The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy

by Alexa Wilder

  Suits, a few dresses, and embarrassingly, a pile of silk, satin, and lace that could only be lingerie. Even some loungewear, more elegant versions of the yoga pants and old t-shirts I usually wore after work.

  Confused and not sure what to say to Sam, I picked up the closest suit, a light-weight raspberry wool with a coordinating cream shell sweater and silky scarf. Grabbing the matching slingback heels, underwear, and a bra, I turned and marched back to his bedroom without another word, hoping silence might accomplish what my screeching had not. Of course, since I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, I didn’t really know what I was trying to do with my frosty quiet.

  Maybe just get a little space to figure out what Sam was up to. Back in his room, I shut the door behind me and flipped the lock. Normally I’d never feel the need to lock the door against Sam, but nothing had been normal since Nolan had disappeared.

  Stripping off the robe, I looked at the shell pink panties and bra in my hands and felt my cheeks turn red. Sam had purchased underwear for me. Not the plain cotton underwear and bras I got on sale at one of the big box stores. But real lingerie, the fabric was soft. The straps, wide enough to support my breasts, were both padded and embroidered so the bra was not only functional, it was beautiful as well. I didn’t want to guess at what it must have cost.

  My hands shaking a little, I threaded my arms through the straps and pulled the bra into place. Miraculously, it fit. How had he known my bra size? It was ridiculous to blush this hard when no one could see me, but the idea that he’d correctly guessed the size of my breasts and bought me underwear led my thoughts in directions I wasn’t ready to explore.

  Trying to stay focused, I pulled on the matching panties and contemplated the rest of my outfit. The suit was beautifully tailored, but I had my doubts about the skirt. In a pencil style, it was made to fit the hips, then flare out in kick-pleats just below the knees. Gorgeous. But my hips and pencil skirts were not friends. Never had been. Still, I couldn’t wear the robe all day.

  Resigned to a fight with the zipper and not being able to sit comfortably all day, I stepped into the skirt and pulled it up, putting on the sleepless cream shell on top first so I wouldn’t be half naked while I fought with the skirt. To my shock, the skirt’s zipper slid up with ease, the fabric conforming to my butt and hips perfectly, not a straining seam anywhere. Not ready to look yet, I slid my feet into the heels and my arms into the jacket. Holding the scarf in my hand, I turned to look in the floor length mirror on Sam’s closet door.

  I never would have picked a suit like this for myself. The color was too bright and the cut of the skirt would have scared me away. But the slightly dusky, rich raspberry pink wool suited the warm tones of my skin and light brown hair. And the fitted lines of the suit brought out the curves I was always trying to hide, making me look professional but still feminine.

  I usually wore my hair in a bun, but without my pins it would have to stay down. The softer style looked good with the new suit. Torn between being annoyed at Sam and loving the outfit Lola had put together, I arranged the coordinating scarf and left the room, thinking that I needed the coffee I’d never had the chance to drink.

  Striding into the kitchen, trying not to enjoy the feel of the new heels as they clicked against the hardwood floors, I froze when I saw Sam’s face. Warned of my arrival by the sound of my shoes coming down the hall, he’d looked up to see me enter. His blue eyes widened and his mouth dropped just a little. Then, alarmingly, those intent eyes narrowed, and he scanned me from head to toe, his expression satisfied and proprietary.

  I pretended to ignore the shiver that went down my spine at his look and headed for my abandoned coffee sitting on the counter. Sam got to it first. Standing to block me, he scooped up the coffee mug and poured it out into the sink.

  “It’s cold. Let me make you more.” He set up the single-cup brewer and slid my mug into place, ready to be filled. Turning to face me, he gave me another once over. “You look beautiful,” he said. “I’m throwing out the rest of your clothes, too. If everything Lola picked out looks as good as that suit, I’ll have to lock you in the office to keep all the guys away.”

  I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped. Retorts spun in my mind, so many I didn’t know where to start. Sam had called me beautiful. He’d said I looked so good he’d have to lock me up. And he also said he was going to throw out the rest of my clothes. Clearly the visit to crazy town we’d taken last night when he’d kissed me was not over. My mind unable to process, I said the first thing that sprang to my lips.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What don’t you understand?” Sam asked, cocking an eyebrow at me. I’d always thought it was cute when he raised one eyebrow. At that moment I had the sudden urge to swat the arrogant expression off his face. I was unbalanced enough with Nolan missing. I didn’t need Sam to go nuts on me at the same time.

  “Everything. Why am I here? Why didn’t you just take me to a hotel? And why would you ask Lola to buy me clothes? I have clothes.” I didn’t have the guts to mention the kiss the night before. Part of me still wondered if that had been a dream.

  The coffee maker kicked on, and Sam concentrated on watching the cup fill with steaming liquid, avoiding my question.

  “Sam?” I prompted in a quiet voice, beginning to worry. When the cup was full, he added a splash of cream, stirred and handed it to me. Leveling his eyes on my face, his expression serious, he said,

  “I’m not sure you’re ready to talk about this.”

  “I don’t even know what this is,” I answered, drinking the hot coffee to cover my confusion.

  “I know. I’ve handled everything with you the wrong way from the beginning. I can’t fix that now. So we’re starting from scratch. And if I fuck it up, you’ll just have to bear with me.”

  “Sam,” I said helplessly, his answer no answer at all. “What do you mean you handled me the wrong way?”

  Leaning back against the counter, he picked up his own coffee and took a long sip, his eyes on my face. I couldn’t tell if he was studying my expression or trying to think of what to say. Maybe both. Finally, he spoke.

  7

  Chloe

  “Us,” Sam said, still studying my face. “You and me. That’s what I handled the wrong way. I thought I could have everything. You in the office and other women just to date. They never meant anything when I had you to come back to. But then I realized I didn’t want anyone else. I only want you. And I’m done with wondering what to do about it. You’re mine.”

  “What?” I asked, stupidly. I still wasn’t getting it. Or I was afraid to get it, afraid of what it might mean. Or worse, that my hopes and dreams had caused me to completely misunderstand.

  “You’re mine, Chloe. You’ve been mine for three years and neither of us realized it. But I’ve finally figured out what to do with you. So you’re staying here. And I bought you new clothes because you needed them. You deserve the best and I wanted you to have the best. So I got it for you. That’s my job. To take care of you.”

  Speechless, I shook my head at him. “You’re crazy,” I said. “The only ‘us’ we can have is in the office. There can’t be an ‘us’ outside of that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I work for you,” I said, frustration and confusion making my voice rise. “And I’m not the kind of woman who has an affair with her boss.”

  “I’m not talking about an affair,” Sam said, his own voice rising.

  “Then I don’t get it. You want to go out with me?” I asked, hesitantly, terrified I’d misread him and he was going to start laughing.

  “I think we’re past that stage, don’t you?” Sam said, laughing just a little. “I’ve spent more time with you than most men have with their wives.”

  “That was work.”

  “Was it only work? At lunch? Or the conversations we’d have in the car? Was that just work for you?”

  I might have continued to argue with him, but the faint note of unc
ertainty in Sam’s voice disarmed me. Instead, I shook my head.

  “No, of course not,” I said. “But we can’t get involved. I’d have to quit.”

  “Who said anything about you quitting?” Sam asked, alarm spreading across his handsome features. “You can’t quit.”

  “Well what would we do when you moved on?” I asked, trying to make him understand what it would be like from my perspective. He went from partner to partner, commitment never a big deal for him. I’d slept with one man in my life and I’d had only a few boyfriends since college, all short term. I wasn’t built for a casual affair.

  “Who said I was going to move on?” Sam asked.

  At that, I rolled my eyes and took another sip of my coffee. I loved Sam. I had for a long time. But he wasn’t made for long term monogamy any more than I was for sleeping around.

  The impossibility of the whole thing somehow made me feel like I was back on solid ground. Putting my mug on the counter, I got my breakfast back out of the warming oven where Sam must have put it while I got dressed and sat on one of the stools tucked beneath the island. “Chloe,” he said, interrupting me, “I’m serious.”

  Cutting my french toast into smaller squares, I resisted the urge to meet his eyes. “I know that you think you are, Sam. But this isn’t a good idea. I can’t have a relationship with you outside of work and still be your assistant. Maybe you could handle it, but I can’t. And I won’t sleep with you just because you’ve decided you want to have an affair with me.”

  “I’m not talking about an affair,” he yelled, startling me. Taking a breath, he lowered his voice. “I’m not talking about an affair. I’m talking about a relationship. Between us.” I was shaking my head before he could finish.

  “No. It wouldn’t work,” I said, taking a bite of French toast to cover my uncertainty. My heart hurt and I felt a little nauseous. For the first time in my life, I had absolutely no interest in breakfast, even one created with the culinary talents of Sam’s housekeeper. I was in love with Sam. I knew that. And I truly, deeply, sincerely did not want him to know that.

  Sam was a good man. But he wasn’t going to fall in love with me. He cared for me. I knew that he did. We had a great friendship. And I loved working for him. I had no idea why he suddenly wanted to change our relationship, but sleeping together would ruin everything.

  He’d eventually grow tired of me as he did every woman he slept with. He’d move on and I’d be shattered. Destroyed. I had no illusions that my heart could survive sleeping with Sam intact. I’d fall even deeper in love with him and it would break me when he left.

  “So that’s it?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Yes. That’s it. Let’s just forget we had this conversation and go back to normal.”

  “And you’ll forget I kissed you?”

  At the memory of that kiss, I flushed and looked away. I’d never forget he’d kissed me. I was going to hold on to that kiss, remember it so often I’d never lose a single detail. This whole idea might be crazy and impossible, but I would always have that one perfect kiss from Sam.

  “I can change your mind,” Sam said, his eyes locked on my face with a predatory gleam. Meeting them, I drew in a deep breath, steadying myself for what I was going to say.

  “I’m sure you could. You know exactly what you’re doing with a woman, and I’m practically a virgin. You could probably seduce me in your sleep. I’m asking you not to try. Please just let this go, Sam.”

  He was silent for a long moment, still studying my face. His eyes had flared when I’d admitted my inexperience. That was probably a mistake. Sam could be easy going, but he was still an alpha male and admitting vulnerability was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. After what felt like a year, he said,

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “That’s not it,” I protested. “You’re my closest friend, Sam. I do trust you. But this would be a bad idea. Give it some time and you’ll see that I’m right.”

  “No. You don’t trust me, Clo,” he repeated. “You think I’m just interested in what I want and I’m not thinking about you. Like you’re some new shiny toy or a momentary distraction that I’ll get bored with and forget. As if I could ever get bored with you.”

  “Sam, don’t do this.”

  “Fine, I won’t,” he said easily, his change of heart throwing me off balance. “We have bigger things to worry about. Nolan is missing. You’re in danger. But I’m not going to forget about this.”

  “Sam,” I started to say. He cut me off.

  “No. Shut up for a second and let me talk.” Surprised, I did.

  Sam wasn’t always polite. He ran a construction company - some of the things I’d heard him say on the job could blister your ears raw. But he was always a gentleman with me. Or, he was most of the time. I couldn’t recall him ever telling me to shut up before.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” he went on. “I’ll back off for now. But you agree to stay with me until we resolve whatever is going on with Nolan. And you keep the clothes Lola brought over. Consider it a bonus from the company if that makes you feel better.”

  “Okay,” I said, relieved. “And we can just forget we ever had this conversation?”

  “No fucking way,” Sam said. He sat down on the stool beside me and leaned his shoulder into mine, his mouth dropping beside my ear. Whispering, he said, “I know you’re scared Chloe. I know you don’t trust me and you’re afraid I’m going to hurt you. But I’m not. I’ve wanted you for longer than you know and I’m tired of pretending I don’t. If you can’t believe what I say, I’ll just have to show you how I feel.”

  He rose from the stool and left the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “Finish your breakfast and we’ll go check out your place. I’m going to get a few things together for the office.”

  Then he was gone, leaving me staring at my half eaten French toast and wondering what the heck had just happened.

  8

  Chloe

  My apartment was a mess. Cushions torn off the couch, food hanging out of the fridge, flour strewn on the floor. Our bedrooms, mine and Nolan’s, were both equally destroyed. His might have been worse, but it hadn’t been neat to start with, so it was hard to tell if the disarray was new or pre-existing.

  For the first time since I’d seen the clothes on Sam’s table, I wasn’t conflicted about my new wardrobe. Everything in my closet had been torn from the hangers and thrown on the floor. The drawers were emptied. The things on my night stand had been swept to the carpet.

  “I can’t tell if they were looking for something or just really pissed off,” Sam said, joining me in my bedroom.

  “I know. I guess I should say thanks for the clothes now,” I said, a quaver in my voice. Sam’s arms came around me and I rested my head against his chest, grateful he was here with me. He’d been right, we had more important things to worry about right now than our stupid argument. Like what to do about the men who had trashed my apartment.

  It was bad enough that they were after Nolan. But looking at the deliberately torn pair of underwear on the floor by my foot, I shivered. This wasn’t just a search. This was rage. Whatever happened, I did not want these men to find me. Sam tightened his arms around me and gave me a squeeze.

  “Let’s get out of here, honey. Axel’s guys can go through this stuff and see if there’s anything to find. They know what they’re doing. And I don’t think it’s safe here.”

  “Okay,” I said, too shaken to argue. He was right. I’d thought if I came home to look around I’d spot a clue. But I wasn’t Nancy Drew. All I saw was a mess. “Let me just get some stuff from my bathroom and then we can go to work.”

  The bathroom I shared with Nolan was largely untouched. A box of face powder I rarely used had been knocked to the floor, but most of my make-up and other toiletries were intact, if not where I’d left them. I packed my travel bag, sorting through the disarray to separate my things from Nolan’s. Of the many things I didn’t love about
my brother moving in with me, sharing a bathroom was at the top of the list.

  Almost done, I was leaning into the shower to grab my shampoo when I spotted a flash of lime green paper wedged half under the bottom of the toilet, as if it had fallen out of a pocket and been pushed aside by a careless foot. Picking it up, I saw it was a matchbook. A sketch of a pool table was on one side with the name ‘Balls and Sticks’. Creative. On the other side someone, not Nolan, had written ‘Feliks’. I froze.

  I knew that name. The guy with the gun had said it the night before. Shoving the last of my stuff in a bag, I brought the matchbook out to Sam, who was looking through the books and DVD’s that had been dumped out of my bookcase.

  “I found this in the bathroom,” I said, holding it out to him. “The guy with the gun last night said that name. Is that a pool hall? Do you think he’s there?”

  Sam turned the matchbook over in his hand, studying it. “Maybe. I’ll give this to Axel.”

  “We should go check it out,” I said. It was a lead. An actual lead that might get us to Nolan. We could give it to Axel, but I still wanted to follow it up.

  “No. We should go to work. Axel can find this Feliks guy.”

  “Sam. We talked about this last night. We’ll give everything to Axel, but I’m not sitting at home waiting for him to find Nolan. I can’t do that. He has other clients, other responsibilities. I don’t. I have Nolan.”

  “Honey,” Sam said with a sigh, taking my arm and leading me to the door, “You need to let him grow up. Your whole life can’t be about Nolan.”

  “It’s not,” I said, pulling my arm out of his grip and beating him out the door. I hated it when he gave me a hard time about my brother. Sam would never understand. I’d practically raised Nolan. He might be a mess, but he was mine.