Billionaires Hook Up - A Standalone Novel (A Billionaire Office Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #8)

by Claire Adams

  “And that's particularly tough for you, isn't it? I mean, I've known you all these years, kid, and you're always the one who's in charge, who's in control. You’ve always been the one who had the women under your thumb. You’re used to being the one to take charge, go after what you want and get it. Everything has always been on your terms for as long as I've known you. Hell, you've even got me under your thumb—even though we go with the illusion that I'm in charge, for the sake of your training. I know where my paychecks come from,” Bryce grinned.

  “I know you're right. But you do know I don't just consider you an employee—I consider you a friend above all else.”

  He smiled and clinked his beer against mine. “Thanks, kiddo.”

  “And to prove that, here I am talking to you about, of all things, feelings on a Saturday night. Bet you didn't see this coming!”

  He laughed out loud. “I certainly didn't! But hell, every guy goes through this at some stage of his life. I sure as hell did.”

  “And, what came out of it?”

  “Twenty-three years and counting of marriage to the best damn woman I've ever met.”

  I nodded. “When did you know? That she was the one, that is?”

  “First damn second I laid eyes on her. I dunno how I knew, I just did. Like a soldier I fought with in Desert Storm once told me: 'I know I ain't coming back alive from this mission. I can feel it in my bones.' And, sure enough, he didn't come back. Sometimes, you just know things in your bones.”

  I sipped slowly on my beer, not saying a word.

  “So that, ultimately, is the question you gotta ask yourself, Sinclair. Do you know it in your bones? Your feelings for this girl—do you merely imagine them—or do you know them?”

  I drank another sip and then responded.

  “To be honest, Bryce, the answer to that is what scares me.”

  ***

  I waited at the head of the boardroom table, tapping my fingers impatiently on the desk as I waited for people to file in. I'd been in an unexplainable mood since Saturday night, and no amount of work or exercise had been effective at shaking it. So, there I stood, knowing it had carried over into Monday.

  Eventually, everyone was at their seats, so I looked out across the sea of faces and started to speak. “Good morning, everyone. Welcome to another busy and hopefully productive week. This morning, we're going to be discussing, among a few other things, a new French perfume campaign.

  “But, before we do that, there's one last thing the executives at Harry Winston want us to wrap up for them. They want one of the ads reworked to incorporate some new information they have for us. Unfortunately, this means someone is going to have to schedule some evening hours to work on this with me, as we just don't have enough time to get it done with all the prep we have to put in for everything else on our plates.

  “I guess what I’m asking is: who's willing to be here the next few nights after hours to help me wrap up this Harry Winston situation? I realize I'm asking a lot, but I did pick most of you because of your hunger for success, your perfectionism, and your dedication to work.”

  I looked out over the table and was disappointed that I didn't immediately see a sea of hands. It was a Monday morning, and we were already loaded with work, so I understood.

  “Look, guys, I can handle this on my own, yes, but it will take less time if I have someone to share the load. I would really appreciate an extra hand to assist in this.”

  A hand went up to my left, and a strange thrill rushed through my body as I saw whose hand it was.

  “Ah, it appears we have a volunteer. And, I can't say I'm too surprised.”

  “I feel like the Harry Winston campaign is kind of my baby,” Lilah said with a smile. “And as such, I'm prepared to take care of it as best I can. I'll come in after hours and help you wrap it up.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “I suspected you'd be the one to volunteer just for that reason. Thank you, Lilah. We'll talk about times and strategies after the meeting. So, now that we have that all cleared up, everyone please open your folders. Let’s talk about perfume.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lilah

  I hadn't been able to stop thinking about Saturday night. In fact, it had been on my mind since Asher had left my place so abruptly. The concealed tragedy of his past, his immense strength and perseverance in getting through it, and becoming the man he is. More than all of that, his willingness to open up to me about it all.

  We hadn't spoken since he’d left that night. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have known what to say if we had. I'd seen a side of him that I hadn't known existed. It was a side I was convinced he didn’t reveal to many people. I wondered what it meant in terms of how he saw me and the emotions that simmered just below the surface every time he and I were together.

  My attraction for him was getting harder and harder to deny and even harder to resist. I'd had my guard up for so long, I'd almost forgotten what it was like to let someone in. Yet, here was this powerful man opening up to me. I wondered if perhaps he had done so hoping that I'd open up to him.

  I'd wanted to. That night, after he had told me all those things about his past, about his family and those deep, painful secrets—of which I suspected there were more—I'd wanted to open up to him as well, to tell him more about my past, my own secrets. To feel vulnerable again, and totally open with another person. It had been so long since I’d last felt that.

  In fact, I questioned if I had ever truly opened up to anyone. Even with Jacob, I knew I had always held something back. I had justified it to myself by thinking once we were married, I’d tear down what was left of the walls.

  Maybe that’s what I was still doing. Because, on the other side of the coin were the feelings of harsh resolve, of defiance, of fierce independence. I'd been so strong on my own, why should I weaken myself and open myself up to another person? What would the point of that be? Especially this man, the embodiment of sheer power and might, who possessed an empire.

  He was so used to getting exactly what he wanted, so used to not being defied or refused by anyone—did he think that by simply being vulnerable in front of me that I'd lay back and let him have his way? He was immensely intelligent, and I was fully aware of this. So, was this just a tactic, a page in his seduction playbook?

  I shook my head and applied pressure to my temples. There were far too many conflicting thoughts whirling around inside my head at the moment. I was due at the office to help Asher wrap up the Harry Winston campaign at 7:00, which was only an hour away. It would do me no good to go in the state of mind I was in. I needed to be crisp, clear, and focused.

  I stripped off my clothes and headed into the bathroom. A hot shower followed by a brief period of meditation would be exactly what I needed before the evening began.

  It was going to be a long and busy week, and it was essential that I approached it in the right state of mind.

  I stepped into the shower, turned on the water, and sighed as the hot jets pelted my skin. Not only was it going to be a busy week, but it was going to be interesting . . . very interesting.

  ***

  “That's it. That's the last touch. We're done,” I announced

  A look of relief crossed Asher's face as he stood from his desk after having sent the final file through. He stretched and then chuckled.

  “It's been a long week, huh?”

  I smiled and stood from my side of the desk.

  “It has. But we've been productive as hell, haven't we? I feel pretty confident that this campaign is as good as it can possibly be. I think they're about to see yet another spike in sales.”

  “I think so, too, Lilah. I think so, too. Come on, shut your computer down and then we can get the hell out of here. I love working, don't get me wrong, but we've been cooped up in here for what, 13-14 hours every day this week? I think it's about time for some R and R.”

  It was Friday, and Asher and I had yet to speak about last Saturday. We had both danced around anythi
ng personal the whole week, doing our best to stay totally focused on getting the job done, and getting it done well. And we'd achieved that with flying colors. But without that to focus on, I was feeling just like I could only guess he was feeling—a strange combination of exhausted, energized, and slightly awkward.

  Something had to give. And, if past experience with Asher was any indication, having a drink could prove to be exactly what was needed to quell all of those.

  “I don't know about you,” I ventured, “but I'm feeling like . . . I don't know, like doing something. I mean, I'm tired, but I don't want to just go home and sleep. I feel like it'd be a waste given that I'm still pretty pumped from the excitement of wrapping this thing up successfully.”

  “I hear you,” he said. “Maybe we should be doing something to celebrate. But, to be honest, I don't really feel up to going out someplace where I have to deal with people. I’m psyched up, but not that energetic.”

  “Well, I have a bottle or two of bubbly at my place that I shouldn’t open all by my lonesome. If you'd like to come over and have a drink, I feel like this is as good a time as any to pop it open. We do have something to celebrate, after all.”

  Asher smiled that crooked smile of his that does something to my insides. “That sounds great. I'll shut everything down here and then meet you there shortly.”

  A wave of unexpected excitement rushed through me. “I’ll go ahead then. See you at my place.”

  ***

  “Another glass?” I asked with a sly grin, feeling all warm and tingly from the champagne I was definitely drinking too quickly. Somehow, though, I'd stopped caring about retaining absolute control. In fact, I was ready to lose control completely. Everything that had been so bottled up inside over the past few weeks was threatening to spill out and bubble over, and I was pretty damned close to being ready to let that happen.

  “Fill it up,” he said with a smile.

  I filled our glasses and took a seat next to him on the sofa. We'd been laughing and joking, edging closer and closer to each other on the sofa after starting out at opposite ends when we'd first opened the bottle.

  “You did a fantastic job on the Harry Winston case,” Asher told me yet again. “I know I've already said it a thousand times, but seriously, you've impressed me. And, that’s not an easy task. Your work ethic and dedication are off the charts. I'm not sure how you came up with the concept you did, but it's been an honor to take it to its conclusion with you.”

  I blushed. I couldn’t help it. It was obvious that his words weren’t mere flattery, but rather a true compliment that came from the heart.

  “Thank you,” I replied quietly. It's been a real pleasure working with you. I've learned so much in such a short amount of time. I never dreamed I'd be given so many opportunities to improve my craft and hone my skills so quickly. And, being around someone as dedicated and inspired—and immensely talented—as you and your team have really given me inspiration to push and challenge myself.”

  A smile tugged at his lips as he sipped his champagne. “I'm glad you feel that way,” he said. “The inspiration has been working both ways, I'll have you know. Before you came along, I felt a bit stuck on the Harry Winston thing. I'd hit some sort of rut. I'm not sure why, but I just wasn't feeling the fire in my veins the way I have in previous years and previous campaigns. But since you came along, you’ve breathed new life into this campaign—and my company. I've felt like my old self again.”

  I wasn't sure how to interpret his last comment and even less certain how I should respond. What I was certain of was that it caused my heart to start beating a little faster and my breathing had quickened. I couldn’t help wondering if it was as obvious to him as it was to me. Because I was completely out of my element and the conversation was taking us to a place I wasn't sure I was ready to go to yet, to put it simply: I panicked.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” I blurted out. I clearly have the worst defense strategies possible when my nerves kick in.

  “Sounds good,” he answered with a bit of a chuckle under his breath. Apparently, he recognized the abrupt subject change. How could he not?

  “Let me have a look at what's on Netflix.”

  I fumbled with the remote for a few moments and then brought up the Netflix menu and we started scanning through the list of movies.

  “What do you feel like watching?” I asked.

  “Oh, hmm. How about something classic?”

  “How 'classic' are you talking? I mean, that's a broadly defined term in this day and age, you know. Like, black and white classics from the ’50s or ’60s? Or are we talking auteur stuff from the ’70s? Cult classics from the ’80s and ’90s?”

  He grinned and sipped on his drink like he was stifling his amusement. “Sounds like someone's a bit of a film buff,” he said with a grin.

  I squinted an eye at him. “Don’t laugh, but it’s possible I was in Cinema Club at high school.”

  “No, no, that's awesome! It's refreshing to meet someone who's into the art of film.”

  “Yeah, well, I always have been. It was kind of my outlet from the real world when I was growing up.”

  “I've met Martin Scorsese, you know,” he said with a smile. “Worked with James Cameron, as well. Great guy, James. He's very into saving the environment these days.”

  I crooked up on corner of my mouth and then drank a sip of champagne. “You aren't trying to impress me by name-dropping, are you?” I asked with a wink.

  He laughed. “Maybe,” he replied with a subtle smile. “Maybe I was.”

  I edged a little closer to him on the sofa without thinking about it, instinctively. I didn't remember consciously choosing to do so. Still, it felt right, somehow.

  “All right, well since you're in the mood for something classic, but you didn't say just how classic, I'm going to pick a decade,” I said. “And, I'm going to go with the ’80s. How does that sound?”

  “I'm an ’80s baby, so, that sounds perfect.”

  “All right, let's see what Netflix has to offer in that category. Hmm, we've got Groundhog Day, Batman, Sixteen Candles, Willow, Return of the Jedi, The Breakfast Club, Die Hard, The Terminator . . . Anything jumping out at you?”

  Asher took a sip of his champagne before answering. “You know, I've never seen The Breakfast Club—and references to it get dropped so often that I feel like I'm missing out. It's one of those I’ve always meant to see, but never got around to.”

  “Wow. I feel like I should be giving you grief right now. We must remedy this injustice. Jeez. I thought it was a requirement to have seen The Breakfast Club at least three times if you grew up in the ’80s.”

  “Well, how many times have you seen it?”

  “Hmmm . . . at least a dozen. And, I've been meaning to watch it again for ages. Tell you what, I've got some popcorn in the kitchen. I'll go whip up a batch—the old fashioned way on the stove, with loads of butter and salt, of course.”

  He laughed. “That sounds awesome! Didn't take you for someone who enjoys spending much time in the kitchen.”

  “It's not really my thing, but you need to understand how seriously I take movies! A movie is not a movie without real popcorn. Not that microwave, pre-flavored crap!”

  “All right, all right. You go whip it up. I'll wait here,” he laughed.

  I got up and headed to the kitchen. The weight of his stare followed me. When I'd gotten home, I'd changed out of my work attire into something more comfortable: a simple jeans and T-shirt combo. While I knew he’d stolen many a glance at me at the office dressed in my business suits—after all, I picked them to accentuate my curves—it was flattering to know that when I was dressed more simply, he still couldn't resist looking when he didn’t think I was watching.

  While I was making the popcorn in the kitchen, his voice came echoing through from the living room. “Lilah, the champagne's done, and I'm still kinda thirsty. You got anything else here or should I have a courier deliver us something?”
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br />   I paused for a moment before I answered. I was already feeling a little buzzed from the two bottles of champagne we'd already had. With all these feelings starting to boil over, I wasn't sure what would happen if I got more alcohol in me and had my inhibitions lowered even more.

  But I didn’t particularly care at the moment.

  “I have some vodka in the freezer and freshly squeezed orange juice I picked up this afternoon. We could make screwdrivers, if you'd like?”

  “Screwdrivers! I don't think I've had one of those in years. That sounds good.”

  “I'll bring it all out with the popcorn.”

  “Sounds great!”

  I paused for a moment, taking note of how surreal the situation around me was. I had, sitting on my sofa, one of the most powerful men in the PR industry, a man who had become a billionaire by age 20, the CEO of the corporation in which I'd landed my dream job. We were about to eat popcorn and drink Screwdrivers together like a couple of broke college kids.

  I couldn't help giggling.

  “What are you laughing at in there?” Asher’s voice echoed from the living room.

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” I replied, doing my best to stifle the laughs.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . if you say so,” he replied. “I can smell that popcorn, by the way! It's starting to smell like a movie theater in here!”

  “You can start the movie,” I said. “The first bit is just a song and credits.”

  “Okay.”

  “Turn it up, though, it's a great song!”

  I heard the open beat and chords of Simple Minds' “Don't You Forget About Me” echoing through my living room as Asher started the movie.

  “You’re right! This is a great song!” he exclaimed. “Man, I haven't heard this in years!”

  When the popcorn was ready, I put it into a bowl, grabbed a couple of glasses, got the orange juice and vodka, then placed it all on a serving tray and headed to the living room.

  “Ah, that smells great,” he said.