Billionaire Boss (4 page)

I
have never given
up control. Never. I have spent my life taking charge of things - managing my emotions, manipulating situations - I had to.

Growing up with a train wreck of a mother and an absentee father forced me to learn to manage on my own. I don’t remember much about my mother other than she was either screaming at me or dragging me around on one of her many wild benders. I was only six when her lifestyle got the best of her and she died. I can’t say I missed her much. I barely knew her.

As I grew older, I realized I couldn’t blame her for it all. She was never completely mentally stable. My father spent most of his time at work. When he wasn’t working, he was usually entertaining one his many other women. He wasn’t always like that. They had a good relationship in the beginning, but as she became more unstable, he started to wander. Then the vicious cycle continued and became worse.

Then, once my mother was gone, he only spent more time away from home. I was mostly raised by nannies. There were a couple of good ones over the years, but none that truly replaced the parental guidance and support a child so desperately needs.

I’m only thankful that I was able to use those things to make myself a better person. I was compelled to learn as much as I could on my own. I wanted to be better. Since I had no command over my surroundings, I wanted to have total dominance over my own life, my own destiny.

Working for my father wasn’t my dream, but it was a great opportunity. I vowed to earn everything on my own. I never wanted anything given to me just because the great and mighty Garrison Grant is my father.

This has also had a great influence on my relationships - or lack thereof. I always have to be in control. I need to call the shots. I’ve never given anything of myself that I couldn’t take back in an instant.
That’s
what makes Samantha different - and it scares me.

She makes me lose my sense of judgement. She makes me feel weak. I won’t admit that to her - not yet anyway - maybe not ever. I’m not afraid to tell her how I feel even though I know she may not accept or believe me. I want her to know. I
need
her to know.

That kiss on the side of the road was completely out of character for me. It was spontaneous and reckless but it was fucking amazing. She ignites a fire in me like no other woman ever has. Fuck. I’m getting hard just thinking about it - about her. Now that I have her, I can’t let her go. I won’t.

N
ormally
, I live for the weekends, just like any other nine to fiver. This one however, can’t end fast enough. I want to get back to work so I can see Mason again. I can’t get him out of my head.

We never exchanged numbers when he dropped me off Friday night. I’m pretty sure it was just an oversight - we were both feeling a little giddy. That little voice of self doubt has been creeping in though. The one that’s telling me he didn’t really want it - that I was just another one night thing for him.

I mean, we only kissed. I tried to get him to come inside but Mason refused. He said he wouldn’t ‘sneak in’ while my mother was sleeping. He wanted to be properly introduced. It seemed very old school and proper - not at all what I expected.

Now, I’m glad he didn’t. Things would have gone much farther and been even more awkward at the office - for me anyway. I’m sure Mason will be cool as a cucumber. He’ll probably just act like nothing happened. I wish it was Monday already so I could find out for sure.

I need to keep busy so I can make the time pass today. Even thought it’s barely noon, my mother is already in the kitchen making her traditional Sunday dinner. It doesn’t matter if it’s just the two of us, she’s making an Italian feast that will likely feed us for the rest of the week.

“It smells delicious in here. Need any help?” I offer.

“Not really,” mom replies, stirring her sauce, “actually, if you want, you can run to the bakery and pick up a loaf of bread.”

“Sure, why not?”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Grateful for the distraction, I take my keys and put a coat on.

“No problem. I’ll be back in a bit. Call me if you need anything else.”

There’s a long line at the bakery so I take my time picking out some pastries for dessert while I’m there. I decide to waste some more time and stroll through the small market next door. I pick out some olives and a nice bottle of wine to go with dinner.

I grab an iced coffee on my way home and when I get back in my car, it starts to rain. by the time I arrive back, I notice I’ve been gone a couple of hours. I collect my bags and coffee and run up to the front door. The rain is coming down hard now and I have no umbrella.

I hastily push open the front door and step inside.

“It’s pouring out!” I call to my mother. I stand in the foyer and dry off. I take off my shoes and hang my coat. I bend over to pick the grocery bag up but look up when the response comes from a voice other than my mom’s.

“You should keep an umbrella in the car, you know.”

Still bent over, I sheepishly look up. It’s Mason.

“What? Why?” I stutter, “What are you doing here?”

I do a quick once over of myself. My hair is a soaked mess - hanging in all different directions. I have on leggings, an old college sweatshirt, and socks that are now soaked. I look like a hot mess - a hot, wet, mess.

I look Mason over. He looks amazing - shocker. I don’t imagine he’s even capable of looking any other way. He’s wearing casual gray slacks with a royal blue button down shirt. The top buttons are open confirming the casual look and showing just enough of his tanned chest to make me sweat a little.

“You mentioned that your mom makes a huge Sunday dinner. I was going to call, but I never asked for your number. I thought I would stop by. I hope that’s okay?” Mason asks.

“Of course it’s okay!” mom answers for me, interrupting our awkward greeting, “Sam, how could you have kept this man a secret from me? We’ve been having such a good time.”

I stand up and brush my hands on my shirt, “that’s great, ma,” I say through gritted teeth. I can’t imagine what they’ve been talking about while I was gone. I wonder how long Mason has been here?

Mason takes the grocery bag and winks at me. We all walk back into the kitchen.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he offers. I see an open bottle and two glasses already filled.

“I guess so,” I answer. I’m so confused right now. Mason is the last person I expected to have over for Sunday dinner. I’m not mad he’s here, I just wish I could have been prepared for his visit.

“Are you drinking, mom?” My mother rarely indulges herself. I’m surprised she accepted a glass.

“Just a glass, dear. How could I say no to someone that looks like that?” she teases. I guess he has that effect on both of us. Seems like these two have been getting along just fine without me.

Mason pours me a glass of wine from a bottle he must have brought. I unpack the bag of goodies I just purchased. I put the olives on a plate and carry them to the table. Mason hands me the glass and sits next to me at the table. I nervously twist my damp hair up into a bun.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a few. I’m going to change for dinner,” mom announces, removing her apron. I roll my eyes. She’s just looking for a reason to leave the room.

“So, what made you decide to stop by today?” I ask. I grab an olive and pop it in my mouth.

“You.”

“Me?” I look up at Mason incredulously, “I didn’t even know you were coming - obviously. I would have dressed a little nicer if I did.” I look down at myself, embarrassed at what I look like.

“You look beautiful just the way you are.”

I blush, “oh, stop.”

“You do,” Mason assures me, “if you knew I was coming you would have put on make up and some pretty outfit. This is the real you. It’s natural and much more attractive than you think.”

“Thanks,” I reply, demurely.

“Your mother is very sweet,” Mason comments, taking an olive.

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“You weren’t lying when you said she cooks a big Sunday dinner.”

I laugh, “it’s the Italian in her. Big Sunday dinners are a tradition in her family. Does your mom cook?”

“My mother died when I was young,” Mason responds, looking down.

“I’m sorry.” I feel bad asking, “I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. I was too little to remember much.”

“Well, Ginny will make sure you eat until you can’t fit another bite. It’s her specialty,” I say, trying to lighten the conversation.

Mason chuckles, “I like her style.”

“Eat ’til you puke?” I joke.

“No. Be sure to satisfy and then give more.” Mason winks.

I squirm a bit in my seat. He’s clearly not talking about food.

“Well, I hope you kids are hungry,” mom says, entering the kitchen.

Mason looks at me with an expression that says he’s hungry for more than my mother’s cooking, “I know I am, Ms. Roberts.”

“Oh, please. Call me Ginny.”

“Let me help you, mom.” Happy for the distraction, I get up from the table. I busy myself taking plates and bowls from the cabinets.

“Let me do something,” Mason offers, standing up.

“Don’t be silly, dear, you’re our guest,” mom replies.

“I insist, Ginny,” Mason says. He takes the heavy pot off the stove and carries it to the table. My mother is beaming. He sure is racking up a lot of brownie points.

We finish getting everything ready and the three of us sit down to eat. This is so surreal to me. We just had our first date two days ago and here we are breaking bread with my mother. Having Mason and my mother at the same table is not something I ever pictured happening - especially not so early in the game.

Our meal is delicious and entertaining. Mason shares a lot about his childhood and his business. The only thing my mother isn’t pleased with is the fact that him and his father don’t get along. Once Mason explains his past and his father’s personality, she is more understanding about the matter and we carry on with cheerful conversation.

“I’m stuffed,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

“This meal was better than most of the fancy, expensive meals I’ve ever had,” Mason says.

“Only most of them?” Ginny teases.

“Okay, all of them,” Mason winks.

“I’m exhausted. It must be the wine,” my mother says.

“You can go relax. I’ll clean up,” I reply.

“Yes. You’ve outdone yourself, Ginny. We can take care of clean up.”

“You know what? I’m going to take you up on that.” My mother looks from me to Mason and smiles, “a charming, handsome, man who cleans? Seems like a winner to me, Sam.”

Oh my God. My mother still has the power to embarrass me no matter how old I am.

“Good night,
mother
,” I say through gritted teeth. I see Mason smirking out of the corner of my eye. I’m too mortified to look at him.

I get up and begin clearing the table, still unable to make eye contact with Mason who is undoubtedly enjoying my shame. He rises from his own seat, picking up plates and scraping the little bit of food left on each into the trash can.

“Tupperware?” he asks, opening and closing cabinets.

I point to the correct door and he proceeds to take out what he needs for the leftovers. I’m actually surprised that someone who was raised by nannies and is used to the finer things can so effortlessly clean up and take care of himself. It sounds silly, I just picture people waiting on Mason hand and foot. His employees sure jump at any of his commands. I just assumed he told people what to do more often than actually doing things himself.

“What’s so funny?” Mason asks.

“What?”

“You’re smiling to yourself over there. What are you thinking about?”

“Just…I don’t know,” I begin hesitantly, “I didn’t think you did things like this.” I wave my arms around, motioning to the cleaning he’s doing in the kitchen.

Mason steps in front of me, “I’m not afraid to get dirty,” he says mischievously, “I actually enjoy it.”

A shiver goes through my body. I stare blankly at Mason. I can’t form a clever response. He narrows his eyes and takes another step toward me, closing the space between us, “How about you? Do you like to get dirty, Samantha?”

My jaw falls open. I’m so aroused by Mason’s words. The effect he has on me is intoxicating. He has total control of this conversation and whatever happens after.

“Yes,” I whisper, unable to speak at my normal volume.

Mason leans forward and kisses me gently on the lips. The way he’s making me feel right now, I just want to wrap my body around his and make love right here on the kitchen floor. I don’t care that my mother is in the next room. But he stops our kiss - once again. He stares at me with eyes full of lust. I know he wants me. Why does he keep leaving me hanging like this?

“Why do you keep teasing me?” I ask.

A sly smile forms on Mason’s lips, “I’m not teasing you.”

“You are and you know it.”

“Just getting a little taste. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says more seriously.

“Well, it’s not cool,” I huff. I start to turn to face the counter so I can wash dishes and ignore Mason while I cool myself off, but he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into him.

He backs me up to the counter and kisses me again. This time, Mason slides his tongue into my mouth, engaging me in a deep kiss. I feel how hard he is already and press my body into his. I want him - bad.

Mason slips one hand down between my legs and runs his hand over my core. The thin cotton of my leggings does nothing to shield the sensation of his fingers moving back and forth over my heat.

“Don’t call me a tease, Samantha,” he whispers, still caressing me.

“Mmm hmm,” I reply meekly.

“We’ve had a case of poor timing so far, but don’t be mistaken - I want you - and I’m going to have you.”

“Now. I want you now,” I say breathlessly.

Mason bores into me with his stare, “we can’t right now. You’re mother is in the other room. I can’t disrespect her like that.” His hand is still moving so expertly that even through my pants, he’s bringing me close to the edge.

“You’re teasing me again. We can be quiet. Just…come on.”

“If we’re being quiet, we’re not doing it right.”

Oh. My. God. This man is driving me insane right now. I need him inside me. I rub my hand over Mason’s stiff cock. It’s all but bursting out of his pants. If my mother were to come in right now, it would be pretty evident what was going on anyway. Why can’t he just give it up?

“Please?”

Mason manipulates his hand just right. My body shudders. I grasp at his erection, trying to touch him any way I can. His mouth forms a satisfactory grin as he feels me release myself to him.

“That’s it baby, let it go,” he instructs me.

“Mmm hmm,” is all I can manage. I feel so stupid. Is it always this easy for him?

I lean back against the counter, feeling exhausted. Our whole encounter could have only lasted a few minutes. I’m overcome with a plethora of emotions. How can this man have such an effect on me?

Mason straightens himself up and fixes his clothing.

“What just happened?” I ask.

“I told you years ago that you would be begging for it, Samantha. You just made my dream come true.”

Shocked, I feel like the wind was knocked out of me, “is that what this was? Some kind of joke to you?”

He pulls me close to him again, “not even a little bit. You made my dream come true, I mean that.” Mason kisses me softly, “next time, I’ll do the same for you.”

I roll my eyes playfully, “you don’t even know what my dream
is.”

“I’ve been fantasizing about you for years. I’ll just have to keep trying until I find the right one, won’t I?” Mason winks.

Right here in my mother’s kitchen, I’m melting. Mason is the one and only man that has ever made me feel this way. I hope he sticks around. I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone else that can make me feel like this. I don’t care what everyone says about him. I want him. I need him. I just might love him. But right now I’m not sure who I trust less - him or me.