Just Billionaire (Bossy Billionaire Book 1)

by Savannah May

  I stop at the half wall to her six by six office, more like a jail cell in my opinion.

  “You’re going to your first wedding on Saturday,” I tell her.

  She looks up and her lashes flutter with the surprise of finding the boss looking down over her partition.

  She stands up and steps back a little from the desk, as though the heat of how close I am is disturbing her. I move along the wall to the opening, trailing one hand along the aluminum pole top. As I come closer, I notice how Grace trembles slightly and wonder whether she’s fearful or shivering with delight.

  She tips her head up to me, her eyes lifting from under dark gold lashes. Her lips are slightly parted, plump and so damn inviting. But I gave my word and I’m not taking her again unless she begs me.

  Until she begs me.

  “You aren’t planning to wear your office bondage, are you?” I add. “You don’t want to initiate gossip. This is a very staid bunch.”

  “I don’t have anything else,” she whispers, her voice breathy and cracked. “Not that would be suitable for The Hamptons.”

  She swallows hard and I know she’s fighting it, same as me. The electricity between us is so static I know if I reached for her now we’d both get a shock. Every cell in my body is craning toward her. Desperate to crush her to me and feel her flesh mold against my chest. Her breasts move up and down faster now. She’s breathing erratically and the heat between us picks up to an unbearable intensity, like standing too close to brush-fire. Her tongue is licking gently at the corner of her mouth again and that small motion drives me insane with need. The craving in my dick to push into her and be enveloped in her slick warmth is making my heart pound wildly.

  “Then you’ll have to go shopping again,” I grit out through the craving. “You still have my Amex, right?”

  “Oh, yes, I do,” she stammers, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. “But I didn’t- I wasn’t – trying to steal it.”

  She’s lost her normal poise again. Her blush is an indication of her shame. That she figures everyone assumes she’s a thief. One mistake has branded her for life. If I wanted to I could take advantage of her stigma and make her mine. But I refuse to be that much of a douche.

  She gazes at me like I’m some magical being, like she can’t believe I’m here, or that this is happening between us right in front of a grid of worker bees. My workers. I know if I pulled her into me she wouldn’t resist but still I don’t touch her. I wont give her a reason to hate me again tomorrow. She has to want this and admit to wanting it. She has to beg me.

  “What do I need?” she whimpers.

  “The usual.”

  She looks confused by that so I have to ask.

  You have been to a wedding before right?”

  She looks down and shakes her head. There’s that shame again.

  “Well okay, that doesn't make you inadequate,” I reassure her. “You’ve seen a ton of them on TV, in movies.”

  She shakes her head again and I wonder what kind of childhood this girl lived through.

  “It’s not too complicated. Sexy but not too sexy dress, heels, purse,” I tell her, before adding with a grin that makes her eyes pop, “Oh, and very sexy lingerie. I’m sure you’ll manage. You did fine shopping today aside from the underwear.” I toss her a smirk with that last remark. She can get as snippy as she wants about our hands-off agreement, just so as she knows it’s not iron-clad on my side.

  When I reach up and lift a loose tendril of hair from her cheek, Grace flinches away slightly. Instead of pulling back, I hold the end of the wisp of her hair, as though I can imbue it with support. I don’t care how many eyes are on us, I have this weird need to show her I want the best for her. The desire to pull her against my chest and encircle her into my arms comes close to overwhelming me. For all her pride she’s so fragile, like a tiny bird I want to cup in my palms.

  What the fuck am I talking about? She’s just a woman. And one with a past more checkered than a Formula 1 flag.

  I release her from my eye lock and drop the wisp of hair. Her pride returns like a tsunami, seeing me pull back. She steels herself and pulls up taller. I’m almost expecting her to slap me. Before I realize it she takes a fast step forward and reaches up her hand. Instead of the anticipated sting, her palm cups my jaw to hold me firm as her mouth presses against mine.

  I’m shocked rigid then I grab her and pull her into me, crushing her soft body against my rock hard one. She undulates her delectable curves into me sending a shard of white light into my rigid dick. Her lips mold firmly into mine while her tongue loops and dives in response to my ravenous thrusts. My hands flatten against the narrowing of her waist, longing to slide down over the uplifted curve of her perfect round cheeks.

  Before I engage in the battle with myself of how wrong this is and how I promised both her and myself, as quickly as she pounced on me, she’s gone.

  11

  Grace

  For the next two days I don’t get so much as a glimpse of my boss. I don’t see him at all. The strange emptiness inside me without him around is disconcerting. The day is only worth getting through with the active prospect of him popping up beside me and making my heart detonate. Otherwise it’s like I’m sitting in that little box breathlessly waiting with my heart skittering up and down my ribs.

  Is this what they mean by infatuation? It’s actually painful in my lungs. Every time I inhale my chest feels as though it’s bandaged tight as a concubine’s feet.

  The thought that my boss might put his big hands on my hips and pulls me hard into his pelvis sends shivers through me all day long.

  Am I falling for my boss because he gave me some attention?

  Because he spent a few thousand on an outfit. To him that money is like me buying a bum a soda. Maybe I’m addicted to the thrill of flirting with him. He may be older but he’s the sexiest and most decadently handsome dude I’ve ever seen.

  I can’t resist stopping by Janice’s desk on some dumb query pretext. To check whether he’s out of the office or if he’s there and just avoiding me.

  “Is Hopper not in again today?” I inquire casually, trying to get a peek between the closed blinds on his window wall.

  “Mister Grady is at meetings. Not that it should be of interest to you,” she snarls but not unkindly, just letting me know to back way off.

  “Well Mister told me to do some shopping for him so it’s not so unlikely that I should want to see him.”

  Yeah. She looks surprised at that. I bet she thought she was the only one with access to his exceptional line of credit.

  “You did the shopping he requested of you,” she says, meaning my suitable-for work outfit. “Have you not returned his card?”

  “Don’t worry,” I say breezily as I walk away. “Hopper and I have it taken care of.”

  She opens her mouth to give me some order, for sure about the appropriate name I should use for my boss, but I’m already out of earshot and she won’t shout across the office.

  I feel kind of bad as I strut back to my cubicle. I guess I’m acting like a power junkie. Like I’ve got one up on the assistant because the boss has shown an interest in me. I wonder if she knows it’s not only clothes he’s buying. He’s also buying me, or my company at least while I act the part of the girlfriend for the summer. Would he have shared that with her? All so he can fend off the adoring husband-hunters, or their mothers.

  I throw myself into my chair and push some paper around the top of my desk, but I can’t concentrate. I’m half expecting Hopper to come down the hall and flash me his one-side-only dimpled smile over top of my cubicle wall. Every time I go for a coffee refill, my body is on a knife edge of expectation, hoping he’ll appear and take me in his powerful hold again as he clamps my mouth under his.

  Sitting at my desk, my mind wanders away and I picture, oh so clearly Hopper calling me into his office. Without listening to my protestations which would be tepid at best, he’d press me across his desk an
d drag my skirt up my legs. My fingers would grip the edges of the desk, turning white at the tips as the blood rushed out. I’d dig in, maybe even heel-toe my feet apart a little more as he yanked my underwear down my legs.

  Underwear.

  I’m still wearing prison issue smalls which do absolutely nothing to promote my filthy fantasies.

  “Tyler, I’m going to lunch in case anyone needs me,” I call to the earnest and slender guy in the cubicle over the wall from mine.

  “It’s not even eleven yet, Grace,” he replies.

  But I’m already heading for the elevator. I lift my hand to wave back at him without turning, or stopping. I have shopping to do.

  The girls inside talked about Victoria’s Secret Pink as their underwear of choice. There was a very strict code of what uniform to wear if you wanted to be cool and when I say cool, I mean unbruised. Nike sneakers, Juicy Couture tracksuits, skinny jeans and VS. I locate the Broadway store on my phone and take the bus as Janice recommended yesterday. I feel pretty good, navigating around the greatest city in the world by myself.

  One look around the store tells me this won’t do for Hopper Grady. This stuff is fake sexy and he’ll see through that in a second. Now what? A quick browse and I locate a store within prowling distance. I’m determined that my boss will never again see me in grungy underoos. Why I’m planning for the time he does see me that undressed again, I push that to the back of my mind.

  The next store is like some secret bondage club. Or at least how I imagine one would look, painted entirely in black and with huge chandeliers. The prices for a tiny piece of silk satin with lace edged cut outs is comfortingly astronomical. Hopper would be proud. I grab the hottest pieces from the displays and dive into the change room.

  Then I repeat the process at some of the other stores on Elizabeth Street and around Soho, ending up in Prada for a suitable purse. Any slightly raised eyebrows or snotty stares from the assistants are soon erased when I hand over my boss’s black Amex.

  “My boyfriend’s card,” I mutter. Just in case they assume I stole it. She doesn't even eyeball me with a ‘you’re lying’ stare. And strictly speaking I’m not because the deal with Hopper is that I’m his girlfriend for the summer.

  Geezus. I’m finding it impossible to get used to spending this kind of fortune on snippets of material that could be ruined in one night if I fall down drunk. Or if Hopper literally rips the fabric off my body as I wish he would, despite all my best intentions. But worse than that, I can’t relax and enjoy this without the little voice inside the deep recess of my mind trying to tell me everyone thinks I’m guilty. Bad. I can’t be the Black Sheep of the entire city. I can’t own all that responsibility.

  Pretty soon I’m going to have my own money to spend so I better get used to it. Not that I’ll be blowing it on this kind of stuff. I’m going to save and invest in property like a smart girl, not blow it all on fripperies to entertain a man. He wants the candy he can damn well pony up for it.

  Shit, it’s past five when I emerge from the last store. I have to get back to the office. Although with Hopper out all day, no one else is likely to have even missed me. But it would be just my luck for old commandant Cynthia, my social worker to stop by to check up on my progress.

  And to make sure that I’m keeping my nose clean. Not getting into trouble with unsavory types, no drinking, whatever else. I’ll have to ask her whether that includes no fine champagne at fancy weddings. Or no being manhandled in the office by the boss.

  Goody Boy Tyler is still at his desk when I return, trying to look eager and ready for management. He gives me a filthy look when I stroll in laden with gorgeous shopping bags, the kind with thick silken handles that you want to keep sitting out on display forever.

  “Any messages?” I tease as I plop back down at my desk.

  He ignores me, or pretends he didn’t hear. I don’t care. I’m not here to make lifelong friends. As soon as I get my money I’ll take off. Maybe Europe. Or Bali. Somewhere I’m not vilified and humiliated at every turn.

  Having shown my face, I decide it’s safe to leave the building again. This time I go via Hopper’s office. Janice stares at all the bags I’m clutching in my fists, so many they knock into the walls as I approach.

  “Mr Grady will be in the office from noon to one thirty tomorrow,” she says. My heart lifts off like an Olympic diver off a board hearing his name mentioned. “He asked to see you. That’s not a request,” she adds.

  “Ya, okay,” I squeak, as though it’s just another meeting with the boss. “Have a good night.”

  As soon as I get home, I delve into my bags and slip into the bra and pantie set with the perfectly hidden openings, just right for a thick finger or two. I admire myself in the small mirror attached to the wall with cement. Truly, I don’t look too bad.

  I could almost pass for pretty but I still don’t understand why Hopper picked me out of all the women in this city. Then I tear open the silver vibrator I bought, insert the batteries and lie back on the bed. I spread my legs and pass the buzzing head across my aching clit, making my body clench with the intensity of need I’m still trying to restrain.

  12

  Hopper

  I don’t make it back to the city when I was expecting to. From Seattle, I have to fly into Chicago to deal with another bunch of idiot investors running scared. They’re all very big players that have to be soothed with four-martini lunches and lots of sweet words of reassurance. I get back on my plane, exhausted and needing sweet words myself.

  I should have brought Grace along with me.

  It didn’t occur to me until now. Why? Because usually on these trips, the lavish massaging of clients includes a night at some fancy private club where I treat the gentlemen to the finest indulgences.

  Seattle and Chicago both have excellent, let’s call them, facilities, that I enjoy attending just as much as my demanding clients. Strangely I didn’t partake of the pleasures in either on this trip. In Seattle I sat at the bar most of the night. Whenever one of the girls I usually pass some steamy hours with trailed her fingers across my shoulder, my cock didn’t even nod.

  “Sorry, Darling. Not tonight,” I told the redhead that I’d normally be aching to plunge deep inside.

  Red gave me a pouty little smile, trying to entice me but for some reason I couldn’t work up the interest. When I turned back to my single malt, I found my head was filled with my delinquent little intern back in New York.

  “What the fuck?” I groaned into my glass.

  “Everything okay there Mr Grady?” Tangle, the bartender with the scar slicing down his cheek asked.

  “You ever been wildly attracted to someone, with no fucking idea why?” I growled. The desire pounding through my veins was burning me up with irritation as much as frustration. This was so illogical as to make it crazy. I should be burying my dick into one of the very experienced and absolutely stunning girls at the club, not pining like some lovesick teen over some little rebel ten years younger than me. She’ll never catch up enough experience to keep my hunger satiated.

  “Hell yeah,” Tangle guffaws, “Women are nothing but a noose around a man’s neck.”

  He’d made a stranglehold sign that made me grin.

  “How do you keep them off your back?” I asked.

  This guy, all wildly untethered is me in another life, without the suit. Or the bank account. I wonder whether he’s happier that way.

  “You don’t. But you know how it goes – soon as you scratch an itch it stops being an irritant.”

  “Yeah but what if she’s refusing to be scratched?”

  “The chase me game? Sure, but every woman has her breaking point, right?”

  “I don't have a problem with seduction,” I tell him. “My limits are self-imposed. That’s the downside of playing in your own sandpit.”

  “Billionaire problems,” Tangle said with a grimace, like he was glad not to have the responsibility that comes with a fortune.

 
Perhaps he had the right idea. I’m hearing that phrase a lot – billionaire problems spoken with irony. Like I don’t have any. Money doesn’t buy love, I ought to toss back in future.

  I finally tie up my business, get the investors syrupy sweet and get back on my plane. We’re held up in the Friday afternoon line on the tarmac. It takes longer to take off than it does to fly to New York. I lean back in my chair, a large scotch on the side table and try to relax. Again I think I should have brought Grace along. As an assistant only of course. Although I can’t imagine how that would go down with loyal Janice.

  Could I have got away with saying I was taking Grace along for training purposes? That would have been the truth, just not in any business sense.

  If she were here right now I’d have some training to give her. And I’m pretty damn sure she’d like it too. The rebellious side of Grace is a deep temptation. The idea of taming her to exactly my specifications is intoxicating.

  “Sir, we’re still about twenty minutes from take off,” Jed, my pilot comes over the intercom.

  Normally this would incense me with the rage of time-wasting. Now I lean back and indulge, filling my head with images of Grace.

  She should be in the seat opposite me. Swiveling side to side with her own impatience or need. Her provocative gaze periodically reaching for mine and challenging me. What would she do if I ordered her to slide her skirt up her thighs?

  I’m certain she’d pretend to be outraged and then slowly inch the fabric up, exposing her gamine legs a little at a time. The flesh at the top of her inner thighs is soft and inviting and she knows it. She can see the ravenous hunger in my eyes, fixed on the tiny triangle of hot pink silk between the pure, almost translucent skin. She knows how much I want her, feels the heat of lust pouring out of me.