Sleeping With My Boss: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (A Dirty Office Romance) (20 page)

CHAPTER 26

Lilah

I woke up early Friday morning to go on my usual
running route before work. And, yet again, someone in particular had woken up
before me. On my phone was a Facebook message from Brendan.

Good morning, beautiful :) Was just wondering what
you're up to this evening? If you're free, let me know. There's an amazing new
restaurant having their official opening tonight. I'm on the guest list, and I
haven't chosen my plus one yet–well, I have, but I'm waiting to see if you'll
agree to go.

Trust me, this place is going to be the talk of all of
the food columnists for the next few weeks. It's that famous French chef with
the cooking show. It's his first restaurant in the US, and it's already booked
for two months out.

But, like I said, I'm on the guest list and would love
to take you. We can talk a little more about my offer.

It's a black tie event, so you'll need to dress up. I
admit, I’d love to take you anywhere, but I’m looking forward to seeing you in
an evening dress. I suspect it'll knock me clean off my feet.

Let me know as soon as you've decided.

Brendan

I reread the message, then put my phone down while I
got changed into my running gear. Brendan had been relentless in terms of
messaging me over the past few days. He'd made it clear that he was interested
in me in
many
more ways than professionally.
And, although I couldn't say I felt the same about him, I'd heard a lot about
his company and he was definitely a force to be considered in the PR world.

Of course, Asher had been on my mind a lot, as well.
It was proving impossible to forget the night we'd spent together in Paris. At
random moments during the day, a steamy recollection of that evening would jump
into my head, and I'd gasp for breath and heat would flush through my body. The
thought of him made me instantly weak at the knees.

But, at the same time, the conflict remained in my mind.

He was my boss. And, he had a reputation as someone
whose taste in women was fast and fickle.

So, while he seemed to be truly sincere and genuine
about his affection for me, part of me couldn’t help wondering if I was just
the flavor of the month, waiting to be dumped when he was ready to move
on
to whatever model or actress caught his
attention next.

And,
of course,
there were the professional consequences of this
little union
, consequences which could spell disaster for my career
if anything went sour. I'd worked my ass off to get where I was, to ascend the
ladder from the ground up to the
rung
I
was currently perched on–however precariously.

So, while I sat and fought these battles in my mind in
silence and isolation, I had
done the
only thing I knew was safe to do under such circumstances: I'd deliberately
kept my distance from Asher, keeping things quiet and cool between us.

I know I probably seemed like a flake who couldn’t
make up her mind, but I had to; it was the only way I could cope with what was
going on. It was what I needed to do until I reached some sort of resolution
for this.

I had hoped
going
for a run would help clear my head of the conflict floating around my mind, but
it didn’t. It did, apparently spur me on. I ran my five miles in a personal
record time, although when I got back, it felt as if I'd pushed things a little
too hard. Still, nothing a nice, hot refreshing shower couldn’t cure.

While sipping on my post-run breakfast smoothie, I
considered Brendan's invitation to the new restaurant in town.
I didn't want to give him the impression that I was
romantically interested in him, but I did want to find out more about his
professional offer, if only to satisfy my curiosity. It would be nice to see
what other options might be available to me if things between Asher and I
reached a point where I'd need to leave The Sinclair Agency.

And, of course, the thought of being on a VIP list at
one of the city's hottest new restaurants was a bit of a draw-card, too; I
couldn't deny that.

I took out my phone and typed out a quick reply.

Hi, Brendan,

I appreciate the invitation to the new restaurant. I'm
interested in hearing about your offer. So, with that in mind, I'd like to
accept your invitation. What time do I need to be ready, and where should I
meet you?

I
sent
the text
before I changed my mind. The response was almost immediate.

Hi,
Lilah :)

I'll pick you up at eight. Just let me know your
address. See you tonight. Remember…
dressed
to the nines! Really looking forward to seeing you pull that off :)

Wow, he didn't waste any time. A sly smirk played on
my lips. I couldn't deny there was definitely something about having not one,
but two bonafide billionaires vying for my attention at once that boosted my
confidence. Who would have thought such a thing could happen to me? I never
would have dreamed of such a thing happening to me in a million years, yet
there I was.

With a smile on my face, I began to get ready for
work. I had a Friday full of meetings to get through before what I expected to
be an interesting evening.

***

“You can never go wrong with a little, black dress.”

At least, that’s what Meg said while I was debating
over which dress to wear to the restaurant opening. And she was right. Her
logic—even if you spill something on it, odds are it won’t show up.

So, I chose a sleek, black number that accentuated my
curves and paired it with a new set of gleaming, black stilettos I hadn’t had a
chance to wear yet. I'd even spent an hour doing my hair, which I rarely did.
But Meg insisted that a backless dress required an up-do. So, she’d stopped by
and assisted in creating a fairly intricate style with several small braids and
loose curls. When she was done, I informed her that she’d make a fantastic hair
stylist.

I was ready thirty
minutes
ahead of schedule. So, she and I had a glass of wine before she had to go get
ready for her own date.

Brendan sent me a message when he was on his way. I
had just gotten down to the lobby of my building when I heard a booming roar
echoing from outside. I stepped out onto the sidewalk as a polished, black
supercar pulled up outside my building, revving its engine loudly. The driver's
side door opened and inside sat Brendan, smiling cheekily.

His eyes widened as he climbed out of the car.

“Wowzer!” he said. “You're looking absolutely
gorgeous! And you match my car,” he quipped. “I chose this one out of the
stable
and it happens to be the only black one
I've got. I must be psychic, right?”

I couldn't help but chuckle.

“Psychic, huh? Maybe just a lucky guess is more like
it.”

“Either way,” he joked, flashing me a broad smile.
“Come on, climb in.”

I walked around to the passenger side of the car as
pedestrians stopped to gawk at the sight of the sleek beast.

“Like my ride?” he asked as I climbed in. “It's a
Bugatti Veyron. One of the fastest cars on the planet.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“I know a thing or two about motors. I grew up working
on them.”

“A woman of many talents, huh?”

“I guess you could say that.”

He grinned. “Well, I’m not too crazy about working on
them. I just like
driving
them; and when I say that, I mean driving the
hell out of them. You all strapped in?”

I locked the racing-style seatbelt across my torso.
“Yep, all locked in.”

“Great. Hang on tight.”

He dropped the clutch and floored the accelerator,
spinning the tires in a howl of shrieking rubber and black smoke, and with that,
we tore off at speed, racing through the night streets.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up outside the
restaurant, screeching to a dramatic halt and causing most of the people
waiting behind the velvet queue ropes to turn and stare. Brendan hopped out and
grinned, and tossed the Bugatti's keys to a waiting valet, who was gawking at
the vehicle with a slack jaw.

“Park her nicely, kid,” Brendan said to the young man,
who couldn't have been older than twenty or twenty-one. “Or I'm gonna have to
kill ya. Because if you put a single scratch on my baby, it's gonna take you
the next thirty years to pay for it on your salary.”

The remark was uncalled for, and it left a bad taste
in my mouth. We could enjoy the finer things in life without rubbing it in the
faces of those who were less fortunate.

Still, the kid seemed to brush it off, and instead
wore an ear-to-ear grin as Brendan handed him the keys to the supercar.

“Don't worry, sir,” he said to Brendan, “I'll put her
in the safest spot in the lot.”

He then turned to me and
smiled,
and I wondered if the kid meant it or if he was going to
park it on a side street somewhere just for spite.

He drove off exceedingly carefully, and Brendan
watched him with a scowl as he did.

“Kids,” he said, shaking his head.

“Come on, you're not even that much older than him.”

“I'm thirty-four. That's a lifetime away from that
little, wet-behind-the-ears punk.”

I rolled my eyes, irritated at his attitude. “If you
say so. Why don't we go inside?”

He smiled, baring bright-white teeth. “Sounds perfect.
Shall we?” He cocked his elbow out for me to take and we strolled arm in arm
toward the front door as cameras flashed. It seemed the VIP grand opening was a
bigger social deal than I had imagined it would be.

“I'm looking forward to this,” he chimed as we entered
the lobby of the restaurant. “I'm a connoisseur of fine food, you know. Always
have been. In fact, I dreamed of being a chef when I was a kid. My parents, of
course, wouldn't hear of it. They'd planned for me to go to an Ivy League
school and enter the world of business since before I could walk. I didn't
really have much say in the matter.

“Still, I don't regret it. I mess around in the
kitchen in my spare time while I make piles of green doing what I do. Which
means I can afford to eat meals prepared by the most skilled, artisanal chefs
on the planet, whenever the hell I want. I think that's a successful compromise
for giving up a dream, don't you?”

“I guess it is, depending on your point of view.”

We made our way inside where a waiter showed us to our
table. The décor was
ultra modern
and
tech-minimalist. I liked the place immediately.

“Check out the tabletops,”
he
said. “There are no
menus
because the surface itself
is
a menu.”

It was true; the tables were touchscreen menus. With
eager
eyes,
I began scrolling through
menu items, all of which looked absolutely decadent. While I was looking at the
food, Brendan perused the wine menu. He pressed a button on the touchscreen,
and within seconds a waiter arrived at our table.

“Good evening,
Mr.
Savage and
Ms.
Maxwell,” the waiter
greeted us. “May I interest you in some wine?”

“Absolutely, kid,” replied Brendan. “This dry red from
Argentina here, it comes highly recommended, does it?”

“Recommended by the chef himself,” the waiter replied
with a smile, “even though he is French, and the wine is Argentinian. It does,
of course, depend heavily on which dishes you're planning on ordering. The wines
have all been selected
in order to
complement-”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda, okay, I get it. Look, this one
is really expensive, it's highly recommended, so that'll do,” Brendan demanded
with a roll of his eyes. “Just bring it out, all right?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Brendan shook his head as the waiter left.

“Jeez, that kid could just yak on and on, couldn't he?
All I wanted was some wine.”

“Well, he was trying to explain that different wines-”

“Complement different foods, I get it! Jesus, I told
you, I wanted to be a chef. You think I don't know about this kind of stuff?
Of course,
I do. And, that's exactly why I
don't need to hear it from some bottom-feeder waiter who only just got out of
high school. The dumb-ass probably only barely scraped through, anyway.”

“You don't know that.”

“Why else would he be working a crap job like this?”

“Maybe to pay his way through college. Not all of us
had parents who could afford to pay for us to go to Ivy League schools,
Brendan.”

He rolled his eyes. “And, I'm supposed to feel guilty
about that?”

“That's not what I meant.”

The waiter returned bearing a bottle of wine and
immediately Brendan's mood changed.