Her Boss' Package: A Billionaire and Virgin Romantic Comedy

by Ruby Steele

  Her Boss’ Package

  A Billionaire and Virgin Romantic Comedy

  Ruby Steele

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  A note to my readers

  A Teaser from Teacher’s Bet

  Also by Ruby Steele

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Kate

  “This is your last chance to back out,” he growls. His voice sends shivers down my spine. He looks like he could eat me up in one gulp.

  The crazy thing? I want him to.

  I nod. My voice stopped working ages ago.

  He tips my head back and kisses me. With his tongue licking inside my mouth, I can’t hear anything but the pounding in my ears. My body is so hot that I’m sure I have a fever. When he strokes his fingers down my throat, I quiver.

  “You’re mine.” He rumbles the words. His mouth moves downward, and he bites my shoulder. “You’re mine, and I’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand. Until you beg me to stop because you’ve come so many times you’re exhausted.”

  “Yes.”

  When he strips me down, baring me completely, he groans in appreciation. He pushes a finger inside me, I clench around him.

  “You’re wet for me already. Gushing. How much do you want me, baby?”

  “So much. I need you.”

  He presses another finger inside me, and my virginal muscles protest while pleasure floods through my body, settling in my belly. I can feel how soaked I am. It only makes me wetter.

  When he raises his drenched fingers to his mouth, sucking one and then the other into his mouth, I know nothing will stop Gabriel from taking my virginity tonight.

  1

  Kate

  Three weeks earlier…

  “To Kate! Happy Birthday!”

  I smile as my two best friends, Tiff and Beth, toast me. It’s my twenty-first birthday, and as the youngest of my group, I feel like I’ve waited forever to be able to get drinks with them.

  “And to getting that internship!” Tiff adds. With her glossy black hair and dark brown eyes, Tiff looks like some kind of super model. She’s tall and curvy, and every time we go out, guys are staring at her. I’ve known her since elementary school, though, and I haven’t been jealous of her in years. Except when we go clothes shopping together. I’m not nice enough not to feel envious when everything looks amazing on her and like crap on me.

  “How’s the internship going?” Beth asks me. Tiff and I met Beth in high school, and we’ve been a trio ever since. Beth is pretty—blond hair and blue eyes—but she’s more conservative. She’s been dating her boyfriend Declan since senior year of high school and plans to marry him. As soon as he asks her, that is.

  “It’s great. I’m really excited about it.” A blush climbs up my cheeks when I think about my internship.

  Or more accurately, my sexy boss Gabriel Carter. I’ve had a crush on him since I walked through those office doors and saw him standing there, tall and muscular, his hair dark, his skin golden brown. With his shirt collar open, I got a peek of his skin, and I wanted to lick it. When he caught me staring, I blushed so hard that I had to go hide in my cubicle to calm down.

  Too bad he would never, ever look at me like that.

  I’m not ugly, but I’m not pretty like Tiff, either. I’m average. Brown hair, brown eyes, on the short side. I eat too much to be considered skinny. I have nice breasts, though, and I play those up when we go out. I get some appreciative gazes from men, but the second they see Tiff? They lose interest in me.

  It’s always been that way. I’ve accepted it.

  It’s also why I’m twenty-one and still a virgin.

  I sip my mojito, feeling the alcohol heat my blood. I’ve never gotten drunk.

  Yeah, I know, I’m boring.

  Tiff is going to get me drunk tonight. She told me she wouldn’t go home until I was totally wasted.

  “Hey, another round!” Tiff calls to a bartender.

  The guy winks at her and brings us a tray of Jello shots—on the house. Of course. Tiff can go an entire night without paying a cent for booze. It’s actually pretty impressive.

  I hesitate when I lift the shot to my lips, but Tiff eggs me on. “Shots, shots, shots!” she yells.

  Beth frowns. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. I’m not getting drunk tonight.”

  “That’s because you’re boring,” Tiff says. “Come on, Kate, live a little! You only turn twenty-one once!” She pushes the shot closer to me, forcing me to take it before it tips over into my lap.

  With a deep breath, I lift the shot glass to my lips—and drink it down in one gulp. It tastes like fruit and vodka. I cough a little at the burn.

  “Hell yeah! Another one! Come on!” Tiff hoists her drink in the air as she yells.

  I take another shot, and this time, it doesn’t burn. The warmth is…nice. Really nice. I find myself smiling, laughing, being more exuberant than usual. I lose track of how many shots I drink, but the alcohol feels so nice that I don’t want to stop.

  I don’t know what time it is when we finally go home. Beth has to practically drag us out of the bar. Tiff is making out with some hot bartender when Beth takes her by the arm. I’m laughing and shouting.

  Seeing Tiff with that guy makes me want to do something daring for once. I never make out with random guys. I’ve been kissed all of twice, and both times were terrible. I’ve barely dated. Guys my age are either looking only for a hookup or are clingy and stupid. Who has time for a stupid boy?

  I need a man.

  A man who knows how to seduce a woman.

  My boss Gabriel comes to mind. I close my eyes on the cab ride home. Gabriel wouldn’t do something stupid, like expect you to pay for your own dinner and then take you home to his smelly apartment to try to get into your pants before you’ve sat down. Gabriel would take his time. He’d kiss you, touch you, whisper in your ear. Make you desperate for him. He wouldn’t fumble to get your bra off, or ask to not use a condom because “they don’t make ones that are big enough.”

  Ha, yeah right. My last sort-of boyfriend tried that. I decided to go home and watch House Hunters instead.

  Tiff, Beth and I all live in a three-bedroom apartment, and we all go to our separate rooms. I giggle as I stumble down the hallway. Why is the floor tilting? Why is this wall so close to my nose? I giggle again when the tip of my nose brushes against a picture frame.

  I realize, belatedly, that I’m really, really drunk.

  “Goo’night!” I call out. I hear groans and gibberish in reply.

  I collapse onto my bed. Rolling onto my back, I burst out laughing, because the world is spinning like crazy. A few weeks ago, I decided to buy a pack of those glow-in-the-dark stars—you know, the ones everybody had in their rooms when you were little?—and now I’m tracing constellations on the ceiling.

  When one constellation looks like a penis, I laugh so hard I’m crying. Somewhere, in the teeny part of my mind that’s still sober, I remind myself that I should probably drink some water. Maybe take off my shoes. I glance at my feet—currently clad in heels—and decide that it w
ould be way too much effort to take off my shoes right now.

  I return to the penis constellation. What would it be like to see one? Touch one? Lick one? My blood simmers. My thoughts inevitably stray toward the man whose penis I would love to see, touch, and lick.

  Gabriel.

  I sigh in longing. My nipples harden, and even with him not in the room, I get turned on. I imagine him brushing his thumb across my lower lip, his eyes as dark as night. His stubble scraping my chin as he claims my mouth. His hands cupping my breasts and then delving into my panties, finding me wet and aching for him.

  I shiver. I cup my breasts, but it’s not enough. Somehow, the alcohol and my own lust cause me to strip out of my shirt and then my bra. Stumbling to the full-length mirror in my room, I gaze at myself.

  I’m all curves: full breasts, small waist, flared hips. “Why wouldn’t a guy like Gabriel want me?” I mutter.

  I’m not sure where the idea came from. I blame it on the alcohol, the heat in my veins…but mostly the alcohol. I’m woozy, and I giggle as I try not to fall down while still wearing the giant heels Tiff persuaded me to wear tonight.

  Grabbing my phone, I start posing and taking photos of myself topless. I don’t know where this vixen comes from, the one who licks her lips, rubs her nipples, and smiles seductively at the camera. The awkward virgin disappears. I’m having such a great time that I almost don’t hear the knock on my door.

  “Kate, can I borrow some socks?” Tiff asks, her voice slurred. “I can’t find any. Or they’re all dirty. I don’t know.” She laughs.

  I hear the doorknob rattle. Suddenly, I see what I was doing—taking topless photos!—and I scramble to find my shirt before Tiff bursts in on me. I’m too drunk to tell her to wait.

  I fumble and curse, my phone in my hand still. By the time I get my shirt sort of back on, Tiff is opening my door, but she doesn’t step inside. She slides down the doorframe and starts laughing like crazy.

  “Socks!” she exclaims. “Who thought of socks? They’re like jackets for feet!”

  I stumble toward her, and she catches me behind the knees. Then we’re in a tangle on the floor: she’s laughing, I’m groaning, and my phone bounces out of my hand onto the carpet.

  I hear my phone make a noise. Concerned that I’ve damaged it, I crawl out of Tiff’s lap.

  “What’re you doin’?” She pats my butt. “Come back!”

  I see the notification—Message sent—and it doesn’t compute. Sent a message? To who? I didn’t send anyone a message.

  The alcohol makes me slow and stupid. As I look through my sent messages, it dawns on me what I’ve done. Horror washes through me in waves.

  I’ve just accidentally sent my topless photos to none other than Gabriel Carter.

  2

  Gabriel

  I know how Monday mornings at my company, Prestige Marketing, will go almost to the letter: my assistant Greta will get me coffee before eight AM because she feels guilty about dicking around on social media when she should be working; my VP Nick will bitch and moan about our latest client, usually right after Greta gets me my coffee; and the interns will scurry around the office like terrified mice.

  I haven't known any of our interns’ names since 2013. Our outreach coordinator Jenny takes care of them. They're undergraduates, starry-eyed and naive, and I don't have time for people like that. Some even cry when I look at them the wrong way. What is it with these kids? Where did the ones with backbones disappear to?

  This Monday morning, though? It's definitely not like the usual mundane kind of Mondays I've gotten used to.

  When the elevator doors part for me, I can't stop myself from thinking about those photos. Photos of the hottest pair of tits I've ever seen.

  My cock stirs from the memory, just like it did when I saw that I had a message from one Kate McMurray. I was about to turn in for the night when my phone alerted me to the message.

  I frowned at my phone. "Who the fuck is Kate McMurray?" I asked no one in particular as I opened the message.

  When I saw the photos, I'll admit, I was surprised. Surprised in the best kind of way.

  There was no message with the photos. Only Kate's magnificent breasts, bared for me. In one photo, she's cupping those breasts in her hands, her eyes heavy-lidded and sensual. It also clearly identified her, which was so ballsy it only made me more turned on.

  Yeah, I'd be a fucking eunuch not to enjoy photos like that.

  This morning, I'm determined to find out who Kate McMurray is. The name sounds familiar for some reason, but she's not an ex-girlfriend or a hook-up. I checked. I went through all of my contacts, and Kate McMurray definitely isn't a notch on my bedpost.

  Which is really a shame and something that needs to be rectified ASAP.

  "Do you know who Kate McMurray is?" I bark at Greta right before she gets up to grab my coffee. "Is she with another firm?"

  Greta blinks her owlish eyes behind her plastic glasses. "Kate McMurray...no, I don't know that name. Do you want me to find out who she is?"

  "No, thanks." I take the proffered coffee and head to my office. The last thing I need is Greta sniffing around this woman, whoever she is.

  I can't concentrate the rest of the day because I'm thinking about those photos. Why would she send them to a stranger? Is it some kind of prank? But who sends photos of their tits and their face to a guy as a prank?

  Either Kate is brilliant or completely moronic.

  Who cares, I think. I just want those tits—and the whole package—in my bed.

  I have to adjust myself, and I know this Monday is going to suck balls because I'm horny and irritable as a result, mostly because I’m having zero luck finding this Kate woman.

  I'm always the guy who's in control. I built my company from the ground-up, and now that I'm thirty, I have success and wealth aplenty. Prestige Marketing is the biggest player in the city, and every Fortune 500 company is begging to be a client. We've made some rich companies a lot richer.

  Don't get me wrong, I love money. I love the power and I love how people do what I want. But it also means that finding people who don't just want you for your money is almost impossible. My last girlfriend Diana? She loved three things about me: my cock, my car, and my money. Probably not in that order.

  So, yeah, I'm cynical. I expect the worst from people now—men, women, clients, girlfriends. Even my damn mother likes to call me up so I can pay her bills from overdoing the slot machines in Vegas.

  But right now? I don't give a single solitary fuck about anyone else. I need to find this Kate person before I lose my damn mind.

  When nobody in this place knows who Kate McMurray is, I'm about to hire a PI when there's a knock on my office door.

  "Come in," I call out, not even paying attention to whoever enters. I have way too much shit to get done. Namely, finding out the identity of this woman—

  "Greta wanted me to bring you some more coffee," the woman says in a tremulous voice.

  I glance up, and then I stare. I take in her face, which is currently turning twenty shades of red, and then I look down to her breasts. Right now they're covered up, but I would know them anywhere.

  It's her. Kate McMurray. The fuck is she doing in my office?

  I expect her to start unbuttoning her blouse right then and there. But to my surprise, she seems...terrified. Embarrassed. As I step toward her, I realize she's trembling.

  What the hell is going on?

  I'm about to ask her just that when she blurts, "I should get back to work." She turns—flashing a great ass—but there's no way I'm letting her go yet.

  "Wait."

  She stops.

  "What's your name?"

  She doesn't say anything, and I'm wondering if she heard me when she finally replies, "Kate."

  "You work here?"

  That gets her to turn, and she gives me an incredulous look. "I'm one of the interns. Kate McMurray."

  Ah. That's why I had no idea who you were. "Oh, well, I s
hould've known that. It's just that we get so many interns that they're hard to keep track of." I'm all politeness, silk covering steel in my voice. Holding out my hand, I add in a purr, "Nice to meet you, Kate."

  Nice to meet your tits in person.

  She blinks. She's pretty—beautiful—if I'm being honest. How the fuck did I not meet her yet? I need to get my ass in order, if I'm letting beautiful women like this slip out from under me.

  With her big brown eyes, silky dark hair, and curves to die for, she's a knockout. But she also seems like the type of girl who has no idea that she's beautiful. Her eyes are downcast, and her clothes are oversized, if not downright dowdy. Although I can make out the shape of those breasts, this grandma blouse she's wearing to hide them?

  It's a fucking tragedy.

  She finally takes my hand, and I grip her fingers firmly. Lowering my eyelids, I give her a look that has set many a woman aflame.

  And, based on her blush and her parted lips, it definitely worked on her.

  "I'll see you again soon?" I murmur, letting my fingers slide over hers before I let her go.

  "Yes, I guess. I mean, probably. Okay." Her voice is breathy. Realizing she's babbling, she blushes again and hurries from the room, although not before almost knocking over a priceless vase.

  I smile when she shuts the door. Looking at those photos on my phone again, I say, "Thank God for Mondays."

  3

  Kate

  I'm screwed. Completely, 100%, there-is-nothing-I-can-do-to-make-this-go-away screwed. When I almost sprint back to my cubicle after seeing Gabriel, I have to put my head between my knees because I'm not sure if I'm going to faint or puke.

  Maybe both.

  Hysterical laughter bubbles up in my throat. I sent my boss topless photos. I sent my boss topless photos, and he didn't say anything about it.

  Does he not know it was me? Did he not get the photo of me that includes my idiot face? The same idiot who got so drunk on her birthday that she "accidentally" sent her boss TOPLESS PHOTOS?