don’t know what billionaires have for lunch, but I’m pretty sure it’s something fancy, and I didn’t want to impose.

  Although it’s a fake date, the company is fabulous. If Nate weren’t my boss, I’d definitely be open to more with him.

  Yeah, because a girl like you runs into billionaires like him all the time.

  Okay, maybe not. But still…a girl can daydream, even though the kind of women he’s usually seen with are the exact opposite of me—wealthy, extroverted, classy and model gorgeous. It’s a pretty sure bet that none of them ever puked on a reporter’s shoes.

  While we’re dining, Nate amuses me with stories about him and his family. And the horrible pranks he pulled in college.

  “You never got into trouble for that?” I ask, laughing at one particularly clever practical joke he pulled on an “asshole stats professor.” The nerve it took to shred everyone’s midterm and turning the resulting confetti into a gummy-worm-filled piñata is… Wow.

  “Nope. He could never prove it was me.”

  “But didn’t he try to flunk you?” Some teachers can be petty.

  “How? I aced every test.” He winks.

  “So if you’re good at business and data analysis, why didn’t you go into the main business at Sterling & Wilson? I mean, if I’m not being too presumptuous by asking.”

  Nate sips his wine and smiles. “Nah, it’s fine.
Somebody had to take over the charity part of the family fortune. Justin was chosen to lead Sterling & Wilson’s for-profit side. He’s great at that, and there isn’t room for two top dogs. Big egos, you know?”

  “You? Ego?” I ask, surprised. Not to say that he doesn’t have a bit of healthy self-regard, but he could be utterly insufferable, given his background.

  “We all have it. We just don’t pound on our chests or anything because, you know, it hurts the ribs. The thing is, I enjoy my work, so there’s no reason to try to run the for-profit side. I don’t have to make any big decisions that affect meeting a profit target.” He shudders like it’s the most horrible thing that he could be doing. “The most complex thing I have to do is come up with a budget and make sure we’re spending the money responsibly. Like I told Justin, all the benefits of the family fortune with none of the responsibility.” The grin on his face is boyishly charming.

  Except he’s downplaying what he does. He might call it “none of the responsibility,” but he takes his work seriously. And what he does is just as important as what his older brother does. I wonder if it’s the laid-back attitude that makes him so compassionate and good, even if he doesn’t like to advertise the fact. To him, the world is full of abundance, and there’s no reason not to share the bounty with everyone.

  After the final course of port and cheese—which taste like pure heaven—Nate charges the dinner to his credit card and tips the server with cash. I used to waitress when I was in Dillington, and I appreciate the gesture.

  “Casino time!” he says with a grin as we head back. His eyes are lit with contagious excitement, and I laugh.

  “Are you sure? It’s my first time. I might suck,” I say.

  “No, no, no, wrong attitude. It’s beginner’s luck, not beginners suck.”

  I grin. “Okay. But only blackjack, and only a few games,” I remind him.

  “Whatever you want, Ms. Parker. Told you it’s your night.”

  His carefree tone makes me feel ten times lighter. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good and confident, even if the pesky paparazzi do jump out to snap a few more shots. It’s just for one night, and I can grin and bear it, although the attention is probably going to give me hives.