The Billionaire's Assistant: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “Good girl. But please call me Dave or David. It’s going to be fun.”

  Oh God! What have I agreed to? And why did going on one date with this man feel like I was jumping face first into the ocean? He was a nice guy … just a little … rich. But wasn’t this what most women wanted? Wasn’t this what I wanted since this was the first guy in a while that made me feel something … intense? Almost too intense for my own comfort. Every time the man spoke, every time he flashed his … lifestyle … at me, it left me wordless. Like I was just awaiting his orders on what to do next.

  What kind of orders? Like, take off your clothes? Alicia? I blushed at the thought. Maybe Mister Jackson did feel a little dangerous, but then again, the illusion of danger is fine. The real world of danger, not so fun. But even the police seemed to trust David, like he was some big name in Texas, a VIP. Maybe he was the “dangerous teddy bear” I was looking for.

  I felt a little bad blowing Derrick off for a night with David Jackson. I never promised Derrick anything, but still, I hated the idea of a nice guy like Derrick being put on the backburner just as much as he did.

  But how could I say no? I didn’t know what I felt with David. He was unlike anyone I had ever met before. Good looking but unpredictable. Like he really didn’t give a damn about the world … but somehow still thought the world of me. To say no to him was like an affront to myself … did I want to live or did I want not to exist at all?

  David picked me up for our date in a limousine, looking amazing in a business suit and his trademark hat. I really didn’t want to mock him either—God knows he was way more “Texas” than I was, but I figured I should at least comment on his southern heart. So I dressed a little “southern” hoping to give him a good laugh. I wore a plum tunic dress with jeans, a white vest with tassels and a big necklace just to look like I was ready to jump on a horse.

  It was a bold move for sure … maybe he was expecting an elegant dress. But well, he did seem to like my rebellious tongue, didn’t he? When he saw me, he studied my outfit and gradually nodded. Uh oh that had to mean something, I thought.

  He welcomed me inside and then excitedly told me about the restaurant. He said he had never been there before but that the owner of the place had personally sent him an invitation.

  I was nervous the whole trip over—it took about an hour to get there—but I did get to see Mister Jackson’s outside the office personality. Still a bit entitled, I must say, but not as domineering as he came across in the office, which was good. He was kind to the wait staff, and never talked down to anyone he met, although he did do the whole “sugar, can you …” thing, which I guess was just his southern hospitality.

  “I’m excited,” he said, smiling wide and grabbing the menu off the table. “This place has been on my to-do list for a while now.”

  “I can’t believe we got in here,” I said, a little overwhelmed, having been treated like a queen. “Reservations here are hard to come by.”

  “Good thing you’re traveling with me, Miss Alicia, since you’re the VIP that gets me what I want, aren’t you?”

  I giggled and looked at the menu, though I really just wanted to stare at his face for another half hour. “What do you recommend?”

  “Well, I’m not sure yet, but I’m really thinking t-bone is the way to go. You a meat-eater?”

  “Yes … well …”

  “Oh? Tell me about the Well.”

  “I usually buy organic. Grass fed cattle.”

  “I hear you, and Tim Connelly here, the owner, he owns his own farm. He told me so himself when he gave me the invite. See, when it comes to fine dining, I always make it a point to know the person who operates the establishment.”

  “Good idea.”

  “It’s a very good idea,” he corrected, flexing his muscle a bit, but always with that affable grin. “People usually don’t screw the people they meet in person. There’s honor in a man-to-man handshake. And well … for the men who don’t have honor, you can see those snakes coming a mile away.”

  “Oh yeah and—”

  “I’ll be damned if you try to give me hormone-infested mad cow meat. I won’t eat that shit. I’ll fucking toss it on the floor. If you pardon my French.”

  I laughed. “You’re very passionate about food.”

  “Passionate about life. How about you, Alicia? Where do your passions lie?”

  The way he said it made me freeze up. He was looking at me like prime steak, like he was proud of his dirty thoughts and there wasn’t anything to be done about it.

  “Are you asking what I do?”

  “No, I’m asking about your passion.”

  I giggled again, not sure where he was going with that. “I think I have to be a little drunker to have this conversation.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m not just talking about what gets you horny. I mean, what gets you excited about living?”

  “Oh God, so many things. Who knows?”

  “Well, you know. So tell me.”

  “I think uh …” I rolled my head and took a sip of table wine, trying to get to a level where I felt equal with Mister Jackson. “I love people. I love people who are kind. People who want to make the world a better place.”

  “Ehhhh!” he said, mimicking a buzzer. “Wrong answer. That’s for a job application. Before the night is out, Alicia, I want to know the answer. The real answer.”

  I laughed in disbelief. “I didn’t know personality tests had right or wrong answers.”

  “It’s not a test. But I prefer honesty, even the kind of honesty that makes a person uncomfortable. Honesty is the only real currency of the world.”

  “You’re right,” I said, gradually warming up to him. Every conversation was an experience; every moment was a discovery when you talked to a guy like this. On top of the world and very aware of it. He knew no fear, and boredom seemed to be the only thing that unsettled his restless soul.

  I smiled. “You like to push people, Mister Jackson. That seems to be your passion.”

  “Now that’s an observation,” he said with a nod. “Give me more. Let’s make this conversation really interesting,” he said. “When we have conflict right before dinner, it makes the steak so satisfying. Believe me. Something to do with the adrenaline rush, you know.”

  “You first.” I shrugged.

  “I was very surprised to see your outfit.”

  “I sensed that. Why? Was a dress more appropriate?”

  “Oh, appropriate’s got nothing to do with it,” he said with a grin. “I just expected you to dress conservatively like most girls do, but to me, someone who grew up in Texas, a sexy woman in tight jeans is like lingerie to me.”

  I cracked up. “You like it that much?”

  “Oh yeah. I can barely concentrate now. You’re making my jaw drop, my tongue wag, and my temperature rise like the damn wolf in a Tex Avery cartoon. All my mom’s friends growing up wore jeans. Every pretty girl at the rodeo wore jeans. To me, a fine woman in jeans is more eye-catching than any two-bit cabaret show.”

  “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I take it more like you’re dangling the carrot in front of the mule. And I grew up on a ranch, so I felt great pity for that mule.”

  I tried hard to stop laughing and return to a straight face. “Okay, my turn. How in the world can you afford all of this? Restoring antique vehicles, I mean come on.”

  “Well, Miss Alicia,” he said, with a side profile and a sneer. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You doubt my honesty.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just …”

  “You’re an accountant personality type, right? You analyze everything by the books. Something doesn’t measure up with me. I got you, angel, no worries. I didn’t make millions by restoring vehicles, no. I made my money in investments. Hedge funds mostly.”

  “Ah, okay that makes sense.”

  “Oh yeah, now you’re living life dangerously, right? Hedge fund investor coming through! We
got a bad ass here!”

  I giggled and took another sip of wine, definitely feeling a buzz and an attraction that seemed to get stronger the more I sensed he didn’t really care about anything.

  Except me.

  “But money is power, Miss Alicia, and no truer words exist besides that.”

  “Well, money doesn’t matter to me.”

  “No that’s not your passion, for sure. Your passion is fear, isn’t that right?”

  “What?”

  “Your primary motivation. You’re attracted to what threatens you.”

  “No way, that’s not me.”

  “Feeling nervous? Lighten up. We got the world by the balls tonight, honey.”

  I squinted as he opened his pocket and pulled out an object of interest. It was a blunt. He smiled a little maddeningly as he grabbed a lighter and lit up.

  “You can’t do that.”

  My heart pounded as he lit up a blunt right in a public restaurant. I turned my head side to side, wondering if I should bolt out of here. What if he got arrested … what if he …

  Then I noticed the wait staff talking about us, noticing what he was doing. He puffed on that blunt, absorbed the feeling, and exhaled slowly. He offered me a smoke.

  The wait staff saw us and walked away. I halfway expected them to say or do something. But they simply chose to ignore it. He broke the law in plain view and rubbed the public’s face in it. I was beside myself. Was this “passion” for people that I prized so much? It didn’t feel like it …

  Waiters walked by. Even a few other diners took note but didn’t see reason to complain. An important man. A well-known man. The law didn’t apply to him.

  “Now that’s power,” he said, losing his smile, but his eyes still undressing me without apology, giving me no choice but to feel his burning sexuality. Did he make love the way he barked orders at people, the same way he dominated every conversation?

  “What are you thinking, oh mysterious woman?”

  “Nothing,” I said on reflex, lost in his eyes and feeling self-conscious. The whole restaurant of people was watching me, seeing how the queen responds to a king’s desires. What could I do or say? What did I even feel besides what he told me to feel?

  “Now you know that’s not true. You’re probably wondering …”

  He took his time, leaning back in his seat and watching me in pot-affected calm. His eyes ravenous, his voice deep and deliberate.

  “Wondering just what kind of man I am in bed.”

  I shook my head and stifled laughter.

  “Well, I’ll tell you. The kind of man that doesn’t quit until I please my woman multiple times. Because that’s just what a gentleman does. The kind of man that doesn’t need to own a gun because I know I’m packing the biggest pistol on the block.”

  I laughed again and struggled to look at him without flinching. When he lost his smile and looked at me, my whole body tensed. And my stomach stirred in curiosity. The way he met my face in power, then looked at my cleavage … not a moment too fast. No apologies and certainly no sense of restraint or awareness of other people around him.

  “The kind of man that would take his sweet time, pulling those tight jeans off you slowly, making sure your body pounded with desire before I even gave you one kiss on your belly. The kind of man that doesn’t have much self-control when it comes to a cowgirl in jeans. That’s right, you heard me. I usually avoid women that turn me on too much without any hope of relief. Because I don’t like blue balls or cock teasing, and I sure as hell am not going to jeopardize my fine reputation by forcing myself on a woman that doesn’t want me. But that also means I don’t have any time to waste. I don’t beg.”

  He stared at me in cocky amusement and smiled like he was just caught cheating in school and was happy as a clown about it.

  “So tell me right now. Are you attracted to me or is this a pity dinner? Because I don’t have time for a woman’s pity.”

  I could think of nothing to say, so I quickly reached out and grabbed his blunt taking a quick puff. No one even looked at me. They had given David Jackson a free pass to do damn well anything he pleased. He could have fucked me on the table right then and there, and they probably would have let him. That wasn’t just power … that was something else.

  “I’ve never been this turned on before,” I said in brutal honesty, meeting his eyes and letting him fuck me in his mind. I loved the way it felt in my imagination. Vigorous. Like he owned every part of my body.

  “But I’m a good girl. I don’t do anything on the first date. Or the second date.”

  “And how about the third date, Miss Alicia?”

  “Well …” I said, losing my intensely “sexy” face, whatever that looked like, and once again giggling like a schoolgirl. “I guess it depends how I feel. You know, it’s all timing.”

  “Timing, huh?” he said, not too impressed, feeling high and in charge. He probably felt like he could reach over and kiss me now if he wanted to. And who would stop him? Could I stop him if he tried?

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said, finally breaking his magnetic hold on me and sending his eyes to the approaching waiter. “You’re going to remember the taste of this steak for the rest of your life. It always tastes better when your mind is stimulated. When you have an experience, and then you eat.”

  And so we ate, fighting dirty thoughts and tasting our meals like never before. I never recovered from that dinner. Even when he was driving me home in the limousine, and was tired of talking, I still felt so in awe of him. In awe of his silence; in awe of his conversation. The man just never gave me a moment to predict what he might do next.

  We arrived at my home, and the chauffeur parked us right outside. He looked at me and smiled, perfectly at ease.

  “I don’t like awkward silences, Alicia. If you don’t want me to kiss you, you should probably go right now.”

  I smiled and stood my ground, welcoming the thrill of his kiss—for once something I could predict. He turned in close and kissed my lips boldly. Softly at first, his soft lips massaging mine, and then hungrily, as his minty breath coalesced with mine. He kissed like a man all right—a strong aura. Firm hands touching my head and cheek, then going through my hair. Just a hint of his tongue … teasing me so bad I tongued him first, wanting him to lose control just like he talked about.

  He kissed me deeper, French kissing me and taking what he wanted from the moment he first saw me.

  He waited for me to hum in surprise … surprise that I was getting this excited, this unrestrained. Like fanning the flames of a fire!

  And then, just as I spoke my weakness and looked at him in uncertainty … as in, how can I stop now?

  That’s when he broke the kiss. “I’ll see you next time. Thank you for a wonderful night.”

  “Thank you,” I finally smirked back, giving him a flash of wit like he so much appreciated. “But if you keep smooth-talking me like that, Mister Jackson, and leaving me high and dry, I might have to give up on you.”

  He laughed.

  “Got my lady blue balls, you know. I can’t stand it when a man clit-teases me too much.”

  “Well, well, you got the filthiest mouth on you I’ve ever heard from a real estate agent.”

  “Just a job,” I said with a smile as I exited the car. “It’s not me.”

  “No it isn’t, Miss Alicia,” he said smiling, as I watched the car door close by itself. “You’re capable of so much more, aren’t you?”

  Chapter 3

  “None of Your Family’s Business Part I”

  Why does a great man settle for an average-looking woman? That’s what I hear all the time, usually from pathetic pussy boys who worship the trailer trash coming out of Hollywood. Why would this great man, this TV personality, want to settle on this woman with a normal body and a pretty face instead of dating the Hollywood flavor of the week? Big plastic titties, Armani and a fake smile, like that’s living the American Dream.

  And what makes
a man great anyway? Besides the fact that they say they’re great? Tell you one thing; I’ve never spent a damned cent on persuading people to think that David Jackson is some kind of great man. All I am is a survivor.

  Just like these arrogant sons of bitches that lie to the public and say anything to get elected. People like that are criminals, nothing but criminals. How many great humanitarians have consented to murdering others, starving the poor, stealing from his fellow man, or blaspheming against Christ almighty? Those kinds of people aren’t great. They’re nothing. They’re dog shit on my shoes.

  I don’t want to be known as a Great Man. Just a man who survives and who protects his family. And yeah, sometimes he gives good things to his kids … or in my case, kids in the neighborhood. I don’t have a family, and of course, I know that. And maybe that’s the answer to the all important question of:

  Why Alicia?

  It’s become well known among my inner circle that I’ve been chasing this local woman in Dallas. Those boys just can’t figure out the attraction. They say, yeah, she’s cute and all, but I dunno, Dave, I was just expecting someone you know …

  No, what? Someone like Elly May Clampett, you piece of shit? Or Farrah Fawcett? Farrah, God rest her soul, is dead. And there comes a point in a man’s life where he has to move on. Abandon fantasies of the past and realize this is happening in real life!

  And painful experience tells me that movie stars, buxom blonde hussies and dolled up prostitutes are no substitute for love. Maybe that’s what no one understands about Alicia. The moment I saw that woman, I knew something about her was …

  Familiar. No, I’m not going to lie and say she had the best butt or the best boobs I’ve ever seen. But her face made me feel calm. Her eyes made me feel like I was in a safe place. And that exchange of soul, you see, that’s what a man treasures. If I want sex, I can buy a half dozen escorts and get the blowjob of a lifetime. But that kind of thing robs a man of his soul. Robs him of his honor. And with me, honor is everything.

  “Alicia, it’s David,” I said, Skyping with my girl. I’ve already taken liberties as to call her My Girl. But just the idea of calling her by a pet name has my heart tickled.