Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance (8 page)

I let the silence draw out a tad longer, just to let them sweat a little more. The bastards couldn’t have been listening up any harder if they’d all gone out and bought extra ears.

“Here’s the deal, folks – how about you limber up your smartphones and just take all the pictures you want, all right? Go on, I don’t mind.”

I turned in a slow circle, displaying myself like a fashion model. On the outside, I did my best to project the image of a bored queen accepting the adulation of the local peasantry – on the inside, I was screaming, ‘Ashley, what are you DOING?’

I came to a stop facing them. There sure as hell was no going back at this point, so I just piled it on deeper. I would have killed to see Mr. Killane’s reaction to all this, but the crowd of suits still blocked my view of his desk.

“No takers? Nobody wants to splatter exclusive pictures of the Amazing Colossal Girl all over Twitter and reddit and Facebook? The Amazing Colossal Girl who, by the way, is NOT sleeping with your boss, no matter what you’ve heard?”

I still couldn’t see Mr. Killane, but there was no mistaking his voice as he dropped a single word into the horrified silence.

“Yet.”

I stepped down hard on the urge to glare in the direction of his desk, and even harder on the urge to walk over there and punch him in the face. Instead, I aimed my calm gaze out over the crowd of helpless witnesses to whatever this was, and I kept my voice light, sunny, and utterly relaxed.

“Shut up, asshole, you’re stepping all over my moment here.”

Someone gasped. Mr. Killane chuckled, the bastard.

“So, if none of you guys want to take some pictures you can jack off to later, and none of you stick-figure ladies want to snap some reference shots of what a real woman looks like, how about putting your faces to the front and paying attention to the guy who signs your paychecks, okay? I’m reasonably sure Mr. Killane called you up here to conduct some kind of business, not stand there and stare at me like I’m the second coming of sex.”

Thanks for the sweet line, Danny.

The crowd of underlings turned around – not all at once, but in ragged groups of two and three, as some of them stared at each other and more than a few shook themselves as if emerging from a spell. They fastened their desperate attention on Mr. Killane now, and I imagined more than a few of them were silently begging their crazy boss to rescue them from the crazier curvy girl.

The three suits who were closest to his desk edged to one side as they turned around, and now I could see Devon Killane leaning back in his chair, hands draped carelessly on the armrests, the supremely confident lord of his realm.

“Well put, Ms. Daniels. And thank you, Dana, that will be all.”

Dana still stood frozen behind me, where she’d been throughout my little performance – but the instant Killane dismissed her, she bolted for the outer office and yanked the door shut behind her with a thump.

Mr. Killane promptly forgot her existence and mine as well, as he returned to the conversation that had been interrupted by my grand entrance

“So, Mr. Elliston – you feel quite certain that the Claytor Investments representatives can’t muster a better offer for Riner Integrated Technology’s outstanding shares?”

Mr. Elliston consulted with an aide who quoted figures on share prices, another executive offered a comment about the financial stability of a Claytor Investments subsidiary, and I heaved a sigh of relief as the subject of Ashley Daniels vanished from the discussion.

Another ten minutes of conversation droned by, as I stood there in the background, grateful to be ignored. Then suits started drifting out of Killane’s office in twos and threes, consulting their watches and whispering into their phones.

Most of them glanced at me as they left – more than a few in nervous admiration, judging by their expressions – and one harried forty-something woman with two aides fluttering around her walked over and gave my shoulder a hurried squeeze.

“Good luck, kid – you’ll need it with that guy.”

Mr. Killane rose to his feet as the room emptied out. Only two executives remained, backing away from him just a bit as he walked out from behind his desk.

The older suit, a guy who I vaguely recognized as being somewhere near the top of the mergers and acquisitions department of the Killane empire, still had more to say.

“Sir, I’m not sure I see the necessity for you making the trip out to San Francisco to oversee this in person. The team we already have in place is the best available on the West Coast, and they’ve been on top of the Radford Systems deal from day one.”

His cohort – maybe an aide, maybe a junior suit eager to play with the big boys – said, “And Mr. Killane, I should point out that the situation with the Deauville buyout is still fluid, perhaps you might prefer to –”

“Gentlemen, I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite sure I see the necessity for my personal presence in San Francisco. Our negotiating team is doing an excellent job of bringing the Radford people to heel, granted, but experience has taught me there’s nothing that makes a victim cave in and admit defeat like parading the flag of my craziness in front of them. As for Deauville, pretending disinterest will work wonders for rattling their nerves. We’re going to let those people stew a bit, fussing and wringing their sweaty little hands, and then we’ll drop the boom on them when I get back.”

He glanced up from adjusting his cufflinks. “I’m also quite sure that will be all for now, gentlemen. Thank you.”

Suit One and Suit Two excused their way out of their lord’s presence and hustled out the door. For the second time in as many days, I was alone with Devon Killane.

He stood at the floor-to-ceiling window again, but I wasn’t buying that ‘she’s not even here’ nonsense this time. I spoke to his back, and I let him have it.

“Sir, I’m begging you – as one crazy person to another, you have to tell me just what is going on here.”

He turned on his heel, with one eyebrow raised and an infuriating smile on his face. “What’s going on, Ashley, is that I’ll be on my way to San Francisco within the hour, and as my new personal assistant, that’s something you really should be preparing for right about now.”

Holy shit, I’d heard Alfred the Jedi right after all – but Killane’s personal assistant? Me? Why, in the name of sanity?

Flustered and confused as ever, I focused on the least important aspect of what he’d just said. “What, we’re on a first-name basis now?”

“Well,
I
certainly am. On the other hand, it would hardly be appropriate for you to address me that way, at least not until I get you into my bed.”

“You arrogant asshole.” Then as I stared at him in shock and anger and I’m not sure what else,  I realized I was also thinking about being in his bed, being under his powerful body, feeling him moving inside me … and yep, there was that embarrassing, undeniable flush of wetness and need between my legs. Dammit, body, why do you insist on wanting this guy?

“I’m that and more. By the by, while you’re free to deny your desire for me all you like, might I suggest doing it later, on your own time? Just now, you have work to do.”

He walked over to his desk, sat down, and pulled something out of a drawer.

“You’ll need this.”

He tossed the something across the room to me with barely a glance in my direction. Whatever it was, it came flying right at my face, and I snatched it out of the air in pure self-defense.

I looked at the object in my hand and found the newest iPhone looking back at me. Did Siri know what was going on?

“Sir, are you aware that I have zero experience in being a personal assistant?”

“Yes. Fortunately, it’s the sort of position in which success relies more on the native wits of the employee than on previous experience.”

He leaned back in his chair, pulled his own phone from an inner pocket, and tapped away at the screen. My existence seemed to have been forgotten.

“Are you also aware that I have only the faintest idea of what a personal assistant does?”

He sank deeper into his chair, staring intently at his phone. He answered me without looking up.

“Well, according to my last personal assistant, the job chiefly involves being my ‘goddamn fucking babysitter,’ to use his exact words. In any case, it’s all on his ex-phone, which you now hold in your hand. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Well, I hope you’re also aware that I know not much more than zip about your business interests, so that better not be on the quiz.”

“It won’t. I take care of my business, you take care of me.” The sound effects drifting up from his phone indicated that my boss was absorbed in a game of Angry Birds.

I looked down at the perfect, gleaming iPhone in my hand, a phone that I could never afford for myself – or could I, now? I didn’t have a clue what being Mr. Killane’s personal assistant paid, but I figured it had to be vastly more than $13.25 an hour. If this was for real, I could seriously take care of Mom now – move her into a better place, set her up with a decent healthcare plan …

But not only was that a pipe dream unless I figured out this new job, but my old job had already been passed on to Ms. Skinnyass. So if I flopped at the whole personal assistant thing, I couldn’t even just slink back to my old post at main reception – I’d be unemployed and in the street, with Mom alongside me.

My beautiful, impossible bastard of a boss had neatly made certain that I was committed to him, come hell, high water, sexual harassment, or whatever other craziness he might dream up.

Shit. Shit times infinity. How the hell had this happened to me, again?

My mind racing, I absently turned the phone over in my hand, not really looking at it until I noticed that hey, it wasn’t perfect after all.

“Not that it’s a big deal or anything, Mr. K., but did you know this phone has a pretty serious crack in the back plate?”

He still didn’t bother looking at me. “I imagine that happened when it hit the wall.”

He didn’t seem to think that statement required any elaboration. I disagreed.

“And why did it hit the wall, sir?”

“Because when my last personal assistant threw it at my head after I fired him about thirty minutes ago, his aim was rather poor.”

My thoughts dodged back to Danny the Human Rage Machine, and at least one small piece of this puzzle clicked into place.

“Let me guess – your last personal assistant was a guy named Danny, sandy hair cropped pretty short, about six feet tall with eight feet of temper, Dana’s boyfriend?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sir, did you fire him just so you could give me his job? Because hot-tempered jerk or not, that seems pretty unfair to the guy.”

Mr. Killane looked up from his phone. His blue-violet stare pinned me in place.

“Ashley, while the timing of his demise was perhaps due to you, Daniel Lexington’s employment with me was doomed from the start. He performed his duties in a timely and efficient manner, true, but he was easily frustrated, easily driven to distraction, fell easily enough into anger, and he saw me as nothing more than an annoying burden he had to bear during his climb to success.

“I’m sadly and inevitably surrounded by superficial, grasping people, Ashley, and he was the worst among them – the man was like a human manifestation of fingernails on a blackboard, towards the end. I might also mention that I did not care for those all too frequent mornings when Dana skulked in here with makeup slathered over an obvious black eye.”

Well, all righty, then. Serves you right, Danny boy.

Mr. Killane turned his attention back to Angry Birds. “However, he was right about one thing.”

“And what might that one thing be, sir?”

He peered at the screen, he tapped and swiped, and he once more didn’t bother to look at me.

“He was correct that as my personal assistant, you are now my babysitter. You see, one of the most rewarding things about having 58.6 billion dollars – aside from not needing a seduction technique, that is – is that I am spared from the dreary necessity of having to deal with my own life.

“For instance, I’m going to San Francisco shortly, but do you see me giving any thought to how I’ll get to the airport? Do you notice me worrying over where my Gulfstream G650 private jet is right now? Am I doing anything to make sure a luxury penthouse suite in San Francisco’s finest hotel is waiting for me when I arrive? The answers are no, no, and no – those are all things my personal assistant does. If I need something to happen in my daily life, you make it happen, Ashley – starting now.”

He spun his chair towards the window. He hunched over his phone, muttering to himself as he battled with Angry Birds. I was dismissed until I produced some definite get-me-to-San-Francisco results.

Ashley, you can do this. You don’t have any choice, true, but how hard could it be? You’ve even done some babysitting – it was little kids and years ago, not a temperamental adult and right now, but the basic principles should be the same, right?

It’s sink or swim, kid. Right now.

5. Round and Real

The phone still functioned despite its brisk introduction to the wall earlier, so I pulled up the contacts list. The fates were kind and finding the people I needed to talk to was easy – our boy Danny had them listed right at the start of the alphabet, under such headings as, “Asshole’s Pilot,” “Asshole’s Driver,” “Asshole’s Backup Driver,” “Asshole’s Head of Security,” and so on.