Seducing My Billionaire Boss (City Sizzle #3)

by Cynthia Sax

  “I forgot to mention one thing.” Rob barges out of his office, a sky-blue file folder tucked under one arm, a yellow post-it note in his right hand. “I don’t want any meetings to be booked for today.” He sticks the small square piece of paper on Mrs. Bellows’ phone.

  I glance at it. The note says exactly that—don’t book any meetings for today. I frown. He told us that. He didn’t need to write it down also.

  Plus, one glance at his schedule would tell us he hasn’t any meeting slots free.

  “I’ll be in and out of the office all day.” Rob bends over Mrs. Bellows’ keyboard, types, presses enter. The password prompt disappears. “Send a message to my phone if you need me.”

  “We will.” Mrs. Bellows dips her head.

  “I’ll speak with you later, Miss Court.” He glances at me, his eyes filled with erotic promise.

  “I look forward to that, Mr. Reyes.” I gaze back at him, not hiding my desire. I want him, need him, am counting down the hours until the workday is done and I can have him.

  Rob nods curtly, turns and strides away, a bounce in his step. He’s a good-looking man, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow, and he belongs to me.

  “He loves you so much.” Mrs. Bellows scrolls through the new emails.

  “What?” I blink. He loves me? “Did he tell you that?”

  “He doesn’t have to tell me.” She chuckles. “When Mr. Reyes has a challenging day, he makes an unscheduled trip to the seventh floor. He returns minutes later, full of pep and lit up like a Christmas tree, and I know he’s seen you.”

  I feel just as energized after one of our heated discussions. Is that love?

  Mrs. Bellows sorts through the emails. She answers a couple of them right away. Many of them require additional research and are set aside, placed in the draft folder. A few of them only Rob can answer and are marked for his attention with a yellow star.

  She truly is his second-in-command, deciding what he sees or doesn’t see, answering on his behalf, controlling who has access to him. Every once in a while, she’ll open her top drawer, consult the collection of post-it notes from him, but, for the most part, she has autonomy.

  This could be my role in six months, should I want it when Mrs. Bellows retires. And I can’t think of a reason right now why I wouldn’t. The pay is better, the responsibility more. I’d work all day with the executive I care for, might even love.

  We scroll through all of the new messages. I expect us to return to the emails in the draft folder. We don’t. Mrs. Bellows tackles the paper correspondence next, sorting it into similarly themed piles, except no action is taken on any of them. The piles remain on the desk.

  I open my mouth to suggest we deal with them. Then I realize how arrogant that is and shut my mouth. Mrs. Bellows has been filling this role for decades. She has a system and I shouldn’t interfere with it.

  The phone rings. Mrs. Bellows answers. My mind drifts as she talks with Mr. Zanetti, the company’s CIO. Could Rob love me? He trusts me, desires me, likes me. We’re moving in together. He’d bought me the pendant. I feel the outline of it under my suit jacket. He—

  “Mr. Reyes’ schedule is free,” Mrs. Bellows’ response pierces my daydreaming. “But.” She glances at the post-it note on her phone. “He’s not available for any meetings today.”

  His schedule isn’t free. I glance at her screen. The slots shown are completely open. My gaze lifts to the date. Because she’s looking at the wrong year.

  I reach over and change the date.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Bellows’ eyes widen. “No, I was mistaken. Mr. Reyes’ schedule is full.”

  She wasn’t the only person who’d been mistaken. I stare at the screen, revisiting all of the comments I’d unknowingly made this weekend, the assumptions I crafted about Rob, about his need to control everything.

  These were all false. Rob didn’t double book his meetings for the next month. Mrs. Bellows did. And when I gave him a rough time, he said nothing, shouldering all of the blame.

  I know why he took full responsibility. That’s the type of man he is. But why would he hide Mrs. Bellows’ involvement, especially from me, a woman he claims he trust? It was a simple one-time error, one anyone could make.

  Unless it wasn’t a one-time error. Could this be an ongoing problem, part of the ‘assistant situation’ Powers referred to? I feel a tinge of guilt thinking this. Mrs. Bellows is my friend. She has trained many of the executive assistants in the company.

  But she’s also suffered from a stroke, hasn’t been the same since then, forgot my last name, opened Rob’s schedule to the wrong year. I glance at Mrs. Bellows. She’s completely absorbed in her conversation with Mr. Zanetti.

  I have to know. Acting on a hunch, I open the draft folder. It contains thousands of emails. Some of them are three months old.

  That’s when she had her stroke. I quickly return to the schedule, not wanting Mrs. Bellows to see the unanswered emails, protecting her as Rob does.

  Because that’s what he’s been doing—protecting her. For months, he’s been silently dealing with this, with an assistant who not only can’t do her job but also creates more work for him.

  Mrs. Bellows is a proud woman and Assistant to the CFO is a powerful position. Many people would do anything to secure it, as proven by the aggressive applicants to the Assistant to the Assistant role. If those employees found out that she was incompetent, they’d force Rob to demote her, push him to send her back to general office support or place her on long-term disability.

  Mrs. Bellows would be humiliated, hurt, feel betrayed.

  Rob is risking his career to prevent this. He hasn’t been able to talk to anyone, can’t admit to Powers, his boss, that there’s a ‘situation’. He trusts me with this secret, trusts me to keep her safe, to not say anything to anyone because voicing the problem makes it real, undeniable.

  As Mrs. Bellows talks on the phone, I send Rob a message.

 

  Seconds pass.

 

  My lips twitch.

 

  I can’t resist teasing him.

 

  I swallow my laughter. He has a great ass. Saving it is no hardship.

  Jenella Whyte, Rob’s top manager, drops off the checks to be signed. We transfer them to Rob’s office, setting them on a corner of his desk.

  I sit by Mrs. Bellows’ side as she answers the phone, looks at emails, deals with drop-in guests wanting to see our executive.

  Rob wanders by our desk after his lunch meeting, leaves a plate heaped with sandwiches in front of me, drifts his fingertips over the back of my hand, his touch felt down to my toes, and then leaves for his one o’clock update with the external auditors. Mrs. Bellows and I divide the sandwiches, continue to work as we eat.

  When the system logs her out, I sign her back in. When she looks at Rob’s schedule, I ensure she’s gazing at the right date. We deliver invoices for the analysts to pay. Kenneth Ling, an extremely keen new hire, stops us to talk. Mrs. Bellows forgets the invoices on a filing cabinet. I retrieve them and remind her about our delivery.

  It’s a full-time job keeping Mrs. Bellows focused, yet Rob somehow managed for three months solo.

  I wait until she receives a personal phone call from her daughter to reach out to him.

 

  He must be bored in his meeting. His reply is immediate.

 

  I grin.

 

  Those three months must have been as frustrating as hell.

 

  That damn no fraternization poli
cy had stopped him. He knew we’d fuck and then we’d both have to resign. He made this sacrifice for me also.

  My chest warms.

 

  Shit. I thought that but didn’t mean to send it. Shit. Shit. Shit. I scroll through the options on my phone. There must be some way to recall the message. Oh fuck. I can’t find it.

  I glance at Mrs. Bellows. She continues to chat on the phone. If her memory were whole, she’d know where the recall button might be, but that stroke fucked up everything and now she’s no help.

  Smiley face. That will solve this.

 

  He’ll know it’s a joke…won’t he?

  Though it wasn’t a joke, not at all.

 

  Rob’s not responding. Sweat trickles down my spine. It’s too soon for this. Oh God. I’ve ruined everything. I know it.

  An achingly familiar form strides toward us. Fuck. I press random buttons on my phone. I have to fix this.

  “Miss Court, may I see you in my office?” Rob’s voice is hoarse with emotion.

  Is that emotion anger? Disappointment? I slink into his office. “You’re supposed to be in a meeting with Mr. Powers right now.” I don’t have the courage to meet his gaze.

  “This is more important.” He closes the door, the click ominous. “Did you mean it?”

  Yes, I did. “Didn’t you see the smiley face? That normally implies a message is a joke.”

  Rob cups my chin, lifts my gaze to his. His eyes are dark. “Hmmm…”

  He isn’t buying my ‘it was a joke’ defense.

  “And what if I did mean it?” I go on the offensive, placing my hands on my hips, summoning up a protective dose of righteous anger. “Would you have a problem with me loving you? We’re living together. You shouldn’t live with someone you don’t love. I—”

  Rob covers my lips with his, stopping my nonsensical tirade, filling my mouth with his tongue, his taste. His hands slide to my cheeks, his grip on me firm yet gentle. I moan, open wider to him, clasping his shoulders.

  He walks me backward until my ass hits the wall and then presses into me, his body hard, unyielding, aroused, the ridge in his pants unmistakable and reassuring. I didn’t kill his desire for me with my reckless declaration. He continues to want me.

  And I want him. We kiss until the edges between us blur, until I no longer know where he ends and I begin. I suck on his tongue. He grinds against me.

  His phone hums. He doesn’t answer it. Then my phone hums.

  “Fuck. It’s Powers.” Rob withdraws his phone from his inside jacket pocket. “If I don’t answer, he’ll send Grant, his bulldog other half, after us.”

  “Then answer.” I feel him on my lips, in my mouth.

  Rob nods. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he barks into the phone. There’s a pause. “When have I ever wasted your time and didn’t have a good reason for it?”

  He ends the call, gazes at me.

  I gaze back. “So…” I shift my weight from my right foot to my left.

  “So, you love me.” A boyish grin spreads across my executive’s face, lighting his eyes with gold.

  Chapter Eight

  “I love you,” I admit, my face heating. “And you love me.”

  My cockiness is feigned but necessary. I won’t allow him to have the upper hand, to claim I fell for him before he fell for me.

  “How do you know that?” Rob cradles my face between his big hands. “I’ve never said I loved you.”

  “Yet you do. You’re an intelligent man.” My voice is husky. “I’m the best and you know it.”

  He chuckles. “I do.”

  He does…what? Love me? Or know I’m the best?

  “I merely had the guts to put it in writing first.” I spin my recklessness into a strategic advantage. “Someone has to take the lead in our relationship.”

  Rob lifts his eyebrows. “And you think that someone is you?” He closes the gap between us, the heat from his body warming me. “I’m the boss, beautiful, at the office and in our bedroom.”

  “We’re equals.”

  “Someone has to take the lead,” the fiend quotes me.

  “And you think that someone is you?” I feed him back his line, our conversation circular yet not at all repetitive, the meaning of the sentences changing, deepening.

  “Yeah, that someone is me.” Rob traps me with his reply and with his body, bracing his arms on the wall to the left and to the right of my shoulders. “I might have said the words last but I loved you first.” He leans into me. “I loved you the moment I stared into your soulful brown eyes. A strand of your hair had come loose.” He slides his fingers into my chignon, releases one long dark lock. “It caressed your face and I remember being envious, wanting to touch you the same way.” He strokes my cheeks with my hair. “Then you opened your mouth.”

  “And?”

  “And you told me to approve your damn expense reports.” Laugh lines feather the skin around his eyes. “I’d been sitting on them for weeks.”

  “You were being a bastard like usual.”

  “I was enthralled by your paperwork. It smelled like you, like warm, willing woman.” He nuzzles against my neck. “Like Sunday morning sex, love and trust and forever. I couldn’t approve those expense reports, couldn’t let them go. I needed to meet the glue-gun buying employee who submitted them.”

  “You wanted to know the color of the glue-gun, where I stored it, if I planned to use it for future projects.” I breathe deeply, inhaling the cedar scent of his cologne. “You interrogated me for over an hour.”

  “You had a witty answer to every question, all delivered with that enigmatic Mona Lisa smile I adore.” His lips move against my skin. “And I wanted to interrogate you for longer but the next meeting was being held in my office. I couldn’t miss it.”

  He missed meetings for me, because he didn’t desire our conversation to end. “After that, I had to justify to you every line item expensed.”

  “It was one of the highlights of my month.” Rob nibbles on my earlobe. “I learned about your favorite restaurants, the toppings you liked on your burgers, the projects you were working on, the way you think, the things, the people you love.”

  I learned as much about him. “I’d use that thoroughness as an excuse to talk to you between our meetings, telling myself I was being pre-emptive, that hearing your insights before I spent the money would eliminate the risk of the expense being denied.”

  Weekly shifted to daily. Rob would call me on weekends, at night, early in the morning, and I’d carry my phone with me everywhere, in case he wanted to speak with me.

  “It was a lie,” I admit. “I talked to you because I enjoyed our arguments, because I wanted to see you, to hear your voice.”

  “You loved me.” Rob skims his lips over mine.

  I chase his kiss, unable to catch it, suck on his chin instead, tasting salt and man.

  He groans, swoops downward, fuses our mouths together. I open to him and he slides his tongue along mine.

  God. I grip his shoulders. I want him. I—

  His phone hums. He pauses, gazes at me, rebellion flashing in his eyes.

  That rebellion will get both of us fired. If that worst case happens, we might get new jobs, both of us have skills employers hunger for, but Mrs. Bellows will have no one at Powers Corporation protecting her.

  That is unacceptable. I pull away from him. “That’s Powers. You have to meet with him and I have to get back to work.”

  “If I don’t see him, he’ll send Grant after me. We can’t have that.” Rob grins, unconcerned about irritating his boss. “We’ll continue this discussion at eight.”

  He kisses me again, hard, opens the door and strides away, raising his phone to his ear as he moves. There’s a jaunty bounce in his walk. His shoulders are straight, his head held high.

  That gorgeous man loves me. I touch my lips, my flesh humming with the memory of our too-b
rief embrace. Mrs. Bellows was right about that.

  I return to her desk. She smiles, doesn’t say a word.

  “He loves me,” I murmur.

  “I know.” Mrs. Bellows types a memo I doubt she’ll ever finish. “Everyone knows.”

  We settle into a routine. She starts things. I finish them, my attention split between my tasks and hers. We make a dent in today’s addition to the draft folder.

  I contact an affiliated company to move the contents of my apartment into Rob’s penthouse. The earliest they can schedule me in is Wednesday. I should have clothes to last me until then.

  At three o’clock, Rob brings us brownies he liberated from his previous meeting, squeezing my fingers during this transfer of baked goods.

  “Are the checks ready for signing?” He has a half hour booked in his schedule for this important task.

  “They’re on your desk, sir,” Mrs. Bellows answers.

  “I need help from both of you with this.” Rob opens his office door. “Normally, it takes me an hour to sign the Monday check run. Today, we have half that time.”

  “Tell us what you need us to do.” I stand, leaving my brownie on the desk.

  “We’ll sit at the table, form an assembly line of sorts.” He ushers us into his office. “I’ll sit in the middle. Margaret, you’ll be on my right, Kirsten on my left.”

  He closes the door, giving us privacy. We take our places, his minions, ready to be bossed around. I can’t say anything, can’t give him any pushback as this would upset Mrs. Bellows.

  Rob knows this, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Kirsten, you’ll help with the verification.” He splits the stack of checks in half. “Ensure there’s a valid invoice for each line item. Initial it with RR.” He hands me one of his famed blue felt pens. “You know what to look for.”

  I do know what to look for because I’ve spent hours with him, verifying my own expense reports. Did he realize then that he was training me for this, to be his future assistant, his future second-in-command?

  “Margaret, you’ll sort the signed checks into those with amounts over fifty thousand dollars, requiring Powers’ signature, and those with amounts under fifty thousand dollars. Those can be returned to Jenella.”