Alex Reid: Managing the Bosses Billionaire Boss Romance (Rich and Single Series Book 1)

by Lexy Timms

  “I can’t say I thought to put that one on my bucket list,” she said, tucking escaped strands of hair back into place. “But I would have if I’d have known it would be that good.”

  It was Alex’s turn to laugh. “It was a new and exciting way to completely mishandle interviewing a prospective PA, I’ll admit that.”

  Lily picked up the lacy scraps of her underwear and tucked them into her purse, then stepped around the desk to take a seat in the chair on the other side. The color in her cheeks had faded enough that she didn’t look like she’d just enthusiastically ridden him in his office chair.

  “I hope you understand that I can’t hire you after this,” Alex said, gentle.

  She smiled a little wryly. “No. I didn’t think you could. We’d never get anything done.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a job,” he said. “You have excellent qualifications, and I’d be happy to put in a good word for you anywhere you like. People listen to men with a lot of money in the bank.”

  “That’s really kind of you, but I think I’d better handle it on my own.” Her smile widened. “I wouldn’t want people to start wondering why you’re recommending someone who never worked for you. And anyway, I still got something out of it even if that something wasn’t a job.”

  “Have a good day, Lily. And please don’t hesitate to call if you ever need anything.”

  “Even if that ‘anything’ is a good lay?”

  Alex nearly choked on the water he’d just taken a sip of. He set it down, and swallowed carefully to keep from coughing. “Even if it’s just that,” he said. “I’m happy to help.”

  She stood, then, and gave him a nod. “I think that’s it then, Mr. Reid. Best of luck in your search.”

  “And you in yours.”

  Her hand touched the door.

  “Oh, and Miss Westkirk?”

  She paused, turning to look over her shoulder at him.

  “Send your address, would you?” He smiled. “I owe you a pair of underwear.”

  Chapter 13

  Maybe, Alex decided as he leaned in toward the mirror to straighten his tie, having a personal assistant was going to be more trouble than it was worth. Finding one had certainly proven to be. He almost wished he hadn’t ruined the possibility of hiring Miss Westkirk, but he couldn’t be entirely dissatisfied with the way things had turned out. The memory was too pleasant. Pleasant enough, in fact, that if he didn’t stop thinking about it he wasn’t going to have trouble walking out to the car. He turned his thoughts to the upcoming gala.

  To him, these gatherings felt like a lot of people bragging about how much money they managed to throw at a problem. Not that Alex didn’t give to charity. He did. Frequently. But he was under no illusions that money was the be all end all of good citizenship. Honestly, he wasn’t sure any of the other attendees at the gala were either; they always seemed like they were trying to persuade themselves as much as anyone else.

  There was valet parking at the gala, of course. Alex handed his car over a little reluctantly to the valet and straightened his suit jacket as he stepped into the brightly lit hall. Inside, four hundred people in their suit-and-tie-best milled around, talking and laughing and eating hors d’oeuvres.

  “Ah, the young Mr. Reid.” A middle-aged woman in a close-fitting blue dress appeared on his left, smiling at him and gesturing to a friend with the hand that wasn’t holding a champagne glass. “We’re so glad to have you here.”

  “Mrs. Mills,” Alex answered politely. “How nice to see you again. You’ve really outdone yourself this year.”

  Mrs. Mills, who was head of the event committee for the country club, lowered her head and looked up at him through her lashes in a way that she probably thought was demure. “Oh, it’s nothing, dear, really. I just make all the phone calls.” She straightened again. “Alex, this is Richard Wright. He’s new to the city but he’s been making the rounds, and I thought he might like to meet you.”

  Alex turned to face the man, offering his hand. “Mr. Wright. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

  Mr. Wright, it turned out, was a shorter man than Alex, but broad in the shoulders, with lightening streaks in his brown hair and a mustache that had already gone entirely gray.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Reid. All of it very impressive, I have to say.”

  “All of it’s true, then,” Alex said, and his new acquaintance laughed.

  “I saw the spread they did on you last year in CEO, actually. It’s always good to see young people with real drive and commitment.”

  “And what do you do, Mr. Wright?”

  “I own a mining company, actually. Wright Iron. I was hoping you might take a look at our information one of these days and consider adding the company to your investment portfolios.”

  “In the market for new machinery?”

  The older man laughed again. “Something like that.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card with his name and the company’s logo embossed on the front. “Give me a call if you decide to consider my offer. I assure you that our stocks are only going to gain value over time.”

  “I’ll definitely let you know, Mr. Wright.”

  Wright turned and disappeared into the crowd, and Alex started making his own way through it, winding around bodies and far too many elbows to get to the bar. He raised a hand to catch the bartender’s eye. “A whiskey. On the rocks,” he said when the bartender made it down to where he stood.

  The man nodded and went for the bottle, pouring him a generous shot over ice and setting it down on the bar.

  Alex dropped enough cash to pay the cost of the drink three times over into his hand. “Keep the change.”

  That got him a smile, which Alex had been hoping for. It was never a bad idea to be on the bartender’s good side. He turned back toward the crowd.

  “Alex Reid,” a woman’s voice said to his left.

  Alex turned, and found himself looking at a much younger woman than Andrea Mills. Her dark hair was caught back from her face, and the sleeves of her black dress slid down her shoulders to leave the curves of them bare.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said. “Do I know you?”

  She laughed. “Oh, not well. Sorry. I’m Jennifer Amico. You manage my father’s investment portfolio. Or your company does.”

  Someone he was definitely not allowed to have sex with. A prospective employee was one thing; a client’s daughter was entirely another, no matter how much she looked at him like she wouldn’t be at all opposed to tumbling him into bed. “Ms. Amico. Nice to meet you.”

  She turned and flagged down the bartender to order a glass of wine, and then she looked back at him and smiled. “I can’t say I know much about investing, but I do know that my father is quite happy with your work.”

  “We always appreciate hearing from clients who appreciate what we work very hard to do for them.”

  “What about clients who don’t appreciate it?”

  “We like to hear from them, too,” Alex said, “so that we know where improvements need to be made.”

  “That’s a good philosophy to have, I think.” She smiled at the bartender when he returned with her drink, then gave Alex her attention again. “Too many people don’t know how to take constructive criticism.”

  “And what about you?” Alex asked. “Do you know how to take it?” He let just enough innuendo slip into his voice that the question had the potential to mean something else entirely, testing to see her reaction.

  She looked entirely too delighted. “I pride myself on my ability,” she answered.

  Apparently the idea that he essentially worked for her father didn’t bother her at all, but she wasn’t the one who would have to deal with her angry father when he found out.

  Alex gave her a polite nod. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Amico.”

  Her expression fell, but Alex didn’t let it keep him in place. He turned away from the bar and headed back toward the side of the room, where he’d seen most of the peo
ple that he vaguely knew from other events like this.

  “Alex Reid!” one of them said as he approached, and he looked up to smile at the little group. “Good to see you again.”

  “And you, Ms. Carrington.”

  She stepped back to allow him to join the circle, and then stepped in close. One of her hands came to rest on Alex’s arm. “As some of you probably know, this is Alex Reid, CEO of Reid Enterprises and one of the youngest billionaires in the country. At least, one of the youngest who isn’t a TV star.”

  Several people chuckled at that.

  “Most millionaires I know who are as young as you are, Mr. Reid,” one of the men said, “got there on a loan from daddy. I don’t know enough billionaires under thirty to say if it’s the same, but I would venture to guess that it is.”

  Emmaline Carrington’s hand tightened a little on his arm as Alex looked across the circle at the man who was calmly meeting his gaze. She must have felt him tense under the touch, or maybe it was just the look on his face, because she wasn’t the only person in the little group who seemed suddenly alarmed.

  “My father,” Alex said shortly, “didn’t give me anything. I built Reid Enterprises from the ground up. On my own.” He turned, then, and walked away before he could say anything that anyone might regret later.

  Ms. Carrington followed, her heels clacking fast against the floor as she tried to keep up with his longer stride. “Alex,” she said. And then again,” Alex.”

  Alex stopped, and turned to look at her. She was breathing a little quickly; her dark eyes lifted to his face. “Don’t let one idiot ruin your night.”

  “It wasn’t much of a night to ruin in the first place,” Alex said. “You know how I feel about these things.”

  They’d talked about it one night when they were both sitting at the bar, tired and tired of the spectacle.

  “I know. It doesn’t matter. He’s not worth it, even so.”

  Alex ran a hand through his hair, laughing a little as he dropped it back to his side. “No. I guess he isn’t, is he? Thank you, Emmaline.” Alex took a sip from the glass of whiskey he still held.

  “Last time,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting into half a smile. “You asked me to dance.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” He could hear the band playing, and he glanced over at the dance floor where a few couples were moving to the rhythm together. Alex held out a hand to her. “Ms. Carrington,” he said, bowing a little at the waist with a grin. “May I have this dance?”

  She laughed. “You may, good sir.”

  Her hand settled down on his arm again, this time tucked properly around his forearm just below the elbow, and he led her out onto the dance floor. The current dance was a waltz; a style which Alex had gone to some trouble to learn before his first formal event. He wouldn’t call himself a master in the art, but he was good enough that he wasn’t going to bring shame down on the name of his company or anything if he stepped out onto the dance floor.

  Emmaline’s hand came to rest on his bicep, and he laid his own on the silk-sheathed curve of her hip. The other he linked with hers, threading their fingers together. He and Emmaline Carrington had never slept together. For a very short time, Alex had hoped that they might; she was a beautiful woman, after all – dark-eyed and dark-haired, with a figure that would have been right at home in 1925. But Emmaline had made it quite clear early on that her interests lay firmly elsewhere. It was almost a relief to simply enjoy her company as it was without any pressure to perform or play the part of billionaire bachelor.

  “So you see that woman over there?” Emmaline asked in his ear, just loud enough that he could hear her over the music. “The one in the long green gown?”

  They turned, and Alex nodded as they woman swept into view.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s eyeing you up like you’re the last piece of chocolate cake on the plate.”

  It was, Alex realized as he watched the woman, true. Either her dancing partner wasn’t a romantic interest, or she had a roving eye, because it was firmly settled on him.

  “I think she’s looking for an upgrade in the sugar daddy department,” Emmaline said.

  Alex, startled, laughed. “You think so?”

  “Mm-hm. That older guy she’s with might keel over early and leave her a bundle if she goes through with marrying him, but she’s looking like she wouldn’t mind the wait if she got a younger, hotter model to go with the money.”

  They turned again, and the woman was out of sight.

  “I think I’ll skip that particular pile of clichés,” Alex said. “I’ve already done the gold-digger bit.”

  “What about a different cliché?”

  “Do tell.”

  “Well, there’s a very lovely young woman in a black cocktail dress, who would look stunning with you, standing against the wall and waiting for someone to ask her to dance.”

  She tipped her head in the direction she was speaking of, and Alex saw the woman she’d indicated, who was indeed very pretty, and a little heavier than most of the slender women leaning on the other men’s arms.

  Alex smiled. He appreciated a woman with curves. Toothpick models and barely-eating women were not breathtaking. He’d never been interested in the skeleton frame. Curves brought fire. “We’ll finish the song, and then I’ll ask.”

  “Good boy.”

  Alex gave her a narrow-eyed look, and Emmaline laughed. “I’m only teasing, Mr. Big Man in Charge. Calm down. Anyway, I have my eye on someone, and I can’t talk to her while you’re all up in my space.”

  “Which someone?”

  “That redhead in the vintage dress that would look a whole lot better on the floor. Or, you know, carefully draped over a chair so that it doesn’t get ruined.”

  The redhead in question, Alex discovered when she came into his field of vision, was built like a 1950s starlet, and fit the dress like she’d walked out of a television screen in it. Or a time machine. She had a glass of white wine in her hand, and was laughing at something someone else was saying, her head tossed back and her pale throat bared.

  “You always see the best ones first.”

  “I have a good eye. And I picked you a good one. Go see if I didn’t.”

  The music wound down to a halt, and Alex stepped back from Emmaline. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “And not just for the rundown on dancing partners.”

  “Not a problem, Mr. Reid.” She flashed a smile at him. “Go. Shoo. Enjoy yourself.”

  Alex shook his head, but he went.

  Chapter 14

  “Excuse me.”

  The young woman who was standing against the wall, looking down at her shoes, raised her brown eyes, and Alex watched them widen when she saw him.

  He smiled and held out a hand. “I wanted to know if you would like to dance with me.”

  Her gaze flicked left and right. “This isn’t some kind of joke, is it? You’re not going to get a picture and laugh with your friends?”

  Alex’s eyebrows drew together. “No. Of course it’s not. Actually, it was my friend who suggested I come speak to you. Emmaline Carrington.”

  The girl huffed a laugh through her nose, short and sharp. “I should have known it was Emma.” She moved like she would turn away.

  “Emmaline only had to let me know you were there. I chose to come speak to you.”

  “You want to dance with me?”

  “I want to dance with you. I promise.”

  Almost hesitantly, she laid her hand in the one he held out and he drew her onto the dance floor, pulling her in close for the next number. “People who look like you don’t usually go for people who look like me.”

  “People who look like you happen to be just as much to my taste as people who look like Emmaline Carrington.”

  She looked up at him. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re strange, Mr…”

  “Reid. Alex. And they have at times, yes.” He smiled, and her hands curled a little tighter aro
und his shoulders like her knees had just weakened and she needed the help staying up. “I don’t have your name, though.”

  “Macy Nichols.”

  “What brings you to the charity gala, Ms. Nichols?”

  “My parents,” she answered. “They’re here. They’re always at these things. I’m going back to college in two weeks, but until then I have to get dragged along to every function within a fifty-mile radius. Although most of them are worse than this one has just decided to be. So there’s that.”

  “I’ll just have to make sure it keeps getting better, then.”

  She laughed, and the went on with the dance. One became two, and then three, while she explained that she was studying medicine in the hopes of becoming a neurologist. Alex was suitably impressed.

  “What do your parents think of that?” he asked after he’d congratulated her warmly enough to make her cheeks turn a little pink.

  “I think they’re a little baffled by it, to be honest,” she answered. “I mean, they’re supportive, but I don’t think they expected a daughter to be quite so into math. I think they imagined I’d be a nurse or something when I first said that I wanted to go to medical school. Not that there’s anything wrong with nurses, of course, but it’s kind of the expected thing for a woman in the medical field, and I didn’t want to do that.”

  “No,” Alex said. “I imagine you don’t do the expected thing very often at all.”

  “And what about you? Do you do the expected thing?”

  He laughed. “Well, Ms. Nichols, I’m a billionaire at the age of twenty-seven. I don’t think anyone gets there by doing the expected thing. So I think you’re on the right path. Don’t ever do what people just expect of you. Outperform their ideas. Show them that you can go farther than they thought anyone was capable of. That’s how you get where you want to go.”

  “I’ll have to remember that. Thanks.”