Dirty After Dark (A Billionaire Boss Romance)

by Anne Connor

  “Mr. Hart,” the hostess says, slipping two menus into her hand gracefully. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Table for two, please.” Ryan slips a steady arm around my waist and whisks me forward, following the hostess to a table in the back. We weave through a tight, crowded and exciting cluster of people, young women who I imagine have puppies in the handbags and men in suits laughing boisterously as everyone eats their tapas and sips their cocktails. These are the people who come to California to take in the sunshine and the beach, and who we welcome every year with open arms. They’re going West for opportunity, and the coastline hugs them close. It’s where the self-made come to climb higher and see farther, where the actresses from every corner of America come with a suitcase and a dream, and the men use their connections to garner wealth and fame.

  And I can see that Ryan fits right in. His arm is still around my waist, and he’s guiding me through the restaurant with ease and confidence. It seems that every woman in the room turns to look at him when he passes by them, and every man passes a furtive glance to those with them as if in silence agreement that they’re in the presence of someone great. They don’t jockey for his attention, though; they’re more quiet in their admiration.

  For a moment, I almost feel like I’m sparkling from the inside. I guess I didn’t realize that being around fame and wealth would have this effect on me. As if being around the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen wasn’t making me excited enough, his clout was sending my excitement to another level.

  We finally get to our table after what seems like an eternity, time slowing down as we move through the restaurant bustling around us. Ryan motions with his hand for me to sit down on the booth side of the table, and sits down across from me. He was made for this backdrop to be around him - him in the foreground, his devastating eyes piercing into me like I’m the only girl in the world, while the people in the background can either now stare at him, even though they’re just seeing the back of his head, or reluctantly go back to their meals while excitedly chatting with their lunch companions.

  The long-legged, smooth hostess hands a menu to each of us and smiles, telling us that our waiter will be right over. I hold the menu up in front of my face, letting myself peek over the edge to see Ryan. He isn’t looking at the menu, though; he has a look on his face that says he already knows what he wants.

  “What’s good here?” I ask. I start scanning the prices only, ignoring what’s listed on the left side of the menu, checking only the numbers. The menu doesn’t have dollar signs next to the prices. It only lists the numbers in a chic, small font, as though the people coming through here are working with a currency different from the one I use.

  And the prices aren’t cheap. I check the left side of the menu to peruse what I’m sure are delectable offerings.

  “The mahi mahi tacos are probably my favorite,” Ryan says. “The come with a really good tomatillo salsa.”

  I quickly scan up and down the menu and spot the item. It’s not the most or least expensive item, and it sounds amazing, so I decide on that.

  “Sounds perfect,” I say. I set the menu down as a waiter in black slacks and a white short-sleeved button down comes over to fill our water glasses. “Thank you,” I say to him.

  “Do you want a cocktail?” Ryan says, casually snatching the folded drink menu tucked between a few bottles of hot sauce in the middle of the table. “What’s your poison?”

  My boss licks his lips and arches an eyebrow at me. His strong forearms rest on the table in front of him, and he seems completely relaxed but ready to pounce at the same time.

  I swallow hard and shrug. “I’m not much of a drinker,” I confess. “And is it okay for us to drink during lunch time?”

  “Sara,” he says with care, “if I say it’s okay, then it is. I suggest the margarita rocks with salt.”

  “I don’t know,” I say cautiously. It’s true, I’m not a big drinker. I consider my options and give myself permission to indulge a little bit while studying Ryan’s face. A smirk at the corners of his mouth forms slowly, as though he’s seeing my thought process going on inside my head and wants to give me the little push toward letting myself get a little loose. It works. “Sure.”

  “Two margaritas, please,” he says to the waiter. “And we’ll both have the fish tacos, and to start, the corn fritters.”

  “I’ll put your order in right now, and have those drinks over to you right away, Mr. Hart.”

  The waiter walks away without writing anything down, and my eyes follow him as he moves through the restaurant. He makes his way over to the bar near the entrance, where a pretty bartender has two margaritas waiting for him.

  I shift my focus over to Ryan, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

  “You have a regular drink,” I say.

  “I’m a regular customer,” he says, sitting back in his chair. The tufted white leather envelopes him as he leans back with ease.

  “I know what that’s like too, Ryan,” I tease. “When I go to my regular diner, they practically have the coffee ready for me at the table when they see me drive into the parking lot. And,” I lean forward, “sometimes they even use a clean mug.”

  “You have to take me there some time,” he responds as the drinks arrive at our table. He takes both of them from the waiter with a smile and hands one to me. The cool condensation on the glass slides between our fingers as they touch, and his glance shifts from my hand to my face as though he’s drinking me in. “This is to your new position.”

  We clink our glasses together and he takes a sip, keeping his eyes locked on mine. And I can’t look away from him. It feels so easy to be with him, and as I bring the glass to my lips and taste the salt, I decide I made the right choice taking this unexpected internship.

  “So we got most of the basic questions out of the way,” he says, putting his drink down. “But I have another question not covered in the interview. Why didn’t you want to work for me?”

  “I’m sorry?” I put my drink down next to his. The waiter brings over our fried corn fritters along with some amazing-looking rosemary tortas, and I decide to dig right in.

  “Originally, you wanted to work somewhere else. I have to say I’m very happy to have you working under me, but why not just apply for this internship to begin with?”

  “Oh,” I respond. I break a piece of the flaky, buttery torta and pop it into my mouth, washing it down with a sip of my margarita. The heat from the tequila and lime combination feels soothing yet electrifying. It’s a strong drink. “To be honest, I didn’t really know much about it before I got to your office.”

  “Then I’m even more excited to have you,” he says. He takes another sip of his drink and leans forward again. I can’t decide if he looks hotter leaning forward and erasing the distance between us, or if he looks hotter leaning back casually, making me come to him. “It means I’m going to have to work harder to prove that you made the right choice.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say. “I guess I was a little bit hesitant at first, but the more I learned, the more happy I am to be here. Well, not here, exactly, but with the show.”

  My boss chuckles and puts his hands down flat on the table, spreading the pristine white tablecloth out beneath his palms. “You’re hurting my feelings, Sara. You’re not happy to be here with me?”

  “Oh!” I shake my head and smile, putting a finger in the air. “That’s not what I meant. I’m definitely happy to be here with you right now. But in an official capacity,” I add, “I’m happy to be working for you.”

  “Good. Because I think you’ll really bring a unique perspective to the show. Like I was telling you before, your resume really jumped out at me, and I just had to meet you. Why science?”

  I take another cool, refreshing sip of my drink. This question always comes up, and I’m never quite sure how much I should disclose, especially when I first meet someone.

  The truth is that my mom passed away when I was very young, and
it was devastating for dad and me. They got married young; they were high-school sweethearts. And it broke dad’s world to lose her. I was too young to understand the depth of what was happening. I didn’t feel her absence, though I did feel that she was missing. But because I never really got the chance to know her, it was hard for me to miss her. I wanted my mom, and I longed for her, but I couldn’t miss her.

  She was just gone before I got to know her.

  When I was in high school, it was very hard. My dad did his best with a teenage daughter, but he had to be both dad and mom to me. Dads protect; moms instruct. So when it was time for me to start buying pads and tampons and deodorant and bras, I was so embarrassed by those changes. Thank goodness I did have dad. He would let me wait in the car during that time of the month and buy me all the things I needed, and bring me out for pizza afterwards.

  But it’s also the truth that I want to help people, so that’s what I decide to go with.

  “Science is important,” I say. “It’s important for people to be aware of all sorts of stuff related to it. Everything from climate change to STD awareness. Plus, majoring in biology keeps a lot of doors open for me. I haven’t ruled out becoming a nurse, or maybe even trying for medical school.”

  “I like that,” he says. The waiter drops off our mahi mahi tacos, fresh and piping hot with homemade corn tortillas and the green tomatillo salsa Ryan tempted me with the promise of. “Looks good, right?”

  I nod vigorously, unable to reply because I’m already digging in. The cool queso fresco and tart, spicy salsa are a perfect complement to the delicious, buttery fish and the crunch of diced red onion.

  I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin, aware that I’m eating like I’m alone even though I’m with my devastatingly handsome new boss.

  “What about you?” I say. “How did you get into this line of work? I mean, I know that you had the show back in New York with Kayla, but how’d you end up coming out here?”

  “I guess I just wanted a new start, you know?” he says thoughtfully. “I’d lived in New York my whole life, and it was just time for a change.”

  “You didn’t really get a new start, though. I mean, you kept the show the same.”

  “No, you’re right. But everything felt fresh and new out here. New people. New women.”

  “Ah,” I say, chuckling. “I see. So you ran out of women to sleep with in New York? That’s why you had to get away?”

  “That’s what you think of me? Ouch.” He takes a big gulp of his water and wipes his mouth with his napkin. When he’s eating he’s almost like a caveman, and it’s so sexy.

  “Well, no, I don’t have an opinion about you yet, boss. But it’s what the papers think of you. I did a little bit of reading about you.”

  “I guess that much is true. I’m not going to lie. Yeah, I like beautiful women. I mean, here I am with you, so you know what I like.” His eyes glimmer at me as my heart picks up, mimicking the beat of the music around us. The drink is starting to spread warmly through my body, loosening me up, and I realize I’m being slightly more candid that I usually would be, and maybe than I should be.

  But no matter how hot my boss is, I do need this internship, and I don’t want to burn any bridges before I even get to them. I heard how Kayla spoke about some of the former interns, and it sounds like Dirty After Dark goes through them quickly. Which means Ryan goes through them quickly. He probably has a never-ending line of women through a revolving door that leads straight to his bed. But I can’t have that be me. I need this internship, and not just because it’s a good line on my resume. I have this position for college credit, and I need to preserve Ryan as a good reference for the future.

  I imagine what would happen if something were to happen between us, and if it got out, became public. My name would forever be attached to his, and I’d forever be known as the girl who had an affair with her boss. A letter of recommendation from a strong public figure like him wouldn’t mean anything if future potential employers assumed I only got it by sleeping my way through my internship.

  “Boss,” I say, folding my hands in front of me on the table. “As much as it may pain you to hear this, I would very much like to keep our relationship professional. Now, I took this internship because I fell in love with the show once I learned what it’s all about. I think it’s amazing work you’re doing, and I’m very happy to be involved. But I also want a serious career.” I pause. He’s got a big grin on his face, and he cocks his head to the side as though he doesn’t believe what I’m saying, as though he’s never had someone turn him down - before he even tries anything. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Hart?”

  “It’s sexy when you call me Mr. Hart,” he says, “but if you want to keep things professional between us, I completely understand. But you’re wrong about one thing.”

  “Oh?” I cross my legs under the table. His cocky grin and smoldering eyes are sending a dull ache between my thighs. “What’s that, boss?”

  “This isn’t going to be as painful for me as it is for you.”

  I press my thighs together and bite my bottom lip as he tosses back the rest of his drink.

  “That’s because you have plenty of other girls lining up to be with you, right?”

  “Wrong,” he says. He puts a forearm and an elbow down on the table, drawing me in toward him with a curl of his finger. I lean in close, the scent of lime, tequila and his cologne deeply permeating the air between us. “It’s because when you start to hear me talk dirty, you’re going to be begging me to teach you.”

  8

  Ryan

  What the fuck have I gotten myself into? She wants to keep things professional, and I should have seen this coming from a mile away. The girl on the paper, I should have known from her education and breeding, from the way she rebuffed my questions during the interview - I should have known she’d reject my advances.

  But she was the right person for the job. The right person for the position. The right girl for late nights in the office, whether she’d be spread out on my desk or not.

  She’s the right girl for all the projects I have in mind.

  All of them, including one very special project that I’ll keep her up late into the night to complete.

  She’s not the only one who wants to be taken seriously, though. My interns apply for the job, and I have assistants come and go. The only one I really trust is Kayla, and Matt’s good too. I’ve finally been able to assemble an excellent staff, and Sara fits in with it perfectly. She is not a fly-by-night girl who just wants to be around me because she wants to be in the papers and wants a taste of what they all write about: my eight pack abs, my billions, and my ten-inch...you know.

  I love seeing her squirm, and I’m incredulous that we’ll be able to keep our hands off each other, but I can play nice if that’s what he wants.

  “Begging you?” She shifts in her chair, leaning forward. The neckline of her dress shows off her long, elegant, milky-white neck and collarbone. Her breasts aren’t pushed up around her chin like most of the girls in here, like the girl whose dirty selfies I have on my phone. Her modest, perfect breasts are hidden inside her shirt, beneath the edge of what I can just barely make out as a lace, soft bra. God, part of me wants to grab her by the wrist and bring her into the bathroom and bend her over the sinks so I can see her face in the mirror and my name on her lips, but I lean back, breaking our look from each other, and send a hand through my hair. The cooler part of me knows I need her to stick around for things more important than sex, not that there’s much that’s more important to that to me. Maybe my money and the show. Maybe.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Begging me. But that’s all gonna be on you, baby. If you want to keep it professional between us, I promise I can deliver on that. I can keep my lips tight and my hands to myself. Even if you text me in the middle of the night saying like, come over, or let me come over, or meet me under the Hollywood sign, I’ll say no because what you really want is to do a good
job. I can keep you in check. Keep you in line.”

  “Is that what you do with all your interns, sir? Keep them in check, as you say? Under your thumb?” One arm crosses in front of her chest, the other elegant hand reaching out for her drink. Specs of salt kiss her lips as she brings the glass to her mouth, draining the remainder down her pretty lips, her tongue darting out to clean the crystals away. “You hire young girls like me so you can control them?”

  “On the contrary,” I respond. She thinks she’s got me figured out. She thinks she can outsmart me and out-talk me. But I didn’t make my billions by being silent. “It’s women who control men. Look at the average man here.” I gesture around the room with one hand, careful to keep my gaze locked on Sara’s. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, from the richest son of a bitch in this room to the coat check guy, has one thing on their mind right now. And it’s how beautiful you are. And that’s power. We might think with our dicks, sweetheart, but it’s you we’re thinking of.”

  Her eyes glimmer in the soft lights of the restaurant as she sizes me up. I can tell that she doesn’t know what to think of me - good, that’s the way I like it. That’s the way I like her, on her toes, questioning me, like she did at the interview. Her pretty pink lips purse into a smirk, and she draws the corner of her bottom lip between her perfect white teeth.

  “What made you the authority?” she says simply. “What makes you think you’re qualified to dispense your wisdom, and why should people listen to you?”

  “I don’t think I’m qualified,” I say. “It’s all of my callers who think I’m qualified. They’re the ones who have the power. If people stopped calling in for my fantastic advice, I’d be nothing. The money, the endorsements, everything would be finito overnight.”

  “The money would be gone overnight?”