The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire

by Lara Hunter

  “I accept!” I bellowed, running forward to engage a laughing Harry in a vigorous handshake. “Absolutely, and without reservation!”

  Harry guffawed outright.

  “Well Lily, I do believe I’ll accept that response as a tentative, conditional acceptance of my offer,” he deadpanned, adding as he slapped my back, “Now head on up to Trisha’s office and get to work! Pronto!”

  ***

  Two weeks later

  “So Lily, tell me what you think. Hit me with another one of your amazing ideas!”

  Sitting before the polished cherry wood desk of Trisha Vance, I took a moment to reflect on what a marvelous turn my professional life had taken in the past 14 days.

  I now served as an executive marketing assistant for the amazing Trisha Vance; and I was just that, her assistant—not her surrogate mother, her ‘brains behind the scenes,’ her damage control specialist, or her foil.

  Now Ms. Vance, or Trisha, as she encouraged me to call her, did value my opinion and asked me for my input on a regular basis; but, unlike Oliver, she supplied me with supreme guidance and detailed instructions on every project, not to mention weekly cash bonuses for good performance, always a plus.

  Trisha always credited me for my good work, singing my praises to an ecstatic Harry Clark and everyone else that would listen. She held my work up as an example to our colleagues and co-workers, encouraging them to emulate my creativity and work ethic. And today, much to my delight, she was requesting my ideas for her upcoming presentation to a Junior Businesswoman’s Club; one that met regularly at the chamber of commerce and that involved high school honor students from throughout the area.

  “I would suggest that we make a PowerPoint presentation that details all of the different finance careers available for today’s enterprising young woman—including the requirements, income levels, benefits, qualifications, and educational requirements attached to each job,” I told her. “Then at the end of the presentation, you could quiz the students about the information you taught them—those who answer correctly can win some small prizes—pens, notebooks, rulers, etc.—that come emblazoned with the Clark Industries logo.”

  Trisha smiled.

  “Brilliant!” she congratulated me, running perfectly manicured fingers through the silvery upsweep of her perfectly coiffed hair. “You know, Lily, every day I continue to be more and more eternally grateful that Oliver Clark is such a royal screw up!”

  I guffawed outright.

  “Well Trisha, I myself am pretty thrilled with my new position,” I nodded affirmably. “It’s challenging, it’s exciting—I feel so valued here.”

  Trisha nodded.

  “Rest assured, Kid, you are valued here—you definitely have some job security with me,” she assured me, adding with eyebrows arched, “I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me to the Junior Businesswoman’s Club next week? I think it would be wonderful if the girls could make the acquaintance of not one, but two successful businesswomen who excel in their fields.”

  I said nothing for a moment, only tried to fight back the sheen of unbidden—but very happy—tears that threatened to flood my eyes.

  “Thank you so much,” I assented, voice barely above a whisper. “I would love to go—if, that is, I’m still welcome at the chamber in the wake of my recent theatrics at their banquet. If I can offer any or all of those young ladies the same hand up that you’ve offered me, then it will be well worth the trip.”

  “And if these enterprising gals get to meet and be inspired by the amazing Lily Ashton, then the trip will be well worth it for them as well,” Trisha agreed with a grin.

  An hour later I sat in my neat, spacious cubicle; typing up a marketing report for my boss as I listened to a new classical CD I’d bought the weekend before; a relaxing collection of fine crafted melodies that, on an ordinary basis, would ease the rigors of my work day.

  Today, though, the third song on the CD sounded far too similar to the lovely stringed waltz I’d heard the night of the chamber of commerce dinner; the same waltz that had filled the atmosphere as Oliver and I shared our very last dance.

  My fingers stilled on my computer keyboard as my mind swelled with unbidden visions; images of a stunningly handsome man dressed in a black tuxedo, pulling me close to him, dipping me, whispering to me. Then I pictured this same man drawing me into a passionate clench, kissing me senseless as our naked bodies joined together in the silky sheets of his bed. I basked in memories of the single, very pleasurable night we spent together; the sublime ecstasy I’d experienced in his arms—and that, I knew all too well, I’d never feel again.

  Shaking my head to clear it of its frenzied haze, I sighed deeply as I wondered just how long it was going to take for me to get over Oliver Clark; the man who managed to enflame and infuriate me all at once.

  Isn’t that usually the standard thing that happens when somebody falls in love?

  The thought sprang to my mind just as unbidden as the fantasies that had preceded it; eliciting a low groan as I shook my head from side to side.

  Why was I doing this to myself? I had an amazing new job and more income and benefits than I’d ever dreamed of having; in addition, a rather handsome—and very single—young clerk had just been hired in Trisha’s office. And, to sound as much like an overly flattered junior high schooler as possible, I think he likes me!

  Yet it wasn’t the cute blonde Kirk Taylor that invaded my dreams at night, shattering all of my earthly defenses as he made love to me again and again. Other nocturnal visions were even worse, as they brought back memories of the laughter and conversation Oliver and I had shared during our months together; all of the good times that had managed to deliver so much romance and excitement to my life.

  That was no faux-mance, I concluded, pursing my lips to thoughtful effect. At least not for me.

  Suddenly I heard some steps on the staircase that bordered my office; followed by a loud, resounding knock on my cubicle door.

  That even sounds like his knock, I mused, adding as I turned from my desk, but I’m probably just imagining things.

  Nevertheless I suddenly found myself wishing that it would be Oliver on the other side of the door; that he would be waiting with open arms and a warm, sincere apology.

  Not that a simple apology would be enough to fix things, but at least it would be a start.

  My spirits plunged moments later, as I opened the door instead to reveal a clerk instead of a Clark: the beaming, affable Kirk Taylor, who offered me a bright smile as he asked, “So how’s your day going, Lil?”

  Forcing a smile in return, I shrugged my shoulders as I stepped back to grant him entrance into my office.

  “Pretty good so far,” I affirmed, adding as my beam became more genuine, “Trisha and I just had another amazing brainstorming session today—she’s always so open to my ideas.”

  Kirk nodded.

  “Isn’t she the coolest?” he agreed, his gentle blue eyes sparkling to flattering effect. “Trisha is the best.”

  “She is,” I affirmed, reclaiming my seat before my desk as I motioned for him to take the chair that sat beside my door. “When I heard I was going to be working for her, I had a major Wayne and Garth era ‘We’re not worthy, we’re not worthy’ moment, that’s for sure.”

  I jumped as Kirk doubled over, meeting my little quip with far more hysterical laughter than it rightly deserved. I, meanwhile, frowned a bit as I recalled the movie marathon that had proven a highlight of my romance with Oliver.

  “You’re so funny, Lil,” Kirk praised me, obviously oblivious to my sudden shift in mood. “I have to say you’re my favorite part of my job here at Clark. You’ve taught me so much, and you’re patient and kind—you’ve really been a Godsend to me since my arrival here.”

  “Why thank you,” I blinked hard, adding as I arched my eyebrows, “I’ve never been credited as an ethereal product of divine intervention before, but OK!”

  Another round of hysterical laughter met
this comment; followed by the coy wink of those adorable baby blues.

  “You’re too much, Lil.” Kirk shook his head, adding in a lower, more tentative voice, “Say, are you doing anything for lunch today? I mean, I don’t know that many people around here and I have a lot of questions about my new job. Do you like Chinese?”

  I shrugged.

  “I like it just fine, but my stomach doesn’t always favor it,” I admitted, adding with a slight smile, “Besides, I brought my lunch today—Trisha expects a completed report on her desk by 4:30 this afternoon, and I’m afraid I’ll have to work through lunch.”

  I cringed inwardly as Kirk’s smile dissolved, and he met my words with an awkward nod.

  “Oh,” he said, folding his hands before him and shuffling his feet. “I understand, of course. You’ve just started a new job, and you have a lot on your plate.” He paused here, brightening noticeably as he added, “But Friday night will be here before we know it, and I’m sure we’ll both be more than ready for a break. Why don’t we go for drinks?”

  I thought a moment, then shook my head.

  “Usually, by the time Friday night rolls around, I’m nothing short of exhausted,” I admitted, adding with a smirk, “I have to keep my usual weekend date with Ben, Jerry and Chris.”

  Kirk arched his eyebrows.

  “Ben, Jerry… and Chris?” he inquired, his tone reflecting a bizarre mixture of confusion, offense and possible arousal.

  I nodded.

  “Every Friday night since… well, for a while, I collapse on my couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s—a different flavor each week, just to change things up—and take in a Chris Hemsworth film festival—a different movie each week.”

  “Oh, I see…” Finally taking the hint, Kirk stood up from his seat as he surrendered the cause. “Well if you ever change your mind Lily, just let me know.”

  I smiled.

  “Will do,” I told him, sending him off with a friendly wave. “I have a feeling, though, that it’ll be a while.”

  Chapter Twelve

  ~

  Oliver

  Sure, it had only been two weeks; but in my mind, it seemed like a virtual eternity.

  One too many mornings I opened up my office door to both silence and disorder; walking into an office that I alone occupied—and, by God, it showed.

  My files were in disarray. My answering machine flashed wild with a collection of unanswered phone calls; voicemail messages that I did not have the time nor the inclination to answer. My office was both dusty and disorganized and my colleagues and co-workers greeted me with indifferent glances and outright scowls; expressions that seemed to scream, “You screwed up—and royally.”

  I didn’t much care about their opinions; who was I, Oliver Clark, to care about what a bunch of underlings thought about the boss’ son?

  I did, however, care about the feelings of my boss; a man who also happened to be my father.

  Dad had barely spoken to me since the chamber of commerce banquet; though he did inform me, via a brief and very uncomfortable phone call, that he had overheard my heated confrontation with Lily, and that he was as a result moving her to another office, effective immediately.

  My own position with the company, meanwhile, was in immediate danger; it was up to me to find a new personal assistant, and to make up for my deception by procuring new clients and maintaining a solid working relationship with our existing clientele.

  In the meantime, I feared that my status as Harry Clark’s son was in just as much danger, considering the fact that, since the night of the banquet, I had not been invited to any more corporate functions—or, for that matter, to any more family dinners, ballgames, or evenings out at the ballet or theater.

  I really didn’t even feel very welcome at business meetings or office functions; oh, I still attended them whenever (very coldly) requested, but the ideas that I offered at these corporate functions were seldom warmly received. I just didn’t know what to do. How could I make things right with him? How could I explain away or apologize for my actions of the past months? My father barely looked at me these days and, well, that hurt.

  It didn’t hurt as much, though, as the fact that Lily Ashton joined my father in the singular act of wanting absolutely nothing to do with me. We rarely saw each other in the hallways of Clark Industries; as a matter of fact, I’d managed to catch fleeting glimpses of her ducking into conference rooms and ladies restrooms (where she knew that even I would lack the nerve to follow her) in an attempt to avoid me. And it went without saying that the phone calls and e-mails I’d sent her in the wake of the chamber of commerce banquet had gone unanswered and, in all likelihood, discarded.

  Of course, I mused, my last attempts to contact her all had taken place more than 10 days ago. Could it be that she had cooled off by now—that perhaps she would be open to at least having a conversation with me?

  I could only hope so because, dammit, my heart and body ached for Lily Ashton. More accurately, they screamed for her.

  I so missed my bright, beautiful, wonderful Lily—in my arms, in my bed, in my home, in my office. She was the one who had kept me together these last two years and, since the beginning of a faux mance that turned all too real, she had kept me happy—beyond all words and measure.

  Not that I wasn’t happy before—and, I quickly reminded myself, I would be happy again. With a bevy of willing young beauties at my disposal, I did not need a steady girlfriend to give me what I needed.

  In order to keep my job and, for that matter, my sanity, I needed to find a new personal assistant as soon as possible. Over the past few weeks I’d interviewed no fewer than 10 women for this position; most of them ex-girlfriends who had worked under me in the past—in more ways than one.

  During the course of these interviews, I was reminded quickly as to why their periods of employment with me had been mercifully brief.

  Some of them couldn’t type and chew gum at the same time and a few couldn’t even manage to walk and chew gum at the same time. And rest assured, they all chewed gum—constantly, and to the point that their dialect was nearly indecipherable. I couldn’t have these people answering my phones and greeting my clients; so while I did manage to make a few dates during our mercifully brief job interviews, rest assured I made no offers for long term employment.

  Today, however, I was offered a glimmer of a hope in the form of an interview procured through a personnel agency; one with an individual named Leslie Peterson.

  The moment that Leslie walked through the door, I couldn’t help but notice a few things about my prospective employee. Leslie, it turned out, was completely bald and in possession of a 5 o’clock shadow. Leslie also came complete with a speaking voice that was significantly deeper than my own.

  “Are you the person who came to apply for my personal assistant position?” I queried, cocking a curious eyebrow as I engaged my visitor in an unbelievably firm handshake.

  The man nodded.

  “Les Peterson, at your service,” he barked. “I just got out of the military and am looking for a PA position much like the one I used to hold in the Army, where I held down a desk job after coming home from Iraq.”

  I smiled.

  “That sounds great, Les,” I told him, adding as I inclined my head in his direction, “Do you have a resume handy, and would you be willing to take a typing test?”

  A half hour later I escorted my new personal assistant to his desk and although I was most hopeful about the talents and contributions he might bring to my agency, I felt very odd about seeing someone else in Lily’s chair.

  Indeed, I thought with a sigh; there would never be another Lily Ashton.