“As in you brought him here this morning, so the helicopter is still up there on the roof?”
“You got it – I’m grabbing a late breakfast in a break room on the 73rd floor right now, but we can be ready to take off in fifteen minutes, no sweat. Where are we going?”
“Mr. Killane made a last-minute decision to head out to San Francisco this morning, so we need to go to wherever he keeps his private jet – I’m assuming that would be at some exclusive rich-guy part of the airport? Forgive me, I’ve never been anybody’s personal assistant before, so this is all new to me.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Daniels – new as you are, you’re still a huge improvement over that jackass Lexington. Besides, making all these arrangements is the easy part of your job; the hard bit is being around Killane all the time. He’s a good guy at heart, but his moods are more than most people can handle. Anyway, I can put you down right outside the private hangar where his jet is parked while he’s in town. Just call those guys and let them know we’re coming, so they can fuel up, put in a flight plan for S.F., and be ready to go when we get there. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Just be understanding of the fact that I’m pretty much making this job up as I go, okay?”
“You’ll be fine, Ms. Daniels.”
I put a mental note of ‘nice guy’ next to Mr. Pulaski’s name, and moved on to “Asshole’s Pilot.” That turned out to be a Captain Wiley, the pilot of Mr. Killane’s Gulfstream G650 jet, and another fan of dealing with anybody other than Danny Dipshit.
“We were just out here running some routine maintenance checks anyway, Ms. Daniels, so your timing’s perfect. We’ll be ready to head out as soon as you get here.”
Next step, where would we stay in San Francisco? A few minutes of googling revealed that the city’s finest hotel, featuring plush accommodations, fawning staff, four-star room service, and overall sinful luxury, just happened to be owned by … wait for it … Killane Corporate Holdings. The staff there seemed startled, thrilled, and terrified at the news that their supreme leader was about to descend on them from out of nowhere; after a few nervous minutes, the hotel manager confirmed that the presidential suite was being primed for the big guy’s arrival and that the hotel’s grandest limousine would pick him up at the airport.
The job couldn’t be this easy, could it?
Over at his desk, Mr. Killane had abandoned Angry Birds for what sounded like an actual business call – something about market indexes, commodities futures, and the Tokyo exchange, whatever – and I was thanking the gods who look out for round girls that apparently I didn’t have to know anything about all that crap when Dana stuck her head in the door.
“Ms. Daniels?”
I lurched to my feet, still feeling a little like an imposter in my new position, and hustled over to her. She handed me a small envelope.
“These just came up from Operations for you, Ms. Daniels. They’re pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll be happy to help you if you have any questions.”
“Thanks, Dana – and, ah, I’m sorry about Danny.” I wasn’t, not one bit, the abusive creep had it coming, but I felt I should try to say something more or less conciliatory.
“Don’t mention it, Ms. Daniels.” She held a smile on her face by sheer force of will, and I wanted to punch her abortion of a boyfriend until his nose splintered and he begged for mercy.
Then a different thought jumped up and begged for my attention.
“Oh, and apparently we’re going to San Francisco shortly – can I get my purse from you? And would you mind just stowing my other stuff in a corner somewhere until I figure out where to put it?”
“That won’t be a problem at all, Ms. Daniels; I’ll be happy to take care of your things until you get back. One moment, please.”
Dana came back with my purse, accepted my instructions not to water Lester, and returned to her post in the outer office. I thrust the envelope she’d given me into the depths of my purse – whatever the cards thing was all about, I figured it could wait until later – I slung the purse’s strap over my shoulder, and I skimmed down the contacts list on Danny’s former phone again. Was I forgetting anything?
I made two more calls, and then took an incoming one from Mr. Pulaski, who notified me that his pre-flight check was complete and that the helicopter was ready and waiting.
The muted roar of the rotor blades from the rooftop helipad announced that it was time. If I’d forgotten some critical thing, well, I’d find out soon enough and then I’d deal with it.
“Mr. Killane, we’re ready when you are.”
A few minutes later we were buzzing over the city skyline, as I gawked out the window at the skyscrapers and avenues and antlike people and cars slipping past beneath us. I tried not to stare around at the decadently furnished interior of the helicopter, but all that opulence was hard to ignore – after all, I’d never been in any helicopter, much less one that was fitted out like a flying limousine.
I also kept stealing glances at Mr. Killane, sitting two seats ahead of me and absorbed in a call to someone on the team in San Francisco that was negotiating the deal I knew nothing about.
He hadn’t said a word to me since I’d been left to figure out the whole personal assistant thing on my own. Was I fated to be ignored until he whistled for me? Did he expect me to jump into his San Francisco hotel bed like a good little trained whore? Did he really appreciate the charms of my allegedly luscious ass and generous curves, or was that just another mind game? Would I instead have to field calls from “Asshole’s Latest Slut,” and help her set up their next hot session of thin-rich-and-gorgeous-people sex?
The thought made me burn with jealousy – a seriously stupid mental reflex, given that I’d never done more than talk to the guy, and had not one bit of right to that tall, muscular slab of man candy that oozed wanton sex appeal from every pore …
Body, you stop this right now or so help me, I’ll throw away my vibrator.
My body helpfully reminded me that my vibrator was sitting on the end table by my bed in my tiny studio apartment far below, and that the only logical response to this horrifying fact would be to jump Devon Killane’s bones until we both collapsed from exhaustion.
That’s a great scenario you’ve got there, body, but no deal – not that the possibility has ever come up before, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m not the kind of slutty girl who sleeps with her boss.
Up front, Mr. Killane leaned forward in his seat, still on the phone to his faceless minion in San Francisco. His suit jacket did its best to stretch over his broad shoulders, a whiff of his musky cologne drifted back to me, and the need aching deep inside me was my body’s way of reminding me that, hey, it could wait.
Ten minutes after lifting off we dropped down onto the airport tarmac, right next to a gleaming Gulfstream G650 private jet with the Killane Corporate Holdings logo emblazoned on the fuselage. I thanked Mr. Pulaski and rushed out of the helicopter in pursuit of my boss, who was already marching up the steps into the Gulfstream. Still on his phone, he couldn’t be bothered to so much as glance at the plane, the personal flight attendant waiting at the top of the steps, or me – his surroundings, things and people both, were just so much background noise.
I thought the helicopter was a flying tribute to excess, but one look inside Mr. K’s private jet made his chopper look like a rusted out Yugo by comparison.
My feet sank into the ivory-white carpet as I wandered around admiring all the opulence. Oversize leather couches with mahogany armrests and silver cup holders sprawled in front of giant plasma screen televisions, a wet bar occupied the front wall of the cabin, and an executive office suite complete with a mirror-finish boardroom table commanded the space at the rear of the cabin. Or what I assumed was the rear of the cabin, until I noticed a door in the back wall, just behind the table and almost concealed by a potted plant – what was back there? A Jacuzzi, a private conference room, a sex dungeon?
Mr. Killane ignored all the c
omforts of his jet-engined magic carpet in favor of marching up and down while barking orders and the occasional threat into his phone. I left him to it, picked out a leather recliner wide enough for two of me, and sank into it with a sigh. The cushions felt like eiderdown pillows, the leather seat belt sported a gold-plated buckle, and two identical recliners lounged about nearby, just waiting for privileged asses to drop into them. The cherry wood coffee table in the midst of this seating arrangement displayed orchids in a fluted crystal vase and offered macadamia-nut cookies and peppermints in a silver dish.
A girl could get used to this.
While I was closing my eyes and savoring the comforts of this mansion with wings, the flight attendant appeared at my elbow.
“Ms. Daniels, can I get you anything?” She was a willowy redhead with mile-long legs and a face that belonged on the cover of Vogue, but I tried not to let that bother me. You’re a big girl working in a what-in-the-name-of-my-trust-fund-is-that-chunky-bitch-doing-here world, Ashley, and that’s another fact of your new life you’ll have to get used to. So suck it up and act like you belong here, okay?
“Some orange juice would be great, thanks.”
Chilled orange juice arrived in front of me less than sixty seconds later. I sipped, I eyed my boss as he issued directives over the phone to some unseen minion thousands of miles away, and then it came to me – seeing as how I had no idea how long I’d be out of town, I needed to call Mom and give her a heads-up about my on-the-road status.
I knew I should also tell her about the whole scary-new-job-that-may-or-may-not-last thing too, though I was a little uneasy about just how to phrase all that … say, Mom, did you know that I’ll be around my tall, gorgeous, and seriously weird billionaire boss pretty much all the time, and that he won’t stop hitting on me?
I retrieved my humble entry-level smartphone from my purse, got hold of Mom, and let her know about this trip and my new job in terms that were as casual and non-alarming as possible.
Smart woman that she was, she didn’t buy it for a minute.
“Honey, you do realize that being the object of some crazy rich guy’s obsession is not a good thing, right?”
“Mom, you’ve seen the magazines. He’s got gorgeous stick women dripping off him wherever he goes, so he has to be joking about wanting to jump the likes of big ol’ me – besides, the pay for this job will let me help you out in a major way, so don’t worry, please.”
“I don’t care if you drown me in worldly comforts, Ashley – it’s not worth it if it means you have to do god knows what in the service of a man who’s borderline psychotic.”
“That’s a little strong, Mom. He’s moody and difficult, but he’s also funny and kind of nice, in bursts here and there …” My voice trailed off as I imagined adding ‘oh, and he’s hotter than a summer day on the sun, Mom, and if he weren’t my boss I’d be all over him in a heartbeat.’ What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, right?
Yep, she saw right through me.
“Oh god, Ashley – you like him, don’t you?”
Terrifying, and absolutely true.
I did like Devon Killane. I did want to see that rare smile of his again. I looked forward to being around his craziness full time.
Lusting after the guy was bad enough, but liking him elevated this nightmare to a whole new level.
I dealt with this horrifying fact by bravely changing the subject.
“Anyway, Mom, I’ll make a grocery run for you when I get back –”
“My cupboards are not bare, Ashley, and don’t change the subject. Your dad was funny and nice too, and you know how that turned out.”
“He’s not Dad, and if you met him, you’d realize that.” I forced the temper out of my voice and added, “Besides, with all these actresses and models and heiresses throwing themselves at him all the time, it’s not like he wants me around for anything more than comic relief, I’m sure.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, baby.”
“Oh, so it’s cool to launch myself at him like a horny catapult and have my way with his magnificent body? Hang on, let me put the phone down and I’ll get right on that, okay?”
Mom snorted a laugh. “Smartass. Just don’t make the same mistake I did, all right? That’s all I’m saying – that, and wait to rape him until you get to the hotel, so you can have room service send up champagne and strawberries afterward.”
I giggled, and Mom added, “At least it sounds like a major step up from slaving in the receptionist mines – anyway, just do the best you can, make up whatever you don’t know, and the rest will take care of itself.”
We traded goodbyes, and I tossed the phone back into my purse. Then I leaned back in my throne of decadent luxury, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. The plane’s engines roared at a higher pitch and a faint rumble ran through the cabin as we pulled away from the hangar and rolled slowly out toward the runway.
“So, will you have your way with my magnificent body here on the plane, or do you intend to restrain your passions until we arrive in San Francisco?”
My eyes snapped open to the sight of Devon Killane lounging in the chair directly across from me, grinning like a fiend and supremely pleased with himself.
When the hell had he stopped haranguing subordinates over the phone and started monitoring my private conversation? How much had he heard? And how did he manage to get the drop on me in every situation?
“Well, sir, I figured I’d wait until I could tie you to the bed in your swanky San Francisco hotel and ravish you until you expire from orgasmic bliss, okay?”
“Ooh, promise? Is there a possibility of whips and chains as well? Might I hope to see the video on Youtube?”
“I was thinking more of making it a pay-per-view live streaming event, so that your estate could rake in a few extra kazillion dollars after you meet your untimely-but-worth-it death – by the way, will you be eavesdropping on my private conversations as a regular thing? Is that in my job description?”
“Ashley, you should know by now that virtually anything might end up being part of your new job – don’t you find that exciting?”
“I find it unnerving – and just how much did you hear, anyway?”
“Oh, I heard everything you said – so, is your mother in favor of your making love to me with wild abandon until our hearts give out, or does she advocate caution?”
“She acts like she’s cool with it, but she’s more worried than she’s letting on, and maybe you should consult with me before you assume we’re headed for lots of passionate interlocking of various body parts?”
I glared at him and sank my nails into the armrest of my chair, trying my best to project simmering outrage as the Gulfstream jet accelerated down the runway, pressing me back into my seat.
He didn’t buy it. “And do you truly see bits of ‘funny’ and ‘nice’ leaking around the edges of my carefully crafted ‘moody and difficult’ persona? I must spackle up those leaks before you find yourself liking me, don’t you think?”
Why the hell did I just blurt it out? Was I high? Was I as crazy as he was?
“Too late, Mr. K.”
My stomach dropped down into my feet, and it didn’t have a thing to do with the plane vaulting into the sky.
“Well, you’re sure to regret that in time – but might I ask a question?”
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or enraged that the asshole didn’t so much as blink at my impromptu confession.
“Fire away, boss.”
“Why do you think I’m joking about wanting you in my bed?”
Goofy and Relaxed Sexy Guy vanished in an instant. Now Serious and Intense Sexy Guy sat across from me, sitting bolt upright and staring at me like a hawk memorizing the exact dimensions of a plump pigeon.
Well, plump was the problem, wasn’t it?
I played for time. “I’m not sure I understand you, sir.”
“Nonsense, you understand me perfectly. Why on earth would you imagine that I wa
nt you for nothing more than comic relief? Why do you assume my interest in you is only work-related?”
I shifted in my seat and felt all my extra pounds shift with me. Was he going to make me say it?
Well, why the hell not? Come on, Ashley, let’s blow this thing out of the water right now, before it has a chance to go any further and make you any crazier.
“Sir, are you looking at me? Really looking? Take a good long gawk at my hips and thighs and stomach, and then you tell me why you’d rather jump me than those gorgeous size zero models and actresses that hang onto you like remoras holding tight to a shark.
“I mean, I’m more than sure that I’m as desirable as anybody, but guys tend not to see it that way – at least not when they think they have a shot at something bony and fake, and definitely not when they can have any woman they want just by raising an eyebrow and waving 58.6 billion dollars at her.”
“I am looking at you, Ashley.” He ran his gaze up and down my body, and made a special point of staring at my ample breasts. “Would you like to know what I see – aside from your lovely hard nipples, that is, and the way you’ve allowed your legs to edge ever so slightly apart?”
I clamped my knees together and didn’t say a thing.
“As it happens, I see many things when I look at you – I see ripe, full curves, I see a woman who won’t break beneath me like a twig, I see a body that will respond to me with honesty and passion, and most particularly, I see someone more than willing to throw 58.6 billion dollars back in my face and walk away if she feels she’s being mistreated or used. Wouldn’t you say that’s a fair assessment?”
One word slipped out of my mouth, and it was all I could manage.
“Yes.”
I turned my head away, afraid of what I would or wouldn’t hear next, desperate to distract myself. I looked out the window and saw the ground rolling past beneath us, all the buildings and trees and cars, and I thought about how my old life was down there, a life that was gone for good.
“Do you know what all those models and actresses are, Ashley? Do you know what they are that you are not?”
Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance Page 7
