The Heir & I: Taming The Billionaire (5 page)

I froze in my place, my mind reeling as I fought to reconcile the words I was hearing with the person that spoke them.

“Oh, well certainly,” I sputtered, casting a suspicious glance in his direct
ion as I turned from his door. “Right away, Oliver.”

Within minutes
, Oliver and I sat in his office, discussing our current clients and projects as Oliver pressed me with a million questions; most of which, much to my amazement, actually made sense and were pertinent to our work here at Clark Industries. Even more shockingly, he actually took notes as we spoke and asked pertinent follow up questions; what was the flippin’ deal?! And he even made some surprisingly valid observations and suggestions regarding our company, its endeavors and its future.

On this day, and on each day following, Oliver and I conducted additional ‘bull sessions,’ as he liked to call them; and I was utterly amazed to see just how little bull these sessions actually featured; quite the contrary, it was evident that Oliver had been doing a lot of reading, studying and actually thinking in the past few days—much to my continuing shock and unabated amazement.

By the end of the week I was passing convinced that my boss had been abducted by aliens; and that said aliens had dropped an uncanny and equally striking duplicate of said employer square in his office chair.

This very realistic Oliver clone returned his phone messages, answered his e-mails, attended all work-related meetings on time, and actually offered solid ideas and constructive advice duri
ng the course of these meetings. I no longer had to nag him into doing his job; and the only phone calls he refused to answer came, not from clients, but from various ladies who once had been objects of Oliver’s fleeting attentions, judging from their basic telephone manners.

Then at the end of the week, Oliver did something truly unthinkable and totally out of character; something that seemed to confirm the idea that he’d been overt
aken by alien forces or, I dunno, perhaps he’d suffered a stroke or similar attack that affected his mind and morphed his behavioral patterns.

Coming to stand before my desk on Friday afternoon, he charmed me with a dazzling, white toothed smile and asked, “Any chance you’d like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Doubling over behind my desk, I unceremoniously coughed up a stream of steaming hot co
ffee I’d just recently consumed, all over the surface of a memo I’d just drafted in reference to a new account.

“I’ll just hop on my computer and retype that memo,” I murmured, shifting my office chair in the direction of my computer.

Oliver chuckled.

“And while you’re doing that, Lily, could you please consider my offer?” he asked, keeping his gaze trained on me as I hammered my keyboard with rough, distracted strokes.

“Well, before I answer,” I shot him a wary glance over my sturdy shoulder, “I guess I’d just like to know why you’d like to have dinner with me.”

Oliver shrugged.

“I have no ulterior motives here, Lily
. I’d just like to spend more time with you to get to know you a bit better,” he insisted, raising his hands before him in a defensive stance. “I’d also like to celebrate your two year work anniversary with an evening out at Le Jardin, my favorite French restaurant downtown.”

“Le Jardin?”
My fingers paused on my keyboard as I heard the name of an exclusive eatery that had always lingered slightly out of my price range; the type of place where they actually have ladies room attendants to hand you your soap and the servers monitor your eating experience with expert precision, lest you be in need of additional breadsticks. “I’ve always wanted to sample their menu, but I never could afford to… that is, I never could afford to take the time to go. So, yes, I’d be more than pleased to accept your invitation.”

***

H
ow long had it been since I’d actually been out to dinner? And with a man?

It had apparently been quite some time since this bizarre combination of circumstances had touched and affected my life; seeing as how I had to clear the mothballs from
, and hand wash, the basic black dress that had hung too long near the back of my clothes closet in direct proximity to the Frankie Says Relax T-shirt I hadn’t worn since the dawn of my teen years.

Even so, I admired the way that this ebony frock flat
tered and accentuated my curves and I seeked to enhance the effect by running a brush through my sensible bob and applying just a touch of rarely worn lipstick.

Not bad, Ashton
, I winked at myself in the mirror, but only briefly.

Why, I wondered, was I making such a big fuss
over a date with Oliver Clark? An appointment that, for all intents and purposes, probably wasn’t even a real date?

Oh, sure, he’d invited me to a formal dinner at a nice restaurant
and since he was a single man and I was an oh so available woman, and no one else was expected in attendance at this evening appointment, I guess it could for all intents and purposes be considered a date. I was sure, though, that the motivation behind this occasion was not even remotely romantic in nature.

As I’d noted many times before, I was not exactly the type of
gal that Oliver tended to date, and if he had any semblance of romantic interest in me, surely he would have expressed those feelings long before now..

He probably just wanted to pump me for more information about the way we do busin
ess at Clark Industries. Or maybe he’d finally come to realize my true worth and endless value to his company and really just wanted to find a way to say thank you in the form of a grand and impressive gesture that took the form of a gourmet dinner.

Oh, does it really matter?
It’s a free dinner with a passing handsome man, one that probably equals two months rent, at least at the dump where I currently reside, and is going to taste really, really good. I shot myself a sly smile in the mirror’s reflection before turning to answer the brisk knock that resounded from my front door. “I’ll be right there, Oliver!”

My eyes flew wide moments later, as I swung open my front door to reveal a distinguished grey-haired man in a sleek black suit and matching cap.

“Ms. Ashton?” he beamed.

“At this point I’m sure of nothing,” I replied, tone blank as I looked over my visitor’s shoulder to see a shiny black
limousine pulled up at my curb. “Is that ride mine? Or did someone in my neighborhood pass away?”

The man laughed.

“Rest assured that all of your neighbors are in very good health,” he told her, adding as he tipped his cap in her direction, “The car you see before you was rented by one Mr. Oliver Clark, to see you
safely to Le Jardin restaurant where he will meet you for your dinner date.”

I shook my head.

“Ol
iver hired a limo?” I gasped out, voice barely above a whisper. “For me?”

I got my
answer soon enough, as my swanky hired ride swept me across town to the door of Le Jardin; a classically designed restaurant that boasted pure, gold-tinted sandstone walls, stained glass windows, and a domed roof that shone pure scarlet in the light of the setting sun.

Stepping through the brass-handled doors that fronted this impressive structure, I gaped outright at the vision of splendor that lurked within; a spectacle accented in grand style by lace-covered tables, crystal chandeliers, assorted floral arrangements brimming over with scarlet roses, ivory orchids and pearl pink carnations, as
well as lush examples of Impressionist art lining the walls of gold brocade.

“Beautiful,” I breathed, standing stock still at the center of the restaurant.

“Yes, Lily.
You are.”

Jumping at the sound of a deep, masculine voice that purred into my ear, I turned to face a vision of beauty that surpassed that of our et
hereal surroundings. Adorned this evening in a black velvet dinner suit and sleek white satin shirt, Oliver was the picture of gentlemanly refinement.

It’s a good thing I know better,
I mused with a grin, my gaze all the while devouring the radiance of his full, moist lips, carved cheekbones and wide ebony eyes; eyes that seemed to brim with a strange glow as they raked me from head to toe.

“Lily,” he said my name soft and sw
eet as he took my hand in his. “I never knew that you were so…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence; I saw its hidden mee
ting in the depths of his eyes. His gaze continued to hold mine as he lead me to our table; a plush candlelit setting that boasted crisp ivory linens and beautiful rose print china.

Pulling out my chair for me, Oliver then took a seat beside me at the table; taking my hands into his and bringing
them to his lips for a warm, affectionate kiss.

“Thank you for joining me here tonight,” he told me, tone soft and sincere.

“Not a problem,” I shrugged, adding as I raised a finger for emphasis, “Before we eat, though, I wanted to remind you to
write your father a memo about…”

My eyes flew wide as a smiling Oliver slipped a gentle finger across my lips; shushing me softly as he said, “No talk of w
ork this evening, my dear. This night is for you to enjoy. And for once, dear lady, I’m going to take care of you.” He paused here, adding with a flirty wink, “Prepare to be coddled, catered to and totally spoiled, Miss.”

Charmed and strangely excited by his words, I relaxed in my seat and gazed at my menu; trying my darndest not to gaze at the handso
me, affectionate gent before me.

After ordering a meal on my behalf (a good thing, as for all my scholarly expertise I’ve never taken as much as a single French class), Oliver and I fell into what I considered a more normal, customary vibe of conversation; discussing our newest clients at the office as well as some old favorites.

“I have to say, Oliver, I was impressed by your job performance this week,” I pra
ised him, tipping my crystal wine glass in his direction as I took a primo bite of filet mignon.

Oliver snorted.

“You mean because I showed up and actually worked?” he deadpanned, arching his feathered eyebrows to sardonic ef
fect. “Actually, Lily, I probably have you to thank for my turnaround at work. For two years you’ve had my back, keeping me on the right track and reminding me to file those reports, make those phone calls. And although Dad is never likely to name me Employee of the Month, I do still have my job, and, all things considered, I do believe I have you to thank for that fact.”

I shrugged, grinning in spite of myself as I considered these words.