Melody Anne's Billionaire Universe: The Billionaire Stands Alone (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Mackay Destiny Book 6)

by Kate Richards

  “And miss out on the latest fashions?” He chuckled. “Seriously, I arranged for a light lunch for us at the boutique, and I can return calls while I wait. It will save time in the long run.”

  She didn’t see how, but he was the boss. If only his hand wasn’t burning her shoulder.

  They rode in silence while he read his phone and typed into it. Wasn’t handling all this correspondence her job? Of course, for all she knew he was chatting with his girlfriend. Why was that so irritating?

  “We have arrived, Mr. Felix.” She glanced around. Apparently Olaf’s voice could also come from a speaker in the corner. Limousines, who knew? The car slowed to a stop, and she slid to the side, prepared to open her door.

  “Leave it.” He never even glanced up from his phone screen, just barked the order and tightened his grip on her shoulder. Her hackles rose.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Now he looked at her, their faces inches apart. Her breath stalled. “I said leave it. It’s Olaf’s job to open the door.”

  “I apologize. I’m new to chauffeur-driven cars. Anything else I should know? Do I curtsey as I exit?”

  His gaze shot back to the screen, and he typed out a fast line. “No. And I can do without the sarcasm.”

  “Well I can do without the touchy-feely.” She shrugged him off.

  John stared at his arm as if he’d never seen it before. “I’m—” Before he could finish his sentence, the door clicked open, and she scooted out to stand on the sidewalk. John followed and waved her through a white door shaded by a deep-green awning. Inside, instead of racks of clothing, she found only a smallish room with a few green and gold chintz love seats, their gilded, scrolled arms and legs indicating their antique status. At least she thought they must be. The pale-gold flocked wallpaper and deep slate gray carpet spoke of an elegance she’d never experienced before. Or wanted to, really.

  Her knowledge of antiques was limited to a few PBS shows she’d watched while visiting her grandmother who loved Antiques Roadshow. “This is the boutique?” she asked, in doubt. It looked more like a ladies’ morning room, or maybe it was called a drawing room, on another show her granny followed. Elegant, hushed, and thoroughly disconcerting.

  “Yes, Amie’s Designs.”

  Crap. They’d never have anything in her size in here, and she’d be humiliated in front of her new boss as the fat chick who couldn’t get nice things. Her clothes—the ones the airline lost—were from a store in New York that catered to executives of a certain size. They would be hell to replace without returning there. The on-site tailor was a genius.

  She glanced over her shoulder, wanting to escape to more familiar climes, but the limo whisked away down the street and left her trapped with her new boss. A curtain opened at the back of the room, and a woman with elegance to match the shop swept in. She was at least five foot nine with gray-blonde hair swept up on her head in a complicated style that managed to be timeless yet not fussy. Her deep-maroon suit with a thin silver pinstripe enhanced her ample curves into perfection.

  “Are…are you Amie?” Juliana asked.

  Her laughter rang like a bell. “No, my dear,” the woman said, walking around her. “I am Lydia. Amie was my mentor, but she retired a few years ago, and now I am the proprietor and designer.”

  “You kept the name?”

  “Of course.” Her smile brightens the room by ten degrees. “Everyone knows Amie’s.” Everyone but her, but then she’d never clothing shopped in San Francisco, after all. “Now, my dear, what would you like?”

  Completely positive she couldn’t afford as much as a blouse from Amie’s Designs—she’d seen enough movies to know about boutiques that brought things out one by one to select clientele. Even the one in Pretty Woman that kicked Julia Roberts to the curb and paid the price wasn’t this fancy—she struggled to find a graceful way out. Nordstrom’s might have something in their larger ladies’ section to tide her over until tomorrow.

  But before she could make a break for it, John settled on one of the love seats and picked up his phone again. “Business clothes. She’ll need everything. Send the bill to my office.”

  “Of course, Mr. Felix.” She clapped her hands twice and Juliana knew she was in a movie. “Felicity, please serve the luncheon while I take Miss MacKay’s measurements.”

  A movie. A dream. A woman in her early twenties, wearing a navy jumper and a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, wheeled a table into the room. It held an array of small sandwiches and baby vegetables surrounding a bowl of pale-green dip. Another tray was covered with tiny French pastry. Juliana’s mouth watered.

  But while John selected a sandwich and returned to his incessant texting or emailing, Lydia whisked Juliana off to a small dressing room and handed her a white cotton robe. “Change to this, and I will be right back with my tape.”

  She peeled off her jeans and shirt and quickly slid her arms into the softest sleeves she’d ever experienced then belted the robe at her waist. Her toes twitched in her sneakers as she listened to the murmur of voices behind the curtain. Surely the ample Lydia wouldn’t be shocked by her size. Still…would such an elegant place have her size at all? Did they even make couture clothes in larger than a size six?

  “Are you ready, Miss MacKay?”

  “I guess so.”

  Lydia slipped past the curtain, holding a small embroidered bag. “Very good. Now, please hold your arms over your head and I’m going to take some measurements.”

  She swallowed. “Can’t I just tell you my size?”

  “No. Now lift your arms over your head and hold still.” She wrapped the tape around her in various places and shouted numbers through the curtain. Juliana’s cheeks heated with each one. Would John know they were a little bigger than strictly desirable? Despite the curtain separating them from the main room, she could imagine his shock at hearing his new assistant was a plus size.

  But why should she care? Picturing the man sitting there in his perfect, creaseless suit, eating the light luncheon, she prayed he wasn’t paying attention to what Lydia was saying. Maybe he was focused on his phone. Surely her measurements wouldn’t matter to a man like him.

  Finally, feeling mapped and assessed, Juliana sank onto the little stool in the corner while the designer stepped out, promising to return in a moment.

  John continued to play Words with Friends with his brother James. Although Sarabeth teased the game was passé, he didn’t care. He and his brother had been hunting for something they could do that wouldn’t take too much time, and they both got a kick out of their little word game. Good one, James. Got to go. My new assistant is about to model one of the suits I’m buying her.

  James - Whoa. You never bought Sarabeth’s wardrobe. I am going to tell her.

  Do what you must. I was prepared to pay for everything for her for the rest of her life. Now you can pay her dental bills.

  James - She has great teeth. Go have fun.

  This is business.

  James - Okay.

  “Mr. Felix?” Lydia stood outside the curtained dressing room. “What do you think?” She reached inside and drew Juliana out by her arm. She wore an attractive blue suit which could have been tailored for her with an off-white blouse underneath. As he followed it down to the skirt ending just above the knee, he noted she wore no stockings of any kind but her sneakers had been upgraded to a medium-heeled pump.

  “Very nice.” What else should he say?

  “So you’ll take it?” Lydia’s assistant held a tablet in front of her, finger poised over the screen.

  “Me?” Why were they asking him to make ladies’ clothing decisions? “I think it’s attractive, professional, and fits well.” And set off the cornflower-blue of her eyes and the black silk of her hair, which she’d tied in a knot at the nape of her neck while behind the curtain.

  But Juliana’s cheeks were hot pink, an emotion he couldn’t quite decipher. As he studied her, those pretty eyes snapped. “I can make my own choices,
thank you. And pay for them, too.” She stepped to a full-length mirror and turned this way and that. “I’ll take it.”

  He caught Lydia’s eye and gave a quick head shake, pointing to his pocket. She apparently understood because when Juliana suggested some other color combinations and styles, she arched a brow in his direction, and he nodded. He enjoyed his assistant’s methodical way of selecting her wardrobe but even more that he could provide it. He only hoped it didn’t cause her any problems, but despite her excellent salary, a single outfit from this boutique would strain her resources. It didn’t take a fashion maven to realize that.

  “How much do I owe you?” Juliana grabbed her purse from the couch next to him. “Is a credit card okay?”

  Lydia smiled and straightened the hem of the blue jacket. “Oh no. We never accept payment on delivery. We will send a bill.”

  “But you don’t even know my address,” she protested, accepting a brown shopping bag emblazoned with a small sunflower. “I don’t even have an address yet. This is a very strange day.”

  “Now, here are the clothes you wore earlier, a slate blouse that will also work with this ensemble, and two more sets of lingerie. We will have a second suit dropped off at your office by the close of business and get started on the others. I hope we’ve provided good service and that you’ll come back again.”

  Before Juliana could say any more, John stowed his phone in his inside jacket pocket and rose. “I need to be back in the office if you’re ready?”

  “Yes, I am. Thank you, Lydia. Everything is perfect. You’ve saved me from an embarrassing afternoon at work. It’s not easy to find such quality and style in my…si—”

  “Juliana, we’re late.” It irritated the crap out of him that she’d even have to say something like that. True, she was not the size of a fashion model, but who wanted to date someone who considered a carrot stick a meal? He liked a woman who could enjoy a dining experience with him. Then his gaze fell on the trays. The empty trays. “You got no lunch,” he said, abashed. “I think I ate everything here.”

  He’d managed to nibble his way through each of the small plates while she’d been in the dressing room.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “Let’s just drive through somewhere on the way to the office.”

  “A limo in the drive-through?” he mused, holding the door open for her to exit the boutique. “Why not?”

  Chapter Four

  A half hour later, Juliana stepped out of the limo in front of the Felix Industries Tower. The glass and steel building soared upward to disappear into the foggy sky. “It’s chilly here, this afternoon,” she said, shivering. “My coat was in one of the suitcases, too. Do you think my luggage will ever turn up?”

  “Have Amie send a coat as well.”

  “I…okay.”

  John took her arm as they entered the building. She almost protested, but he did it with such a gentlemanly air, she couldn’t offend him. The lobby ceiling rose several stories above them, and she tilted her head back to observe the open balconies overlooking the waterfall and streambed meandering through the slate-floored area. A security guard at a station by the front door greeted John as “Mr. Felix, sir,” as did the attractive woman manning the information desk, although she accompanied her words with a toothy smile and a bat of her eyelashes.

  How inappropriate.

  To her satisfaction, John only bestowed the same short nod he had to the elderly fellow in the gray uniform. A bank of double-doored elevators filled the back wall, their stainless steel a modern touch among the softness of green plants and murmur of water. But before they reached them, John steered her off to the left and pulled a keycard out of his jacket. “This way.” He guided her down a short hallway to a single steel door and swiped the card into a reader next to it.

  As they stepped inside, Juliana giggled despite herself. “Private elevator?”

  “There has to be some advantage in owning the building, don’t you think?” He lounged against the back wall, a picture of casual elegance, but shut in alone with him, Juliana could not emulate his ease. No elevator music provided a distraction from the intimacy of being alone together, and the intensity of her awareness grew.

  She certainly never minded being around Mr. Madden. But it wasn’t as if John Felix was hitting on her. He wasn’t even touching her and hadn’t done so in anything but the most courteous way so far. She’d been self-conscious modeling her outfit and mildly concerned when his gaze traced her body, freezing her in place for a moment before she headed for the mirror and pretended to focus on how she looked in the silly suit.

  Yes, she was relieved to be able to find an outfit to wear to work and a shop where she could replace some of her missing clothes, but doing so under the scrutiny of the handsome, wealthy tycoon made her so stupid she never even asked what the clothes cost.

  Her missing things had not been cheap, but she had a feeling she’d just spent more on one suit than her entire wardrobe. She’d never been in a store like that one where the designer brought you things she thought would fit or look nice. Were they all one of a kind? She was fairly sure they were.

  “Are you all right?” His voice pierced her thoughts and the fog of exhaustion. “I knew that greasy burger and fries couldn’t be a good idea. I’m sorry I ate both our lunches at the boutique.”

  He was apologizing for that?

  “I don’t mind that. I’m fine, really. Just thinking about the clothes. Maybe I should cancel the others. I am sure the airline will find my bags, and I can make this one do until they turn up.”

  “I won’t hear of it,” he barked out and she stumbled back.

  “I beg your pardon?” Who the heck did he think he was?

  John pushed off the back wall and stood within inches of her. “We have standards to maintain at Felix Industries, and as my personal assistant, you will represent me. Your appearance is part of the job and, as such, I want you to call Miss Lydia and order at least ten more business ensembles.”

  “Since you seem determined to make decisions for me, what kind of suits shall I get? All skirts?”

  “Preferably.”

  “So you don’t approve of women in pantsuits.” He stood so close, she could smell the mint he’d put in his mouth after stealing a few of her fries in the car. And sandalwood, maybe cedar. And lime. His aftershave held a sharp, spicy note that had her leaning in to inhale. “Or dresses? You object to dresses in the office?”

  “I didn’t say that. Order what you like, but I will be paying for them and will brook no arguments.” His eyes snapped, their golden-brown glowing in the low light of the elevator, but she didn’t care.

  “Well, what are you saying? That you want to dress me like a Barbie doll? I am not that kind of assistant, Mr. Felix. I’ve always bought my own clothes, and I don’t intend for that to change. However”—she gulped air, not sure when their pleasant day went so south—“I will allow you to set the tone of dress for the office.”

  “Allow me?” He bent to glare into her face, his warm breath brushing her cheek. Close enough to kiss. Kiss! Who would even think of such a thing? Not her. “Miss MacKay…”

  “Juliana.” Why that seemed relevant, she had no idea.

  “Don’t forget who the boss is before you even sit that cute little bottom down at your desk.”

  She gaped, breath stolen by his masterful words. His eyes gleamed, lips parted. “No, sir. I won’t forget who is in charge.”

  “Miss MacKay, I want to kiss you.” His hand shot out and dragged him to her, lips descended to within a fraction of an inch of hers. “Say yes.”

  “Yes,” she panted, trembling in his grasp. “Yes.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slap a button on the panel with his free hand, and the elevator stopped with a small shudder. He cupped her bottom, his fingers digging in like a cat kneading as he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her. Juliana’s heart stalled, all her focus on the warmth of his lips moving over hers, the elec
tricity she’d experienced when they shook hands a hundred years ago tingling through her limbs, her arms rising of their own accord to circle his neck and cling to him. His chest was a wall of muscle against her breasts, his arms iron bands holding her in place.

  A tiny voice at the back of her mind protested this action. Sex at work was never a good idea, everyone said, and fooling around with the boss could never come to a good end. Sarabeth had been engaged to him and told her he’d sworn never to get involved with another employee.

  She hadn’t waited this long for her first time to be a mistake.

  When he urged her lips open with the tip of his tongue and stroked hers in a slow, hypnotic fashion, she slammed the door on the chiding voice. His kisses took her to another plane where practicality held no sway. His scent, woodsy and citrus, the heavy fabric of his suit coat rough under her fingers, his thighs straight and hard against hers. Their breathing and her own heartbeat provided the soundtrack in the small elevator.

  He even tasted good. And after eating some of her fries, too. She was glad she’d accepted a mint when he’d offered, as well. His tongue swept over every surface of her mouth while she hung helpless in his grip, head spinning. Nobody kissed like this. Did they?

  Obviously, he did.

  Dear God she was in trouble.

  He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over her back in long, sensual strokes, waking her body in a way she’d never experienced before.

  “Mr. Felix, the elevator has stopped. Are you okay in there?” A man’s voice, maybe the security guy from downstairs?

  As if a bucket of cold water had been dashed over them, he lifted her and set her away from him, as far as the small box would allow. Juliana fell against the wall and grasped the railing to hold herself upright, breathing heavy, the little voice freed to race around her head and set off warning bells. She’d kissed the boss. Or let him kiss her. Nothing could be more stupid, could it? She hadn’t even taken up her post, and she’d as much as told Mr. Felix she was a tramp he could maul in the elevator.