Marrying My Billionaire Boss

by Lee, Nadia

  It isn’t too bad, considering how little time I had. But the longer I stare at it, the more it looks…lacking and sad. It’s too ordinary. Like it’s really made for my mom—a high school janitor single mom from Dillington—not someone like Blanche Sterling.

  Maybe I should’ve catered something fancy. Multi-course fancy, with caviar and that five-dollars-a-bite fruit. What was it called again? Mangosteen.

  Sudden frustration and shame spike through me, and my chin trembles. I sit at the table and bury my face in my hands, clenching my jaw and doing my best not cry and ruin my makeup. It’s all just too overwhelming. I’m not cut out for this kind of stuff. And Nate really needs somebody who knows exactly what to serve his high-society mom.

  Maybe I can still cater. Or is it too late?

  I close my eyes. Of course it’s too late, unless I plan to serve nothing but cold items. And really, dinner should be served warm.

  I seriously consider texting Nate and telling him the oven has broken down. We need to take your mom out to a restaurant. Whatever she wants to have.

  But before I can pull out my phone, I hear the security system beep and Nate’s voice.

  “Come on in, Mom.”

  Oh my God. They’re here. I clench and unclench my shaking hands.

  “Thank you, dear,” comes a soft and clear voice. “I’m really looking forward to meeting your wife.”

  I stand up, hoping I don’t faint. My mouth is so dry that I don’t think I can speak.

  I hear them moving and see their blurred shapes through the indoor waterfall. Then, abruptly, they stop.

  “My goodness. Is that…The Kama Sutra?”

  Oh, crap! The statue! I should’ve put something over it. What is she going to think, seeing it in the living room like that? Who the hell would consider it an acceptable piece of art to display when you have your mother-in-law coming over?

  “Barron sent it,” Nate says quickly.

  “He sometimes has the oddest taste.”

  Yeah, I agree.

  “Doesn’t he know it’s totally inappropriate?” she says.

  “You know him. He does what he wants.”

  She makes a sound of disapproval. I wonder if I’m going to hear it again when she sees me and the dinner I made. My palms sweat copiously, and I wipe them against the back of my skirt, hoping they don’t leave wet spots.

  Nate and his mother make their way around the waterfall, and I finally come face to face with Blanche Sterling.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Evie

  The first thing I think when I see her is that she looks nothing like Kim’s boss’s wife. If it weren’t for Nate’s solicitous hand at her elbow and calling her “Mom,” I would’ve never realized she’s Blanche Sterling.

  Her hair is silver. I don’t think it’s seen dye in months, if ever. It frames her face like a cloud, and her skin isn’t unlined from Botox or fancy creams. There are fine laugh lines fanning from the outer corners of her eyes, and her cheeks and mouth also have wrinkles that say she smiles a lot and enjoys her life.

  The white T-shirt and jeans on her aren’t designer items. They’re stuff you can pick up from TJ Maxx or some similar store. Her feet are encased in a pair of gray New Balance sneakers.

  Blanche walks toward me, her hands stretched out. “You must be Evie! I’m so glad to meet you in person.”

  I hold her hands and smile, the knot in my belly loosening a bit. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling. The pleasure’s mine.”

  “Don’t start with that Mrs. Sterling stuff. That’s so formal, and we’re family now. Feel free to call me Blanche. Or you can just use Mom, like Nate.”

  No way. That’s not something I’m comfortable with. It’s already bad enough I’m lying about being married to her son. So I keep my mouth closed and smile.

  She continues, “I wish I’d been at the wedding. It’s very inconsiderate of my son to elope, and in Vegas of all places! Nate can more than afford to give you a nice wedding.”

  I keep smiling, since I can’t quite agree or disagree with her.

  “Mom, aren’t you hungry?” Nate says.

  “Of course.” She looks at the table, and her dark eyes light up. “Oh, this looks amazing. You shouldn’t have.” She smiles at me, and I can finally relax. “I would’ve been more than happy with Nate’s usual Chinese takeout.”

  Nate groans. “Mom. It was just that one time.”

  “And the one before, and the one before that,” she says. “You’d think your last name was Chen.”

  I laugh, amused by her dry tone. “Chinese takeout is very convenient, and we have a lot of great places. But I wanted our first meal together to be home-cooked.”

  “Well, it smells absolutely divine. Thank you, my dear. You’re so kind. I know my visit’s unplanned.”

  Her graciousness banishes the last bit of my tension, and I smile with relief. Maybe this is going to work.

  She and I sit down. Nate brings out a bottle of chilled white wine from the cooler. I’m glad he picked it, because he undoubtedly knows how to pair the right type with the food I’ve made.

  He pours three glasses, and we toast to a happy marriage, hahaha. I bring my glass to my lips, then pause. Somehow the wine smells really off. But Nate and Blanche seem to be enjoying theirs, so maybe it’s just me.

  Stress and adrenaline? Who knows, but I don’t want to make a big deal about it, so I just tilt my glass and wet my lips without actually drinking any of it. I place my glass back on the table with a smile.

  As we dine, I realize Blanche genuinely appreciates my cooking and the food, and wasn’t just being gracious earlier. She asks me questions about my family, but never in a way that makes me feel like it’s an interrogation.

  “Your poor mother,” she says. “I know what it’s like not to be a part of your children’s weddings. I’m sure we’ll find a suitable way to make it up to her.” She looks at Nate pointedly.

  I pull my lips in, doing my best to look guilty, since that’s what Blanche is expecting.

  Nate gives an appropriately grave nod. “We will.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but it’s really not necessary,” I say. “I already spoke with my mother, and she said it was all right.” When I have my real wedding, Mom’s definitely going to be there.

  “Nonsense. We will do what’s right by her. Even though we’re family now, we need to be respectful and show we care.” She takes a bite of the peach cobbler. “This is very good.”

  “Thank you.” Today’s cobbler came out well. The peaches are exceptionally tender and sweet.

  “So.” She dabs at her mouth with her napkin. “When can I expect a grandchild?”

  A chunk of fruit goes the wrong way, and I cough and gasp. Meanwhile, Nate is looking at his palm in a contemplative manner…then down at his crotch…then at my belly.

  So. Unhelpful.

  “Not that there’s any rush,” Blanche says. “I’d just love to have another one to bounce on the other knee. I’m not sure when Vanessa’s planning to have a second child. She’s so busy.”

  I take a couple slow sips of water. I need to sound like I’m humoring her without actually committing to anything. Who knew helping Nate out with the Mink Bikini Psycho was going to be this complicated? “Well, we’re not sure, either. I enjoy working, and I don’t want to put my career on hold just yet.”

  “Your career?” Blanche looks confused.

  I bite my lip. Does she think that because I’m not a super lawyer like Justin’s wife that I don’t have a career I care about?

  “She wants to keep working as my assistant,” Nate says. “I’m grateful, too, because finding a good assistant these days isn’t easy.”

  Blanche nods. “Very true.” She turns to me. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d quit already.”

  “Why would I do that?” I ask, shocked and slightly annoyed with people’s assumptions. My coworkers were looking at me funny too, like they couldn’t believe I’ve continuing to show up at
work.

  “A working relationship—as a boss and his assistant—can be complicated if you’re married. What if you’re upset at home? Will that feeling bleed into your professional life? Or vice versa?” She shrugs. “I know times are changing, but it’s cleaner and simpler if you don’t mix things that way.”

  Ah. Not an unreasonable assumption, especially when she has no clue how things really are between me and Nate. “I’ll do my best not to. But if I feel that it’s going to happen, I’ll look for another position.”

  “It won’t happen, since I intend to be a paragon of consideration and love in both my roles of husband and boss,” Nate says, not even batting an eyelash.

  Despite myself, I’m impressed. He’s good.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Blanche finishes her wine, then points at my still-full glass. “Is it not to your taste?” She turns to Nate. “Do you have anything else you can offer your wife?”

  Nate starts to stand, but I shake my head. “I’m fine. Besides, tomorrow’s Tuesday and I have to get up early.”

  “Speaking of getting up early, I got up earlier than usual today. I was so excited about the trip. And now that my belly’s full of delicious food and wine, I’m getting sleepy.” Blanche turns to me. “Thank you, Evie.”

  “My pleasure,” I say.

  “Good night.”

  “Let me show to your room, Mom.” Nate gets up, then takes her suitcase up the stairs.

  Left alone in the dining room, I sigh. Things went remarkably well. Blanche genuinely seemed to like my food. And I didn’t embarrass Nate or myself. I stand up and start to put away the leftovers.

  A few moments later, Nate comes back. “Thank you. You made her feel so welcome,” he says, then helps me clear the table.

  I look at him with surprise.

  “What?” he says.

  “You. Clearing a table. Just seems…out of character somehow.”

  He laughs. “There really isn’t that much to it.”

  “I know, but didn’t you have servants and housekeepers growing up?” He still has a housekeeper come by to clean his place while he’s at work.

  He snorts. “Ha. Don’t let Mom hear that. She’s very Midwest and very middle class. She managed the household on her own, and Justin and I had to do chores if we wanted an allowance growing up.”

  “Wow.” That’s the polar opposite of what I imagined his childhood to be like. I assumed people like him had platoons of staff to take care of everything, up to and including tying his shoes.

  “Barron didn’t care for it, and he sent ridiculous gifts and money for our birthdays and Christmas. They used to argue about that all the time.”

  My respect for the woman goes up a hundred notches. It takes fortitude to argue with someone like Barron. “Did she win?”

  “A lot of times, yeah. You know, my house, my family, my rules. Barron was always so annoyed.” He grins. “And we were disappointed, like all little brats. But now that we think back on it, she was right. Without her, we would’ve grown up into insufferable assholes.”

  “I doubt it,” I say, remembering his attentive kindness to people whose jobs are to serve him. He never takes them for granted. Or thinks he’s entitled to their time and energy just because.

  I open the dishwasher, but he shakes his head. “Hey, you cooked. And did a bang-up job. I can clean up.”

  He loads the machine, dumps in some detergent and runs it like he’s done it hundreds of times. Then he grabs a brush and scrubs a couple of pots and pans that couldn’t fit into the dishwasher, having them sparkling clean in no time. He also knows which cleaner to use with the copper pan, and not to use any soap at all with the cast iron skillet. Yup, definitely grew up with chores. Oddly enough, it makes him seem more human. And more touchable, like we have something more in common.

  Still, I wander into the living room, pretending to check something on my phone, because I don’t know how to approach the bedroom situation. With Blanche in the house, I can’t have a guest room. She would wonder. But sharing the room?

  Come on. You put your suitcase in his room.

  That was before I saw this incredibly normal, approachable side of him.

  He comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. “Want to get some sleep?”

  It’s already ten. I should be in bed by now if I want to get up on time. On the other hand, I don’t have to drive here from my place, so maybe I can sleep in just a bit.

  Sleep in, my ass. Stop procrastinating.

  I swallow. “Um… Sure. Do you want to use the bathroom first?”

  “Nope. Ladies first.”

  I nod tightly and go to his bedroom. After taking out what I need from the suitcase I packed with my toiletries and night things, I change quickly into a pajama shirt and shorts, then floss and brush my teeth, erase my makeup and smooth some moisturizer on my face. I hesitate at the door. It’s awkward to be doing my nightly routine in Nate’s home. It isn’t like I’ve ever done it before with him. In Vegas, I fell into bed without even changing.

  I inhale. I need to be an adult about this, especially if I’m going to be repeating the routine for the next six weeks—or until Blanche goes home, whichever comes first.

  When I come out, Nate’s already in his boxers and lying on the covers of one side of his gigantic bed. It isn’t any more indecent than how he normally is in the morning. After all, at least he has an actual article of clothing on, rather than just a towel. But this feels much more familiar and sexual. Alarmingly so.

  The soft light from the bedside lamp spills over his wide shoulders, sloping pecs and ridged abs. And his long, well-muscled legs. My hands curl with the itching need to touch, and see if they’re as warm and hard as they look. My mouth waters with a sudden urge to run my tongue over the hard contours of his body and steal a taste.

  God. I’m acting like a horny teenager. Maybe it’s the fact that all those male goodies are spread out like a banquet before me. How long has it been since I had an orgasm from a non-battery-operated partner?

  Over a year.

  Think of something other than sex!

  “The bathroom’s all yours now,” I say, gesturing behind me.

  “Thanks, but I used the guest bathroom.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She’s already out cold. Traveling tires her. Plus there’s the time difference.”

  I’m feeling guilty now. And I cling to the feeling, because that’s better than being turned on by my boss. “I’m sorry to hear that, especially since she came out here for nothing. Maybe we should’ve told her the truth.”

  “Actually, she was planning to visit anyway, so it doesn’t matter,” Nate says. “Our stuff just pushed it up a bit.”

  Bye-bye, guilt. Hello, more intense libido.

  “Tomorrow’s a busy day,” he says.

  “Yes.” Tomorrow’s agenda! Right! Any port in a storm. “You have four meetings, three with auditors and one with your lawyers.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay.” He pats the empty space next to him. “Well, good night.”

  There’s no way I’m sleeping there. What if I do something really stupid during the night? Like gradually migrate toward the center…toward him?

  “I’ll just take this love seat.” I move toward the small couch in the seating area.

  He jackknifes up. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?” Is there something wrong with it? Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve never seen him sit there.

  “Because I’m a gentleman.”

  “And?”

  “I can’t let you sleep there while I take the bed.” He swings around and stands up. “You take the bed. I’ll take that one.”

  I study his six-foot-plus frame and the couch, which is barely big enough to accommodate me. He isn’t going to be comfortable there. And really, there’s no reason for him to give up the bed, when it’s only for six weeks.

  I press my lips together and think. There’s an easy solution
to this.

  “Do you have some more pillows?” I ask.

  “Uh, yeah. In the closet. Why?”

  “Let’s go.”

  I walk into the closet with him. He points out two huge drawers on the bottom, and I see six more pillows.

  “Geez. Why so many?” I ask.

  “I had trouble finding one I liked.”

  “So why didn’t you toss the ones you didn’t like?” Nate never struck me as a hoarder.

  “Ah,” he says, holding up a finger. “Because then they would not have been available to you tonight.”

  I laugh at his faux-wise tone. “Yeah? You could see into the future?”

  “I just felt guilty about throwing them out after only sleeping on them a couple of times. I was thinking about donating them, but couldn’t figure out where. I mean, who wants used pillows?” He shrugs.

  Spoken like a true billionaire. I take them to the bed and line them up in the center. He watches with interest.

  “Is that like a border?” he asks. “Will I need a visa to cross?”

  “Ha ha, very funny. It’s not a border. It’s the Great Wall.” I point to his side. “You stay there.” I point to my side. “I stay here. We do not cross the wall. Ever.”

  “What if the wall moves? Or gets damaged?”

  “‘If the wall moves’?” I give him a stern look. “Mr. Sterling, why would pillows move on their own?”

  “Well, Mrs. Sterling, the world is full of mysterious happenings.” He leans toward me, and he smells of a hint of cologne and minty toothpaste. “Haven’t you seen Ghostbusters?”

  “That’s a movie,” I say firmly, ignoring the way his breath tickles my skin and my nipples go hard. “Mr. Sterling, you have to promise you’ll stay on your side of the bed, or I’m sleeping on the floor.” As threats go, it’s pretty lame. But I have a feeling he would never let that happen.

  “Fine, have it your way. But just know that I won’t complain if you cross the border. I allow visa-free entry because I’m open like that,” he says magnanimously.

  I do my best not to snort a laugh. I refuse to encourage him. Then I slide under the covers, very carefully unhook my bra under the shirt and put it on the night table. I should’ve taken it off in the bathroom, but I didn’t want to be without my bra around him any longer than I had to.