Billionaire Boss

by Jessica Marx

  “Of course you do. You’re publicly known as a womanizer. You’ve even been regarded by the press as one of the ‘most eligible billionaire bachelors’. Who even knew there was such a thing?” I laugh.

  “Just because I’m eligible doesn’t mean I sleep around.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “People change. I saw something in you six years ago, and I still see it now. I don’t play games. I never have. I’m pretty straight forward. I think you can at least agree to that.”

  I think for a second, “you mean like how you asked me here for a meeting?”

  “Is it anything but?”

  “Not yet,” I say quietly.

  “I like your optimism,” Mason jokes.

  “That doesn’t mean I want it to be,” I say. I’m lying though. I don’t want to want him, but I do, and there’s no doubt he knows it.

  “I don’t think you know what you want, Samantha, but I’m willing to wait and find out.”

  “What makes you so sure you know everything?” I huff, “you’re still a cocky asshole,” I say, but there’s much less conviction behind my words than there should be.

  “I’ve never been an asshole, but I don’t mind being called cocky.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “I’m kidding, Samantha, relax.”

  I wish I could. I can’t decide if I love or hate this man right now.

  The waiter comes back, interrupting our conversation, and takes our order.

  “So, how do you like being back in New York?” Mason asks, changing the subject.

  At least I can breathe again, “it’s nice to be back. It will be better when I can afford to live in Manhattan. I love spending time with my mom. I’m glad she has someone to cook a big Sunday dinner for again because I’m sure she misses that,” I laugh, “but the commute isn’t great.”

  We exchange some small talk and I’m surprised that the conversation easily flows through the rest of the meal. By the time the waiter comes back to take our dessert order, things are genuinely going well between us. Once Mason and I stopped talking about what did - and might - happen between us, we actually had a great time. I’ve really been enjoying myself. I just hope I’m reading it right and it’s genuine, not me falling under Mason’s charming spell.

  We both decline dessert so our waiter delivers the check. Mason pays the bill, which judging by the menu, is much more than I can afford anyway.

  “Is Dan coming to pick us up?” I ask, getting up from my seat.

  “No. I’m going to take you home.”

  “That’s okay. It’s kind of far out of the way.”

  “I don’t mind. I was planning on it anyway.”

  “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea,” I reply honestly.

  “Come on, Samantha, we’ve been having such a good time. Plus, I’m a gentleman, I’m not going to put you in a car and send you on your way.”

  I’m quickly learning that all Mason has to do is say my name and I will do whatever he asks. I can never admit that to him. This is bad.

  “Fine,” I surrender. Besides, it’s just a car ride, right?

  We walk out to the valet. Minutes later, they drive the car around. It’s a sweet little sports car that probably cost more than I make in a year. The valet holds the door open for me and I step in. Mason gets in the driver seat and asks me to plug my address into the GPS.

  I look around, confused, “um, I don’t know where it is.”

  He presses a few prompts on the screen in the center console, “go ahead.”

  I punch in the address while Mason navigates his way toward the tunnel.

  “This is a pretty nice car,” I say, making conversation.

  “Yeah. It’s fun to drive. I don’t get to use it much living in the city so I never mind a chance to take it out for a drive.”

  We drive in silence for a while, then I need to ask, “why do you call me ‘Samantha’?”

  “Because it’s your name,” Mason replies with a smirk.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Mason glances at me quickly, then faces the road again, “Sam is too plain. When I hear ‘Sam’, I think of a tomboyish girl. You’re more of a Samantha.”

  “And what does Samantha make you think of?” I ask coyly.

  I see Mason’s lips curl up into a sly smile, “Samantha,” he says in the sexy way I’ve come to know as his, “makes me think of a beautiful, sexy, woman.”

  I blush, “you are surrounded by beautiful, sexy women.”

  “It’s not the same,” he says dryly, “you’re not the same.”

  “What makes me any different?” I ask boldly.

  “Everything.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  Mason pulls the car over to the side of the road, surprising me.

  “What happened?”

  He puts the car in park and turns to look at me, “Samantha, look at me,” he commands. I do as he says. “I know what you think of me - what you’ve heard - what you think you know. But I’ve never been untrue. I’ve never said anything I didn’t mean. I’ve never promised anything I didn’t follow through with.”

  I stare at Mason with wide eyes. My body feels like jello. He knows just what to say. True or not, I’m listening and eating up every word.

  “I like you. I want you. I want to do some very bad things with you,” he says in a softer voice, “but I like you enough to wait until you believe me. I’m not going to take any chances.”

  Something comes over me. I can’t help myself. Mason may be completely full of shit, but I believe him. I lean over in the small space and kiss him. Just a gentle kiss on the lips, but it says everything I can’t.

  I back away and look at him with big eyes.

  “Does this mean you trust me?” Mason asks with a knowing grin.

  “I’m not sure,” I admit.

  He opens the driver door and steps out of the car. Just as quickly as he exits, my door opens. Mason reaches his hand out. I take hold and he helps me out of the bucket seat. I look at him, puzzled. I don’t get a chance to ask what he’s doing though.

  Mason puts his hands on my face and kisses me. His tongue parts my lips and enters my mouth. He holds me there as he explores my mouth with his. We kiss for what feels like eternity, paying no attention to the cars passing by. Not caring about anything but how good it feels.

  The pressure of his body against mine increases. Mason places his hands on the car to steady himself. I’m backed up against the car, his body leaning into mine. I feel his hardness pressing into me and my heart skips a beat.

  Suddenly, we’re completely illuminated. We break our embrace. Neither of us noticed the car that pulled up behind us until now.

  “You okay?” a man asks, getting out of his driver seat.

  “We’re good,” Mason answers.

  “You sure, ma’am?”

  “Yes. Thank you. I’m fine,” I choke out. I’m very far from fine right now.

  “Okay. Have a good night then.”

  The man gets back in his car and pulls back out onto the road.

  Mason and I look at each other and laugh.

  “Maybe this wasn’t the best place for a first kiss,” Mason jokes.

  “It’s actually our second.”

  “True.”

  Mason kisses me softly once more, “let’s get back in the car. I should take you home.”

  I can’t help but feel disappointed. I could make out with him for hours. I want to. He’s right though - this isn’t the best place to be doing it.

  He holds the door for me and I get back in the car. I’m trying not to look silly, but I can’t shake this smile off my face.

  Mason gets in. He glances at me and I’m surprised to see he also has a child like smile on his face. He takes my hand in his and merges back onto the road.

  I may have just fallen for the biggest line of bullshit ever or I may have just fallen in love. Either way, I’m in trouble.

  11
<
br />   Mason

  I have never given up control. Never. I have spent my life taking charge of things - managing my emotions, manipulating situations - I had to.

  Growing up with a train wreck of a mother and an absentee father forced me to learn to manage on my own. I don’t remember much about my mother other than she was either screaming at me or dragging me around on one of her many wild benders. I was only six when her lifestyle got the best of her and she died. I can’t say I missed her much. I barely knew her.

  As I grew older, I realized I couldn’t blame her for it all. She was never completely mentally stable. My father spent most of his time at work. When he wasn’t working, he was usually entertaining one his many other women. He wasn’t always like that. They had a good relationship in the beginning, but as she became more unstable, he started to wander. Then the vicious cycle continued and became worse.

  Then, once my mother was gone, he only spent more time away from home. I was mostly raised by nannies. There were a couple of good ones over the years, but none that truly replaced the parental guidance and support a child so desperately needs.

  I’m only thankful that I was able to use those things to make myself a better person. I was compelled to learn as much as I could on my own. I wanted to be better. Since I had no command over my surroundings, I wanted to have total dominance over my own life, my own destiny.

  Working for my father wasn’t my dream, but it was a great opportunity. I vowed to earn everything on my own. I never wanted anything given to me just because the great and mighty Garrison Grant is my father.

  This has also had a great influence on my relationships - or lack thereof. I always have to be in control. I need to call the shots. I’ve never given anything of myself that I couldn’t take back in an instant. That’s what makes Samantha different - and it scares me.

  She makes me lose my sense of judgement. She makes me feel weak. I won’t admit that to her - not yet anyway - maybe not ever. I’m not afraid to tell her how I feel even though I know she may not accept or believe me. I want her to know. I need her to know.

  That kiss on the side of the road was completely out of character for me. It was spontaneous and reckless but it was fucking amazing. She ignites a fire in me like no other woman ever has. Fuck. I’m getting hard just thinking about it - about her. Now that I have her, I can’t let her go. I won’t.

  12

  Samantha

  Normally, I live for the weekends, just like any other nine to fiver. This one however, can’t end fast enough. I want to get back to work so I can see Mason again. I can’t get him out of my head.

  We never exchanged numbers when he dropped me off Friday night. I’m pretty sure it was just an oversight - we were both feeling a little giddy. That little voice of self doubt has been creeping in though. The one that’s telling me he didn’t really want it - that I was just another one night thing for him.

  I mean, we only kissed. I tried to get him to come inside but Mason refused. He said he wouldn’t ‘sneak in’ while my mother was sleeping. He wanted to be properly introduced. It seemed very old school and proper - not at all what I expected.

  Now, I’m glad he didn’t. Things would have gone much farther and been even more awkward at the office - for me anyway. I’m sure Mason will be cool as a cucumber. He’ll probably just act like nothing happened. I wish it was Monday already so I could find out for sure.

  I need to keep busy so I can make the time pass today. Even thought it’s barely noon, my mother is already in the kitchen making her traditional Sunday dinner. It doesn’t matter if it’s just the two of us, she’s making an Italian feast that will likely feed us for the rest of the week.

  “It smells delicious in here. Need any help?” I offer.

  “Not really,” mom replies, stirring her sauce, “actually, if you want, you can run to the bakery and pick up a loaf of bread.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  Grateful for the distraction, I take my keys and put a coat on.

  “No problem. I’ll be back in a bit. Call me if you need anything else.”

  There’s a long line at the bakery so I take my time picking out some pastries for dessert while I’m there. I decide to waste some more time and stroll through the small market next door. I pick out some olives and a nice bottle of wine to go with dinner.

  I grab an iced coffee on my way home and when I get back in my car, it starts to rain. by the time I arrive back, I notice I’ve been gone a couple of hours. I collect my bags and coffee and run up to the front door. The rain is coming down hard now and I have no umbrella.

  I hastily push open the front door and step inside.

  “It’s pouring out!” I call to my mother. I stand in the foyer and dry off. I take off my shoes and hang my coat. I bend over to pick the grocery bag up but look up when the response comes from a voice other than my mom’s.

  “You should keep an umbrella in the car, you know.”

  Still bent over, I sheepishly look up. It’s Mason.

  “What? Why?” I stutter, “What are you doing here?”

  I do a quick once over of myself. My hair is a soaked mess - hanging in all different directions. I have on leggings, an old college sweatshirt, and socks that are now soaked. I look like a hot mess - a hot, wet, mess.

  I look Mason over. He looks amazing - shocker. I don’t imagine he’s even capable of looking any other way. He’s wearing casual gray slacks with a royal blue button down shirt. The top buttons are open confirming the casual look and showing just enough of his tanned chest to make me sweat a little.

  “You mentioned that your mom makes a huge Sunday dinner. I was going to call, but I never asked for your number. I thought I would stop by. I hope that’s okay?” Mason asks.

  “Of course it’s okay!” mom answers for me, interrupting our awkward greeting, “Sam, how could you have kept this man a secret from me? We’ve been having such a good time.”

  I stand up and brush my hands on my shirt, “that’s great, ma,” I say through gritted teeth. I can’t imagine what they’ve been talking about while I was gone. I wonder how long Mason has been here?

  Mason takes the grocery bag and winks at me. We all walk back into the kitchen.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” he offers. I see an open bottle and two glasses already filled.

  “I guess so,” I answer. I’m so confused right now. Mason is the last person I expected to have over for Sunday dinner. I’m not mad he’s here, I just wish I could have been prepared for his visit.

  “Are you drinking, mom?” My mother rarely indulges herself. I’m surprised she accepted a glass.

  “Just a glass, dear. How could I say no to someone that looks like that?” she teases. I guess he has that effect on both of us. Seems like these two have been getting along just fine without me.

  Mason pours me a glass of wine from a bottle he must have brought. I unpack the bag of goodies I just purchased. I put the olives on a plate and carry them to the table. Mason hands me the glass and sits next to me at the table. I nervously twist my damp hair up into a bun.

  “I’ll leave you two alone for a few. I’m going to change for dinner,” mom announces, removing her apron. I roll my eyes. She’s just looking for a reason to leave the room.

  “So, what made you decide to stop by today?” I ask. I grab an olive and pop it in my mouth.

  “You.”

  “Me?” I look up at Mason incredulously, “I didn’t even know you were coming - obviously. I would have dressed a little nicer if I did.” I look down at myself, embarrassed at what I look like.

  “You look beautiful just the way you are.”

  I blush, “oh, stop.”

  “You do,” Mason assures me, “if you knew I was coming you would have put on make up and some pretty outfit. This is the real you. It’s natural and much more attractive than you think.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, demurely.

  “Your mot
her is very sweet,” Mason comments, taking an olive.

  “Yeah, she’s great.”

  “You weren’t lying when you said she cooks a big Sunday dinner.”

  I laugh, “it’s the Italian in her. Big Sunday dinners are a tradition in her family. Does your mom cook?”

  “My mother died when I was young,” Mason responds, looking down.

  “I’m sorry.” I feel bad asking, “I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay. I was too little to remember much.”

  “Well, Ginny will make sure you eat until you can’t fit another bite. It’s her specialty,” I say, trying to lighten the conversation.

  Mason chuckles, “I like her style.”

  “Eat ’til you puke?” I joke.

  “No. Be sure to satisfy and then give more.” Mason winks.

  I squirm a bit in my seat. He’s clearly not talking about food.

  “Well, I hope you kids are hungry,” mom says, entering the kitchen.

  Mason looks at me with an expression that says he’s hungry for more than my mother’s cooking, “I know I am, Ms. Roberts.”

  “Oh, please. Call me Ginny.”

  “Let me help you, mom.” Happy for the distraction, I get up from the table. I busy myself taking plates and bowls from the cabinets.

  “Let me do something,” Mason offers, standing up.

  “Don’t be silly, dear, you’re our guest,” mom replies.

  “I insist, Ginny,” Mason says. He takes the heavy pot off the stove and carries it to the table. My mother is beaming. He sure is racking up a lot of brownie points.

  We finish getting everything ready and the three of us sit down to eat. This is so surreal to me. We just had our first date two days ago and here we are breaking bread with my mother. Having Mason and my mother at the same table is not something I ever pictured happening - especially not so early in the game.

  Our meal is delicious and entertaining. Mason shares a lot about his childhood and his business. The only thing my mother isn’t pleased with is the fact that him and his father don’t get along. Once Mason explains his past and his father’s personality, she is more understanding about the matter and we carry on with cheerful conversation.