Mr. Hired Boss (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss Book 4)

by Lindsey Hart

  “It’s not for everyone.”

  “It’s not not for everyone.”

  “Don’t use a double negative.”

  “It’s not a double negative.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Sebastien looms over me menacingly. He’s a second away from shaking a finger in my face, I can just tell. “Just call her already. You said she’s an interior designer or something. Your place is boring. Get her to come over and decorate it. Apologize to her. Ask her if she still wants to date your sorry ass. Have hot makeup sex. Just do something.”

  “I’m not talking to you about makeup sex.”

  “Good. You should be talking to her.”

  “Can I just either leave or have another beer?” I groan. “This isn’t fair. You ambushed me the second I walked in the door.”

  “Because it needed to be done.”

  “Says you.”

  “Says me. And Mom. And Dad. And the universe.”

  “Don’t bring the universe into this.”

  “I can’t help it. She sounds perfect. She’s nice, she has a job, and she’s smart. Also, she’s beautiful and talented. And for some reason, she’s into you. I’d take her up on the offer before she changes her mind.”

  I pick up the empty beer bottle and shake it. Sebastien ignores me.

  “Seriously, I’d kill for a chance like that. Do you know how rare it is to feel connected to anyone? Some people wait a very long time and don’t find it. They’d do just about anything to have it. Yet here you are, trying to throw it away because of something that happened a good while ago. You need to get off your duff and take another chance on yourself. Quit punishing yourself. Get on with it. What else can I say?”

  “You could get me another beer.”

  Sebastien takes his phone out of his back pocket and literally pitches it at me. My fast reflexes are the only thing that saves me from catching it right between the eyes. “Not until you call her. Tell her that you need an interior designer.”

  “That won’t work,” I grumble. “She’d never come over now.”

  “Tell her that you need a designer, and you’re madly sorry about being a dumbass. Tell her that you want to make it up to her. Tell her you’re into her too. Tell her you’re a big, scared hellhole, but you’re not going to let that stop you from telling her what’s in that seldom-used heart of yours.”

  “I don’t have her number. It’s in my phone.”

  “Great. Call her from yours then.”

  Sebastien takes a few steps back, and I reluctantly take out my phone and stare at it. “She’s not going to forgive me. She’s not going to even answer.”

  “Then blow her phone up with I’m incredibly sorry, how can I make it up to you kind of texts.”

  “She still probably won’t answer.”

  “I think you’re not giving her enough credit. She said she felt something for you. She opened herself up and bared her heart to you. You really hurt her, but it doesn’t mean those feelings just switch off.”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a few weeks.”

  “Well, you can always check, and then you’ll know. Do it. Please. Before I have to resort to desperate measures.”

  “Which are?”

  “Turning on the techno music that I like and you hate so much.”

  I scowl fiercely at my brother. “Fine, you win. I’ll call. She probably won’t answer or text me back, but then at least we can drop this, and I can go back to moping around for a few more weeks until I get over making such a big mistake.”

  “Now you’re talking.” Sebastien shoots me a thumbs-up and walks over to the kitchen area. His condo is so wide open that it freaks me out a little. I watch him warily. He opens up the fridge, takes out a beer, and does a little dance with it. “Come on. This is your reward. It’s nice and icy cold.”

  “Okay, okay.” I hit Pearl’s contact, the one I’ve so carefully avoided thinking of or even looking at, though I’m tempted to every single time I check my phone.

  I’ve thought about calling her a thousand times this week. Or maybe it’s a million. I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track when every single thought I have is about her. I’ve been doing more than moping, as Sebastien terms it. I’ve spent the past few weeks entrenched in the deepest regret I’ve ever felt. I didn’t realize that just knowing someone for a few days could change my life like this. Or that it could wound me to the point where I’ve been absolutely useless with no end in sight.

  “Techno music in three, two—”

  “Okay!” I punch in the number and lift my phone to my ear. It rings once. Twice. Again. And again. And again. Then, it goes to voicemail, but I don’t know what to say, so I hang up. “See? She didn’t answer. I knew she wouldn’t.”

  “Try again.” Sebastien looks as disappointed as I feel.

  “No way.”

  I’m about to set my phone back down when all of a sudden, it starts buzzing in my hand. When I check the number, I really don’t expect to see Pearl’s name flash across the screen. I glance up at Sebastien in pure bewilderment, because no, she can’t really be calling me back, can she?

  “I told you!”

  Sebastien picks the remote off his kitchen island and hits the techno. He turns it down low— low enough that I can still answer the phone and hear Pearl on the other end—and does a ridiculous happy dance as I slide my finger across the screen to answer.

  CHAPTER 23

  Gabriel

  “You’re right. Your place needs help.” Pearl meets me back in the living room. I don’t even know if I should technically call it that because it’s so bare and empty, and I do absolutely no living at all in it. I actually don’t think I’ve spent more than a few hours total in the room since I bought the house. “I can see why you called me.”

  I’m still shocked that she agreed to meet me here. I left Sebastien’s condo since she said she had a free evening and could spare a couple of hours to take a look at the place when I told her, in fumbling tones over the phone, that I was in need of an interior decorator. Designer? I wasn’t sure what the right term was.

  I gave her my real address this time, not the fake one I used before. She showed up about twenty minutes after I got home. I’m glad Sebastien wouldn’t let me have another beer. Or that he did not drink himself. He was the one who drove me back here and wished me luck. Fervently, loudly, and obnoxiously. I’m glad he didn’t try and invite himself in just to try and coach me along.

  “I didn’t know what to do with it,” I mumble.

  Pearl looks good. No, she looks amazing. I know I probably look like I live in a trash can down in the basement. I haven’t showered for two days, I can’t remember when was the last time I combed my hair, and I know my clothes are rumpled. I probably have big bags under my eyes since I pulled an all-nighter last night doing absolutely nothing other than farting around on my computer. I’ve never been more conscious of the fact that I probably look like leftovers that fell off the kitchen counter between the stove and the cupboard or something. You know, the ones you find like a week later when they start to really stink.

  To Pearl’s credit, she doesn’t look at me like that. In fact, she hasn’t really looked at me at all. When I let her in, she breezed through the front door, already looking anywhere but at me. She wandered from room to room, and I let her do her thing. On the phone, I did ask for her services. Uh, professional services. And I didn’t say I wanted to talk to her about us. She might sense it, but she’s holding her cards tightly, and she has a good poker face.

  I want to think she wouldn’t have come if she didn’t already know we were going to talk about us in some way, or that I wanted to apologize, at the very least, but I can’t be sure. Maybe this is her way of sticking it to me for being a dick that night at her parent’s house and hurting her feelings. Okay, more than her feelings.

  I wish she could know how much I’ve hurt myself too. Or at least, how much I’ve been hurting.

  “It won’t take
much work. It’s a nice house. Good choice. You probably already have quite a bit of equity built up. I did some checking, and ever since the house was built, property values here have really gone up. The lots are mostly sold, so those are at a premium. Anyway, maybe you want to talk budget. For something this size, depending on what you’d like me to do, and we’re just talking decorating here unless you want to take down walls or redo your kitchen, but I can’t see why you would, considering everything is brand new…and uh…for something this size, I’d say anywhere between thirty and fifty thousand would get you premium, high-end touches. Original art, great quality furniture, handwoven rugs, some pretty amazing antique finds, that kind of thing. Normally. For you, though, I’d charge double.”

  I stare at her, uncomprehending. Her face remains a mask—a beautiful mask, but a mask that doesn’t let me in on whether she’s kidding or not. I think she is. Is she? Did she come here just to flip me the bird? She has every right to prove a point.

  “Because, you know, I know you can afford it. Far more than most people. Why not make a tidy commission for myself while I’m at it? Go on a nice vacation? Maybe do some of the repairs on my own house that I’ve been saving up to get done?”

  “Are you—”

  “Serious?” Pearl crosses her arms. She’s wearing a yellow blouse and a pair of dress pants. Her hair is done up in a tight bun, and she has a set of black pumps on. She looks very business professional right now. And not much else.

  I search her face for some kind of sign. A spark. Anything. A bit of humor or the tiniest glint in her eyes. But nothing.

  “No, I’m not serious.” Finally, she cracks. Her lips wobble at the corners, and those beautiful hazel eyes of hers twinkle. “God. I’m definitely not serious. Why don’t we stop pretending I’m here to talk about decorating your house, which I admit, could use it, and actually talk about why you really called me? Unless you really did call to talk about the house? In that case, I’m going to be very embarrassed right about now. I’d have to refer you to a friend because there’s no way I could take you on as a client.”

  I find myself shaking my head. Other bits are shaking too, like my legs, my hands—all of me. I feel like I’m trembling straight down my center.

  “Gabriel? Are you okay?”

  I wish I could say something. I wish…I wish my tongue didn’t feel like a damn brick in my mouth. I wish I could just spit out the apology I’ve had on the tip of my tongue for two weeks. I wish. Yeah, I wish.

  “Don’t make me call you Gabs,” Pearl laughs. “Come on. You’re okay. Just say it. Tell me why I’m here. Because you feel bad about what happened with my parents? Well, don’t. We talked it out. It was a good thing, and we had a good conversation. My parents called me the next day, and we talked for hours. I don’t think we’ve been that open with each other in a long time. It felt good, and I have you to thank for that. Maybe Dean, too, since the whole thing was his idea, technically.”

  Her humor gets my juices flowing, or at least, it gets my tongue working again. “Yeah,” I mumble. “I was going to say I’m sorry about that. I am.”

  She shrugs. “It’s alright. We got it figured out. And my sister knows too. She was pretty shocked, but in the end, she thought it was funny that I’d go to that kind of lengths to not only get mom and dad off my back but to make sure she had her wedding, and that it was about her, not me. She’s already back from her honeymoon. I guess Chase felt bad about barfing at the wedding because he never drank a drop the whole time. Not that he’s a big drinker normally, but they did go to an all-inclusive resort. Seems like a waste of money to me if you aren’t going to drink the whole cost of the trip. I’m kidding. Seriously. Anyway, she’s back already. Uh, what else can I say?”

  “Are you okay?”

  Pearl hesitates, but she forces a smile and forges on. This girl is tough. She’s smart, funny, witty, kind, a little crazy (but aren’t we all, and that’s okay), and she can think and talk herself out of just about anything.

  “I’ve been doing alright. Surviving. You?”

  “Please don’t tell me you already know the answer to that.”

  “I kind of do.” Her voice gets all gooey, and her eyes get soft. “You don’t look like you’re doing okay, but maybe you’ve just been working really hard, and I don’t know, maybe this is what creative genius looks like. You must be one since you sold a freaking software for a few billion dollars. Who does that anyway, and why are you not living in the world’s coolest treehouse or on your own island or inside a volcano or something?”

  My lips twitch too when I see her grin. She has every right to be mad at me. She has every right to be mopey or to make me suffer for being a dick, but she’s here. Laughing. Smiling. Talking to me. I can tell she’s concerned about me too even though she’s trying to talk her way around that, probably just so that she doesn’t embarrass me.

  “I don’t know. I guess I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m not sure you can live inside a volcano. It might be really hot and sulfur-smelling.”

  “A treehouse would be fun.”

  “Yeah? Like in the jungle somewhere?”

  “No, here. People live in all sorts of cool off-grid houses like Earthships and the underground. There’s some pretty neat stuff out there.”

  “I haven’t seen any of that.”

  “I could show you a few neat ones. I follow like a million house sites on social media.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Okay.” Pearl’s lips press together like she’s waiting for me to say something.

  I guess that’s my cue. “Maybe, maybe you’d like to do some of that with me? Or just hang out sometime. A few times. A lot of times?”

  One eyebrow draws downwards. “Which would be your preference?”

  “Uh, whatever you like. I mean, my preference would be a lot, but maybe that’s too fast.”

  “We could start small and see how it goes. See if we’re actually ready. I haven’t changed my mind since I know you’re probably going to ask. Or maybe you won’t, but I can tell you want to know. I still want to see where this goes with you. I still feel it, and I still want this, still want you. I’m really, really excited, but scared too. And I missed you. I’m standing here pretending that I didn’t and acting all cool when what I really want to do is give you the biggest hug and smell you, kiss you, and get held by you. Is that too much?”

  “No.” I shake my head madly. “No, it’s not too much. That sounds really, really good. I’m sorry I was a dick. I’m sorry I was scared. And I’m sorry I didn’t want to listen. I know you’re not going to use me. I never meant to imply that you would. I was just—those past experiences were hard. Really hard.”

  “I get it. It ruins you a little. It takes a lot to learn how to trust again. It’s like getting back up on the diving board after you belly-flopped in front of everyone.”

  “I’m a terrible diver,” I laugh. “I’ve belly-flopped a few times.”

  “One time, my sister dared me to do a backflip, and I got about halfway around before smacking my back on the water really hard. I was only a few feet up, but it was so embarrassing.”

  “If I kiss you and tell you I’d like you to be my girlfriend—if it’s not too cheesy to use those terms—would you still decorate my house for me? Could I still hire you?”

  “Absolutely. I’m a great multi-tasker.”

  “I haven’t showered in a few days.”

  “Do you think it matters to me?” Pearl’s eyes glisten. “Please, come here. Hug me. Kiss me. Do all of that. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all this time. I’m really, really glad you changed your mind. Please don’t change it back.”

  “I won’t, I promise. From here on out, no more being afraid. What will your parents think when you tell them we’re dating for real, though?”

  “I don’t think they’ll be surprised. They told me on the phone that we were good together, and they were pretty sad it wasn’t real because it looked and fe
lt real to them.”

  “For me too.”

  “And me. I guess maybe the universe or whatever is real. I mean, of course, it’s real, but whatever word people use for things like this happening like it’s meant to be.”

  “Fate?”

  “Maybe. Is it fated that you kiss me right now? I could be convinced if you want to do the convincing.”

  I cross the room in a few seconds and have Pearl in my arms even faster. I inhale the wonderful scent of her hair, her skin, and all of her. I take my time, savoring every single second of this. Every little bit. And then, when she starts wriggling against me, maybe because I smell funky, I drop my head and kiss her. Long, slow, and fiery. And I savor all of that too. I back off after a minute because now I’m having thoughts about my breath maybe being not so great, but Pearl drags my face back to hers.

  “Stop thinking,” she groans against my lips. “And please don’t stop kissing me. Don’t ever, ever, ever stop kissing me unless we’re getting ice cream. Or pizza. Or you know, looking for treehouses. But still. You could kiss me in between.”

  Ice cream, pizza, treehouses, and kissing Pearl forever. I can live with that. I can really, really live with that. Because I already know that I might be able to live without the first three, but I can’t live without Pearl. Scared or not, I’m taking this chance. I’m all in.

  I guess, in the words of my brother, I’ve finally grown a pair.