The Billionaires: The Bosses

by Calista Fox

  “Bayli…” His arms tightened around her. “You’ve never been on top?”

  “I—” She swallowed hard.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. Something incredibly unsettling was clicking into place. “Bayli, you weren’t a virgin before Christian, were you?”

  This seemed to bring her around. A little too quickly and a little too volatilely—like a splash of cold water to the face.

  The heels of her hands slammed against Rory’s shoulders to push him back and make him release her as she climbed off him and stood. She snatched up her thong and agitatedly jerked it on before reaching for her bra.

  “Bayli—”

  “I was not a virgin before Christian,” she angrily told Rory. She yanked her skirt up her long legs. “You really think that? Just because I don’t know every sexual position under the sun and have never had a dick in my ass, I’m some sort of country bump—” She shook her head. Pulled on her blouse and buttoned it while Rory got to his feet.

  His brain lacked sufficient blood, admittedly, but he knew he’d struck a sour chord. He just wasn’t sure how he’d done it.

  “Look, honey—”

  “Christian told you, didn’t he?” she demanded as she searched for her small purse. “He told you all about my shitty-ass apartment and how I lied about where I lived so that he wouldn’t have to see it. How I was almost stranded out in the country because I don’t have a limo or a driver or any other fucking person to pick me up. He told you about the library, and probably about my job in Central Park, and how I’m broke and was so, so desperate for the hostess job at your restaurant.”

  She stalked from the room, heading into the foyer.

  “Hey!” he called after her. But he had to make a quick pit stop to rid himself of the condom and then grab his jeans. She was already out the door.

  “Bayli, for fuck’s sake!” he yelled. And raced after her.

  She was in the elevator when he threw open his apartment doors. “What the hell?” he all but roared. “What the fuck did I say … do?”

  There were tears in her eyes. “I am just some naïve idiot trying to start a life too late in the game. And all this time … you really were just humoring me.”

  He stalked toward her. “I didn’t call you after the interview, and I know that upset you. But you’re wrong about the reasons.”

  “I can’t be an inside joke between the two of you.” She jammed her finger onto the button that made the elevator doors whoosh closed. Before he could lurch forward and stop them—stop her from leaving him.

  His hands fisted at his sides.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  * * *

  Bayli rushed from the elevator and out the revolving door at the entrance of Rory’s apartment building. A uniformed man with a cap and white gloves smiled politely and asked, “May I get you a taxi, miss?”

  “Yes, please. Quickly.” She feared Rory was just two steps behind her. She continued to glance over her shoulder as the doorman used his whistle to hail a passing cab. Bayli fished a couple of bucks from her purse and handed the cash over. Then slid into the backseat, gave an address, and buried her face in her hands.

  What. The. Hell?

  Jesus, Bay. Just … Jesus!

  She’d freaked.

  About what?

  A finger in her ass?

  Possibly a cock?

  Urg!

  Like it was such a big deal!

  Rory had been into the moment. She’d been into the moment. His comment about fucking her tight, gorgeous ass hadn’t turned her off—it’d sent a wave of heat through her. Had jolted her in a good way. But the reality of the situation …

  He didn’t do it, Bay.

  Yeah. There was that. He’d seemed perfectly content to get it on with her again while she was on top. Had said he wasn’t doing anything she’d asked him not to do.

  And he’d been right.

  It was just that the whole scenario had thrown her. And then when he’d sat up and she could feel every single, solid inch of him filling her …

  Good Lord.

  It’d felt spectacular. He’d felt spectacular. And she’d thrilled over how big and wide and so scorching hot he was inside her.

  But it’d been too late. She’d already been jilted off course and instantly felt like she had no idea what the hell she was doing and, really, that had just sent her into a mental tailspin.

  For him to think she’d been a virgin before Christian …

  Well, didn’t that just scream hick from the sticks? Small-town girl in the big city who had no fucking clue whatsoever about what awaited her around every corner—no fucking clue as to how real men wanted to be satisfied.

  Rory wanted to fuck her ass.

  Well, gee, Bay. What had you expected? Polite, civil sex from a man who actually yells at people for a living?

  She lifted her head. Rolled her eyes at her own idiocy.

  Yanked out more money from her purse to pay the fare, since Phillip and Colin’s loft wasn’t far from Rory’s neighborhood and they’d just arrived.

  She paid and then carted her books up the short steps that led to a double door. She pressed the buzzer and waited for one of the guys to let her in. They were expecting her, since she’d forgotten to cancel. Because she’d been too swept away by Rory St. James taking her to the farmers’ market, wanting to cook dinner with her, kissing her, fucking her …

  Unfortunately, she was early, but Bayli didn’t intend to stay long. Just make apologies for bowing out in person. Well, and get one big, fat hug from Colin. She desperately needed it.

  When the lock sprang free, she entered the large foyer and headed to the door straight ahead, one of five in the conglomeration. She rang that buzzer as well and announced herself. Another lock released. Bayli deposited her stack on a chair in the entryway and climbed the polished wooden stairs with a stylish runner down the middle and crested the landing.

  Phillip greeted her with a friendly smile and a glass of wine.

  “I’m so sorry to be stopping by early,” she immediately said. And accepted the wine. She sipped, then hurriedly told him, “I don’t mean to interrupt all your prepping for your dinner party. I just … I just…”

  Oh, crap.

  Emotion welled within her. Tears burned the backs of her eyes.

  “Bayli, what—”

  “Who’s here, darling?” Colin in his extreme loveliness—mocha skin, neatly trimmed hair, manicured nails, and impeccable attire of pressed dark-blue slacks and ecru-colored sweater—came from the kitchen. He drew up short at the sight of Bayli and clapped his hands together. In a British accent thicker than Phillip’s, because he’d been born in London, he said, “Perfect! It’s the angel heaven is missing!”

  He squeezed her tight and she laughed as she tried to blink away the tears.

  It was a joke amongst the three of them. They’d been at a bar together when some NYU dolt had used the line on her. Phillip and Colin had gaped at the trite pickup attempt. Then Colin had shooed away the student with a dismissive wave of his hand and a sharp tsking sound that had probably left College Joe rethinking his level of cleverness and originality.

  Colin did the European double-cheek air-kiss thing with Bayli, then said, “This is excellent timing on your part, young lady.” Colin was only a year older than her. “You can entertain Phillip while I finish the Kiev and put it in the oven. Otherwise, he’ll stand over my shoulder and question whether I have the right temperature and the right timer setting.”

  “Careful,” Phillip drolly warned, “or I’ll make sure Bayli and I both stand over your shoulder and question whether you have the right temperature and the right timer setting.”

  “Oh, pshaw.” Colin did his trademark hand wave. “I know perfectly well what I’m doing in the kitchen, so stay the hell out.”

  “Gladly. I’ll just be sure to keep the fire extinguisher easily accessible.”

  “We never replaced it after the last fire.”

>   Bayli nearly spewed her sip of wine. “The last—”

  “Oh, we most certainly did,” Phillip assured him. “But then you left a candle burning in the guest bathroom too close to a hanging hand towel.”

  “Oh, right.” Colin sighed. “That.”

  “What’s the deal, Colin?” Bayli tentatively asked, jesting without being snarky.

  He shrugged a delicate shoulder. “I like flames?”

  “They are pretty,” she conceded. Then finally snickered, her consternation over yet another Rory St. James debacle ebbing now that she was in the joyful presence of these two men.

  Colin mockingly grumbled, “Anyhoo, back to the kitchen I go.”

  “Hey, wait,” she said as she caught his arm with her free hand. “I’m not staying. I should have called earlier, but I got sidetracked.”

  By a really, really hot chef and even hotter sex.

  You had to go there?

  No, she did not need the memory taking up permanent residence in her brain. But it was likely inevitable.

  “What do you mean you’re not staying?” Phillip asked. “I very efficiently talked you into coming to dinner when we were at the library this afternoon.”

  “Yes, you did. But then something else came up and, well … I need a little breather at the moment. I did something incredibly stupid from the time I left the library until now.” And that incredibly stupid thing wasn’t begging Rory to fuck her. It was everything that had happened after the ass reference.

  “Come sit down,” Colin instructed as he led her to a sofa in their fabulously adult loft. Everyone she knew had a fabulously adult loft or apartment. And they all had a mortgage and a cleaning service. Didn’t even need an exterminator, she surmised.

  All except for Bayli.

  With a shake of her head so she didn’t get mired in that mental drudgery, she told the guys, “I’m not inviting you to my pity party. Suffice it to say that this past week I have repeatedly been slapped in the face by the glaring reality that I am just now getting started in life while everyone else my age is already immersed in theirs. It makes me feel foolish—and apparently, it makes me act foolishly.”

  “Bay.” Phillip directed her to sit, despite her words. “Love, we know about your past and your mother. Since you were a kid you were caring for someone else. When, exactly, were you supposed to start this life of yours?”

  This choked her up, but she tried to keep herself in check.

  “You had two good years,” Colin chimed in as he sat on the other side of her. “Your freshman and sophomore terms at San Francisco State. Smart enough to get scholarships and you also worked.”

  “And shared an apartment with two dear friends who refused to let me pay my full share of rent and utilities,” she pointed out. “I had plenty of help along the way.”

  “But you also had to give up college when your mother’s health took another bad turn.”

  “I couldn’t afford twenty-four-seven live-in care for her,” Bayli agreed. “I had to be that live-in care.”

  “So there you go.…” This from Phillip in his matter-of-fact tone. “You made every attempt when you had the chance to better your situation, to ‘start your life.’ Unfortunately, there were dire circumstances keeping you from progressing further.”

  “Until now.” Colin gingerly patted her knee. “You have your own place, angel. You have two adoring friends … probably others, but I’m sure they’re nowhere near as brilliant and wonderful as Phillip and me.”

  She let out a soft laugh as a tear crested her eye.

  Colin added, “And for fuck’s sake, you clearly have a man in your life you have yet to tell us about.”

  Her head snapped up and she stared at him. “How the hell do you know that?”

  Phillip snorted beside her. Colin rolled his light-brown eyes. “The love bites, angel. The love bites.”

  “The what?”

  She jumped up and crossed to a mirror hanging over a beautifully decorated table. And gaped. One side of her neck was black-and-blue. Hickeys scattered from her jaw to her collarbone.

  Her stomach flipped excitedly when it should have roiled from the markings. The branding.

  “Oh, shit.” She turned back to her friends.

  They both flashed Cheshire cat grins.

  “Spill, already,” Colin sweetly demanded.

  “I—” She shook her head. “I—”

  “Phillip, be a dear and get this lovely lady who obviously got laid earlier this evening another glass of wine.”

  Bayli knew better than to protest. A half hour later the three were in the kitchen while the chicken rested and Colin fussed over the side dishes. Bayli continued to provide every juicy detail. Talk about singing for her supper …

  She decided to stay for dinner after all, since Colin had planned on her being there and Phillip insisted she stick around to meet their Oxford pals. That turned into a lively affair that had her less agitated about her encounter with Rory, though Colin could be counted on to throw out a few zingers here and there to bring to mind exactly what Rory had done to her—and exactly what he wanted to do to her. Which wove an enchanting spell on her that both thrilled and worried her.

  Granted, the percentage of worry diminished greatly as the party raged on. So that by the end of the evening she was wondering yet again why she’d made such a big deal out of anal sex and why the hell she’d let her vulnerabilities get the best of her.

  Of course, that very well could have been the wine clouding her judgement. Phillip and Colin had to practically pour her into a cab. They’d wanted her to stay overnight for safekeeping, but she’d assured them she’d be fine. And she was.

  Would continue to be.

  If she could just get her feet steadily beneath her and figure out what the hell she really wanted with, or from, the sexy restaurateur and the angsty chef …

  ELEVEN

  Christian had paperwork sprawled before him at a table in the dining room of Davila’s NYC on Monday afternoon when Lily Madison swept in, dressed to the nines as was her custom and cloaked in her signature Chanel No. 5 scent.

  “Special delivery,” she announced with the grand gesture of handing over a sealed nine-by-thirteen-inch envelope. “You said you wanted it immediately.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He took the thick packet from his assistant, an attractive blonde with siren-red nails and a flair for the dramatic. A woman he’d engaged in recreational sex with, though Lily tended to substitute “monogamous” for “recreational” when it came to him. Regardless of Christian having never led her to believe they were an exclusive item.

  She’d come on to him at a Christmas party three years ago in their Miami office. The orgasms had been great and he’d enjoyed the extra attention to detail she’d exhibited thereafter with corporate affairs, while she’d liked all the perks that came with sleeping with the boss, including traveling by private jet when he needed her and being put up in five-star hotels with a hefty expense account. Her bonuses typically had an extra zero tacked on to them as well.

  She slid gracefully into the seat across from him, her pale-green eyes flitting over the documents he’d been studying when she’d sauntered in. “What’s all this?” she asked. “I don’t recall making copies of any of it for you.”

  “No, I printed everything at home from my computer,” he said, slightly distracted now that he had the contract from Bayli’s agency in hand. The packet Lily had brought with her had arrived at his office quicker than he’d anticipated. Then again, the terms he’d negotiated for Bayli’s services were astoundingly in favor of the model, so it wasn’t a tremendous surprise her legal representation had jumped on the formalities to ensure the deal was sealed before anything went awry that might make the verbal agreement implode.

  Lily gave him a brief run-down of office happenings, but there was nothing pressing to contend with at the moment, aside from this cooking-show idea that was burning a hole in his brain. He wanted to get things under way. No, it
wasn’t the be-all-end-all concept, but that didn’t actually matter this time around, and he suspected the premise would evolve into something even greater along the way. Perhaps incorporating a competition among local chefs. Currently, it was the gregarious personality who would appear before audiences that was driving him to get the ball rolling.

  Bayli was going to be an overnight sensation. He could feel it in his bones. And Christian had the very powerful desire and prodigious opportunity to be the one to deliver her to the masses.

  He wanted his and Rory’s business venture to soar, sure. But a more potent aspiration had become introducing Bayli Styles to the world—launching her career and seeing just how far she’d go.

  Across from him, Lily leaned forward and whisked her slender fingers over his hand. She smiled seductively and said, “We haven’t seen much of each other lately. You’ve been a very busy boy.” Her crimson lips dipped in a perfectly practiced and executed pout. “I hate it when you get all tangled up in double-booked scheduling and back-to-back travel. In fact…” Her fingertip caressed his skin. “I was expecting you at my apartment on Saturday night. After the fund-raiser.”

  “We didn’t have a date, did we?” He did a mental rewind. Was positive he hadn’t mentioned anything to her about stopping by, because he typically didn’t pencil her into his calendar. As a rule, they got together when they were both at the right place, at the right/same time. Nothing premeditated. At least, not on his part.

  “No,” she said, “but since you were in the city and the gala wasn’t a business event, per se, I figured you’d be in the mood for—”

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Lil. There actually was business to take care of.” Specifically, finding out more about Bayli from Jackson Rutherford. And yes, Christian had been in the mood. For Bayli. But that wasn’t anything he needed to share with his assistant and occasional lover.

  Former occasional lover.

  Because his interests had definitely shifted elsewhere.

  But Lily was still a trusted and valued employee. So he had to play this hand carefully. Christian wasn’t into leaving scorned hearts in his wake. Did it happen? Of course. But he put significant effort into severing romantic ties while keeping professional or friendly ones intact.