Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2)

by Allie Winters

  How much simpler did I need to ask it? Yes, she’s flighty, but come on. “Why?”

  “Well, I called over there, but they didn’t know what I was talking about. They’ve never had a department with that name.”

  I frown. “Get me Greg Montague on the line. No, wait. Don’t.” It would be better to go in under the radar.

  I flip the pages of the report in my hand until I find the name at the end. Christopher Lassiter, Senior Accountant.

  Looks like I’ll be paying Chris a visit.

  “Hi, welcome to Montague-” The receptionist pauses, her eyes widening slightly. “Media,” she finishes, straightening in her seat. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I’m looking for the Research and Development department.”

  She blinks at me for a few moments. “We don’t have a department with that title.”

  “I have it on good authority you do.” As in, official documents sent over from this company.

  She shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of it. It’s weird, we just had someone earlier ask about it too.”

  That’d be Tracy. “Then I’d like to see Christopher Lassiter.”

  She fumbles with her computer mouse and starts clicking. “I’ll look at his calendar and check what his availability is for an appointment.”

  “Listen, you recognize me, right?”

  “Yes,” she says warily, as if she’s already in trouble for not knowing about the department.

  “Then you know I’m not going to wait around to meet with him a week from now. I need to see him today.”

  She hesitates briefly before giving in. “Okay.” She pulls a keycard out of her desk drawer and hands it to me. “This will get you to the fourth floor. Accounting is on the left as you exit the elevator.”

  “Thanks.” At least she didn’t hassle me. Sometimes it pays to be Harold Bishop’s son.

  As I exit the elevator four floors up, there’s a middle-aged balding man waiting for me, ready to shake my hand. So she gave him a heads-up then. Good on her. She’s loyal to her company.

  “Mr. Bishop. This is an unexpected pleasure.” Yeah, I doubt it. “How can I help you?”

  “Mr. Lassiter, I presume?” He nods. “Could we meet in private?

  He visibly swallows. “Oh, of course. Would you like Greg here as well?”

  “No.” Not yet, at least.

  “My office is just in here.” He holds a door open for me, and the workers in their cubicles on the main floor quickly return their attention to their computers, as if they weren’t all blatantly staring a second ago.

  I know what it looks like. Bigwig from the company who’s set to buy you out shows up unannounced. They have to be worried about their jobs, but that’s out of my hands. I can at least make sure we offer a nice severance package for those we can’t keep on.

  He thankfully has an office with a door that shuts, although anyone can still see us through the floor to ceiling glass window.

  I set my attaché case down on his desk and pull out a sheaf of papers, handing them to him.

  “What’s this?”

  I take the seat across from him, crossing an ankle over my knee. “Well, I was doing my due diligence and found something a little off. If you wouldn’t mind turning to that page sticky-noted there?”

  I observe him carefully as he does so, his face paling the longer he looks at the paper. Interesting.

  “What’s your question exactly?”

  “What does Research and Development do?”

  He tugs at his red striped tie. “I don’t work in that department, so I’m not sure.”

  “But it does exist?”

  He glances down at the page he’s holding that clearly says it does. “Yes.”

  “You know, it’s funny. On the way over here, I looked up the people that work there on LinkedIn, but not one of them has a profile.”

  “Huh.” He clears his throat noisily. “Maybe they’re not all that social.”

  I shrug, humoring him. “A few I could understand, maybe even half. But every single one isn’t interested in professional networking or listing their resumes? Especially considering most of them were recently hired?”

  He compulsively smooths down his tie, staring at the paper. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  “Why does that department have such a big budget? What are they doing? And why is everyone paid higher than comparable companies?”

  “You’ll have to ask Greg. He makes the decisions.”

  “Can you tell me where Research and Development is located in the building?”

  He won’t look up to meet my eye. “I’m not sure,” he says in a small voice.

  My lips twist. A few minutes’ worth of looking at his own LinkedIn profile told me this man has been at Montague Media for thirteen years, working his way up to Head of Accounting. I’m fairly sure he knows where everything is.

  “I know you’re a smaller company than Bishop Industries. You guys don’t have the ridiculous number of executives we do, but you and I aren’t all that different. Being the most senior accountant, you’re kind of like Montague Media’s CFO. Now, whose signature is at the end of this report?”

  He doesn’t bother turning to the last page. “Mine.”

  “Right. And I know I wouldn’t put my name on something I couldn’t stand by or at least justify. Whether or not you wrote this, you’re responsible for everything in it. And if it’s not true, that’s fraud. So are you willing to take responsibility for the contents of this?”

  I don’t particularly enjoy throwing my weight around, but I warned Serena I wasn’t a saint. In business, you can’t be.

  The silence in the room stretches until he finally says, “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Under whose orders?”

  He stands, handing me back the papers. “I’m sorry, I can’t answer your questions.”

  I stand too, grabbing my bag. “So if I went and asked Greg the same things, he’d have some answers?”

  He nods soberly. Well, if he’s encouraging me to talk to the CEO, he’s probably not pocketing any money then.

  But that just makes the case against Greg even stronger.

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Lassiter.”

  He doesn’t respond as I let myself out, but I’m not ready to confront Serena’s father yet. Her and I have recently entered new territory and shitting all over that by accusing her dad of something I don’t have definitive proof of feels wrong. Not that it sounds like she’s close to him after the way she described their relationship at the silent auction, but he’s still her closest relative. Estranged from her mother, no siblings… Who else does she have?

  But I also owe it to Bishop Industries to report this if I find out any more. My job could be at stake if it turns out my gut feeling is right, Harold Bishop’s son or not. Like I told Christopher, I’m ultimately responsible for anything that happens in any of the financial departments.

  I head back to the office and finish up my day, leaving earlier than usual. Well, it’s the time I’m supposed to leave, but I always stay later.

  And coming home now was the right decision because as I enter the apartment, a heady aroma greets me from the kitchen. I watch Serena unobserved for a moment as she sautees garlic at the stove, her hair falling in soft waves down her back, nothing particularly immodest about the sundress she’s wearing, but I still appreciate the way it highlights her toned legs, the curve of her ass, her trim waist-

  “You’re home early.”

  My eyes snap up to meet hers, a smirk playing about her lips. This time, though, it doesn’t seem so wrong for her to catch me looking.

  “Yeah, I decided to actually leave on time today.”

  “Good. You need more of a balance.” She turns the burner off and comes over to greet me, slipping her arms over my shoulders and tugging my head down for a hot kiss.

  A man could get used to a greeting like this.

  And besides that,
there’s something about it that feels natural. Right. Easy.

  The two paths I thought about earlier in my office unfurl themselves before me. Keeping things as they’re meant to be - a business arrangement. Friendly to one another, but platonic in private. It’ll preserve the peace, ensure there are no hard feelings, nothing that leads to the usual kinds of breakups in couples.

  But now there’s this new path. The one where we’re attracted to each other, exploring this physical side between us. The path that was never part of the original agreement. Wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

  The path that’s becoming more and more enticing.

  But Dad’s already on my back, labeling her as a distraction. And knowing him, he’ll probably send me some email tonight just to see if I respond, to make sure I’m on top of my game like always.

  I pull away from her kiss, smiling to soften the blow. “What’s for dinner?”

  She returns my smile, enthusiasm in her voice as she tells me about the garlic parmesan pasta she’s making for us, and I let her words wash over me, half my mind on the paths, unsure which one to take. To be responsible, the way I’ve been for so long, or to give in to this newfound desire, even knowing it could end badly.

  Maybe the right answer will reveal itself to me in time, the decision clear. Or maybe I’ll have to dive in headfirst, unsure what’s on the other side.

  And I think that’s the part that worries me the most.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Serena

  I reach for my phone and shut the alarm off, turning over in bed and snuggling further under the covers. Archer has the softest sheets.

  I just need five more minutes of sleep. Then I’ll get up and join him in the home gym.

  Wait. Didn’t I already say that?

  I crack an eyelid open and look at the screen, seeing it’s half an hour past six. How many times did I hit snooze?

  I stifle a yawn as I roll out of bed and head into the walk-in closet, slipping on a tank and shorts. I need to get on the same schedule as him, but it’s hard when he wakes so ridiculously early. Yesterday morning he woke me in the best possible way, curled up against my back, holding me securely, but no such luck today.

  He was perfectly polite all last night. Eating dinner together, bringing him his whiskey later, giving him a massage. He obviously enjoyed it, but he didn’t initiate anything more. Even when he came to bed, he said a quick goodnight and rolled over to face away from me. Not rudely, but like he actually needed to sleep. And it’s not as if I can blame him for sleeping in his own bed.

  I just wish he wanted to do more with me in it.

  I need to capture that closeness between us again. If we keep spending time together, maybe it’ll spark something. Maybe he’ll kiss me again. Maybe he’ll do more.

  And maybe he’ll fall in love with you and you’ll have ten babies and life will be magical.

  I chuckle to myself as I exit the bedroom and head down the hallway to the home gym, opening the door to find him lifting weights, his biceps flexing and releasing as he brings the heavy dumbbells up and back down. Mmm, yes, please.

  He doesn’t notice me, and I take the opportunity to watch him unobserved. Those full lips inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm as he lifts. The barest hint of sweat at his temples. His dark brows narrowed over his eyes, fully focused on his task. If only he’d concentrate on me like that.

  The last time I was here, I’d felt his attention on me some, but today, I want more. Not politeness, not friendliness, but a genuine reaction from him.

  “Is it okay if I join you?” I ask, his gaze cutting to me.

  He falters in his rhythm as he gives me a once-over, lingering on my legs. I’ll take that as a win.

  “Have at it,” he says. “You doing yoga again?”

  I nod, unrolling a mat. Now that he’s not on the treadmill, there’s less space between us. Perfect. “My offer still stands to teach you.” Not that I expect him to take me up on that. I wouldn’t even know where to start teaching someone else.

  “I’m good.”

  He switches weights and transitions into shoulder presses, and I step on the mat, going through a few sun salutations until my leg cramps up, not used to this kind of stretching first thing in the morning. When I do practice, it’s usually at night when my body is looser from moving all day.

  “Ugh.” I drop down on one side, massaging my left calf.

  He sets his weights down, kneeling next to me. “You okay?”

  My heart melts at the concern on his face. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

  “Is it your ankle?”

  My ankle? What- Oh, that’s right. When Petey kept tripping me on Sunday. “No, my calf. It seized up.”

  “Here.” He brushes my hands away, replacing them with his own, the pressure from his fingers doing wonders to release the knot that’s formed.

  A groan escapes me, his gaze flicking up to my face. Yeah, there’s no way he could mistake that as anything other than a sexual sound.

  I bite my lip, muttering, “Sorry,” as he continues to work his magic on my leg.

  “Usually, it’s the other way around,” he says softly. He’s right. And there’s nothing I love more than hearing him groan in delight when my hands are on him. “Any better?”

  “Yeah, but maybe, um, a little higher?”

  I swear I only meant higher on my calf, but he moves instead to my thigh, and I’m definitely not going to tell him to go back down. I keep biting my lip so as not to release any more sounds, the area hypersensitive where he massages, and I grip the mat so I don’t reach out for him. He’s not touching me anywhere technically wrong, but with it being so close to where I really want him, it’s hard not to imagine his hand shifting a little further north and around.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he whispers, his movements slowing, caressing more than massaging now.

  I stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt this moment, not with his hands finally on me. And it turns out all I had to do was be an idiot and get a leg cramp.

  He seems lost in a trance as his hand flexes higher now, nearly on my ass, my teeth digging into my lip so I don’t do anything to break the spell. I bask in the simple pleasure of his touch, starved for him, even though the last time he touched me was… one day ago.

  Wow, I am really hard up.

  But when it comes to this man, there’s no way I’ll ever have enough.

  He admitted yesterday he’s reacting to me, and that much is obvious from his actions now, but it seems he still needs a bit of a push. Maybe he forgot the part where I told him I wanted him to touch me.

  “Higher,” I whisper, needing more.

  His gaze meets mine, almost seeming surprised at the position he’s found himself in, glancing back and forth between my face and where his hand lays. His movements slow, but he keeps his palm where it is. “Do you know what you’re asking for?” His other hand runs through his hair, tugging at the ends. “We’ve already pushed the limits so far.”

  The way he says it… it’s almost like he’s talking to himself rather than me.

  “The limits are only what we make them,” I tell him, watching closely for his reaction.

  His eyes fully focus on me, holding me in place with their intensity. He mouths the words I just said to himself, as if they’re a revelation. “What’s your limit?” he finally asks.

  “I don’t have one.”

  The blue of his gaze darkens, a thrill running through me from my breastbone to navel. “You don’t have a limit?”

  “No. You can do whatever you want to me.” The words may be wanton, but they come from a deep well of truth within me. Seriously, I’m ready for anything with him. It only took one time being caught off guard to prepare myself.

  A wicked glint enters his eye as his grip on my upper leg tightens fractionally. “You can’t tell a man that. He’ll get dangerous ideas.”

  “What kind of ideas?”

  His gaze drops to where his pa
lm rests on my thigh. “Serena, I’ve been trying to be good.”

  It’s the same as he said yesterday morning, that he was trying to be respectful. Well, I don’t want good or respectful. I want him. All of him.

  “What kind of ideas, Archer?” I repeat.

  His breathing picks up, still focused on his hand on my leg, but doesn’t answer.

  I take matters into my own hands, covering his palm with my own, inching it higher until he’s gripping my ass. “Will you show me?”

  He hesitates for just a second, as if there’s an internal struggle, then gives in, rolling me on my back until his big body presses me against the yoga mat. I relish his weight atop me as he brings his mouth down to meet mine, the moment our lips touch like a firework, the attraction alive and strong between us. He kisses me as if it’s necessary, each kiss stoking the fires higher, setting us ablaze, his mouth insistent upon mine, a deep ache developing within me as the minutes tick by.

  My hands burrow in his thick hair, sliding through the silky strands, cupping the back of his head to bring him even closer, needing him desperately. I revel in the freedom to touch him like this now, to kiss him wildly, to feel his answering desire in the way he presses his lower half against me, his dick hard against my core.

  “Yes,” I moan, that spot aching, wanting him to do it again.

  “You like that?” he murmurs against my lips, hitching my leg over his hip to grind further into me.

  “I like it,” I pant. “I love it. I want more of you.” Everything. Give me everything you have.

  “I don’t have a condom in here.”

  I open my eyes, somehow forgetting where we are. On a mat in the middle of his home gym, making out like teenagers who may never get the chance to do this again.

  “But I have something in mind for you,” he smirks, that devilish gleam I love in his eyes.

  A rush of arousal runs through me as he brings my arms above my head, flat against the floor, and presses soft lips to my neck and down my throat, pausing to attend to my chest. I suck in a breath as he lifts my tank and sports bra to caress first one breast then the other, my nipples beading as he uses his tongue to lick me.