The Billionaire's Assistant

by Sierra Rose

My face blanched, as my hands nervously smoothed it down. “Well, believe it or not, it was actually the warmest dress I could find. And by warmest, I mean...”

  He laughed softly.

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Of course he did. He had fucking dated the girl.

  ...in this dress.

  All at once, I felt incredibly uncomfortable.

  “You know what—I’m just going to call a cab and go home really quick to change. I’ll be back in less than an hour, and then the two of us can sit down and come up with a list of—”

  “Absolutely not—we’re going out!”

  He grabbed my wrist in a blur of speed, and started pulling me towards the door. I looked around desperately for Louise—surely, she wouldn’t allow me to wear such a thing—but he had already pushed the door for the elevator, and before I knew it, we were heading down.

  “Nick,” I pulled the coat protectively around me, an unintentionally pleading tone coloring my voice, “wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do—I can meet you there, okay? There’s no need for me to—”

  He held up a silencing hand, staring down at me with a slight frown.

  “Ms. Wilder, you were contracted to be my publicist, isn’t that right?”

  This again. Shit.

  I sighed and bowed my head.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes twinkled.

  “And as my publicist, it’s your responsibility to be available whenever I go out into the public eye, correct? To be on hand in case there’s any...trouble?”

  I didn’t like the sound of this.

  “...yes.”

  His face lit up with another victorious smile.

  “In that case—I’m afraid I’m going to need you around. And furthermore, I’m afraid there won’t be any time for you to change out of that incredible dress.”

  My teeth clenched, but I forced my glare into a dangerously sweet smile.

  “And what might we be doing, pray tell?”

  The doors opened, and he gazed out towards the horizon.

  “Today...we’re going to get into a little trouble.”

  Chapter 9

  The players: Nicholas Hunter and Abigail Wilder.

  The stage: All of New York City.

  The objective: To cause as much mayhem as possible.

  To be fair—that was Nicholas’ objective, not mine. While as a publicist, I should have been focused on stopping him, my only real goal became to somehow stay inside my dress.

  “This is, without a doubt, the cruelest thing you’ve ever done to me.”

  A gust of wind threw open my trench coat once more, and I yanked it shut. The winter winds and busy pedestrian streets hadn’t been kind to my particular ensemble, but Nick was in such festive spirits, he didn’t seem to mind.

  “That’s not true,” he countered, cheerfully pausing to take a selfie with some adoring fans. “What about the time I took you to the serpentarium?”

  A belated shudder ran up my spine.

  “I thought we had agreed to never talk about that...”

  A practiced grin spread up the side of his face, as he knelt down to be at the same height as two middle-school-aged girls. A neon flash lit up their faces, then he turned that grin to me.

  “I think it was a day of existential growth. Facing your fears, and whatnot.”

  I studied him carefully for a moment, then turned sharply on my heel.

  “I quit.”

  “Oh—come on!” He flashed the twelve-year-olds a conspiratorial wink, before taking off after me, weaving his way through the crowd. When he finally caught up, I was in the process of hailing down a cab. He arrived just in time to wave it away again. “Abby—I’m sorry, okay? I was actually taking you out today to apologize.”

  “To apologize,” I repeated caustically. “You were. Really.”

  Again—they weren’t phrased as questions.

  “Of course.” His blue eyes widened with angelic innocence. “How could you doubt me?”

  I smiled sweetly, just as angelic as him.

  “For what, pray tell, were you apologizing?”

  “For your dress. For your date. For...the lobster.” He leaned in closer, trying very hard not to smile. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me call up Cameron—apologize in person.”

  A flash of indignation rose within me, paired with an exasperated sort of amusement. I turned back to the street so he wouldn’t see my grin.

  “You’d do that?” I asked, playing along. “For Cameron? For me?”

  His eyes twinkled—he knew he had me.

  “Well you know I’d do anything for Cameron. And for you...? I could make a call.”

  My lips turned up in a reluctant smile, and all was forgiven once more.

  This little dance was nothing new for us. Since Nick had discovered the wonders of the New York subway system, I’d quit at least once a week for the last year.

  “So, you’re apologizing, eh?” I prompted as we began walking once more.

  Much to my surprise, he offered me his arm. It wasn’t like that never happened, but as much as we bantered back and forth, the two of us tended to occupy very specific roles. This morning, however, I took it gratefully. I had already slipped twice on the winter ice.

  “Yes,” he answered cheerfully, “I have quite the apology in mind. But first,” he ducked suddenly into a store, pulling me inside with him, “we need to make a few stops.”

  I caught my breath, clinging onto his arm for support as he tugged me inside. Then I blinked around in confusion as my eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights.

  “Dior?” I actually said it out loud, suddenly a bit anxious.

  I had just been in Dior just the other day—for the second time in my life. Well, it was the millionth time in terms of going for clients. Only the second time in terms of going for myself. It had been to buy a certain dress, for a certain date, that a certain someone had interrupted. It had been a rare splurge—a dress that had set me behind several months in terms of rent. None of that was supposed to be a problem—except the dress had gotten mysteriously soaked in a fountain.

  Suffice to say, I wasn’t particularly thrilled to be back right now.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked nervously, trying to pull my arm away as Nick began wandering up and down the aisles. “You know you’re in the women’s section, right?”

  Not that he was exactly a stranger...

  “Oh—Mr. Hunter!”

  As if on cue, a regal-looking woman came bustling out of a back room. Her pantsuit was tailor-made to perfection. Her gray hair was swept up into a perfect coif.

  She kissed Nick twice on each cheek, taking care not to transfer even a speck of her bright crimson lipstick—as women on the Upper East Side have all been trained to do.

  “Forgive me, we didn’t know you were coming in this morning. I would have cleared out the floor, or at the very least, requested some of the ladies to come in early and help you.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

  What? Is Miss Manners over here actually pimping for him now?

  “It was a spur of the moment decision, Ruby.”

  Of course her name was Ruby. Just like my mother’s cat.

  “And I don’t think we’ll be needing any help.” He glanced at me quickly, before turning back to her with a charming smile. “I think my friend and I will just browse for a while.”

  She looked completely taken aback. Clearly, this was not the normal way of things. I could only imagine how many times he’d come in here, looking for a dress, or a diamond, or a pair of trillion dollar shoes for his new flavor of the month. My guess was that he was asked to describe the flavor in three simple words, and the rest of them would pick things for him.

  But not today.

  “Oh...of course, dear. Whatever you like.”

  She took a tentative step away, but seemed incredibly uncomfortable not to be ‘hands-on helping’ in some way or ano
ther. Nick sensed her plight and provided a gracious request.

  “But we might like a little champagne...?”

  Her face lit up with an indulgent smile, and she pinched his cheek in a way that implied the two of them shared a great many secrets. He returned the smile as best he could, then turned away the second she was gone—rubbing gently at his reddened skin.

  “I wish she would stop doing that,” he muttered. “It’s getting to be worse every time.”

  I grinned, pleased that at least something in his perfect world was out of sync.

  “She’s an old lady—what do you expect? It’s adorable.”

  He flashed me look, lowering his hand quickly as Ruby made her way back.

  “It’s only adorable because she’s not doing it to you.”

  We fell silent at once and looked up with matching smiles—thanking her for the champagne at least three times before she finally left. After she had done so, Nick clinked his glass against mine, eyes twinkling over the rim.

  “To my apology.”

  I clinked back.

  “Whatever it may be.”

  He downed his in three gulps, and urged me to do the same. I set down my empty glass with my head spinning. I had missed dinner last night—thanks to him, and hadn’t gotten breakfast either—thanks to his father and Louise. One glass of champagne was my new limit.

  “So what are we doing here?” I glanced around the store, taking in the general splendor as the wheels in my PR driven mind started automatically turning.

  If I could just get him excited about the idea of doting on someone new (one of Nick’s favorite things in the entire world was ‘doting’), then maybe he would be less resistant to the idea of me procuring an actress, or a model, or an heiress to attract his attention.

  Maybe I could convince him to buy some of these earrings—

  “We’re here for you.”

  I turned around in surprise to see him staring at me, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression gentling his face. I didn’t understand. Was this my big apology?

  “For me?” I repeated, very much as a question this time. “What does that...what do you mean, we’re here for me?”

  Another rather strange expression flitted across his face, as his mouth twitched up in a crooked smile. “That dress I ruined, it was Dior. I know, because I found the wet tags stuck in my pocket this morning. That couldn’t have been...that was quite the dress to have spoiled.”

  A flush of sudden embarrassment reddened my cheeks.

  That couldn’t have been...easy for you to buy. That’s what he was going to say.

  He was right, of course. But I didn’t want to hear him say it. I was mortified already that he’d sobered enough to realize why I’d left on the tags.

  “Nick,” I shook my head quickly, heading for the door, “you don’t have to—”

  “Please.” He caught my wrist, pulling me gently back. “Let me.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “That’s not the kind of relationship we have. That’s not what this—”

  “What?” he interrupted. “Working with me means that you have to budget in for collateral fountain damage?” He shook his head, pulling me farther into the store. “No. I broke it, now you have to let me fix it.”

  I started to shake my head again, but he cut me off.

  “And if you’re stuck on this whole ‘that’s not the relationship we have’ bullshit, then I can play along. The relationship we have is professional. You are therefore being professionally recompensed for damages accrued in a professional capacity. Hazards of the job.”

  My lips twitched up, and I tried not to smile. He saw through it at once.

  “Or, I could just tell the truth. Say that you’re one of my best friends, and I’m truly sorry for ruining your big night out, and I’m sorry for ruining your dress.” His head tilted down with a coaxing grin. “Since I have more money than Donald Trump, will you please let me pay for it?”

  Nick was used to getting what he wanted. And I was used to eventually caving in.

  But this time—I had to say that I was sincerely touched.

  One of my best friends.

  I never knew he felt that way.

  “Alright,” I agreed quietly, collecting my thoughts. The champagne wasn’t making it very easy. “But something the same price—not a penny more, okay?”

  He rolled his eyes, but agreed—steering me through the winding aisles like a train conductor who had been there many, many times before.

  Predictably, he went straight for the lingerie section, but I shook my head and tugged him over to the purses. The last thing I wanted Mitchell Hunter to see was a picture of his son buying me some lacy garter. Besides, as expensive as they were, the purses were probably some of the cheapest things in this store.

  “Really?” He slumped against the counter with obvious disappointment. “Bags?”

  “Not bags,” I corrected, “purses.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “A bag is something you use to haul around make-up and phones.”

  “...and a purse?”

  “A purse is something you use to carry make-up and phones. There’s refinement.” He chuckled softly as I picked one up to examine it, looking it over with a practiced eye. “This one might actually be big enough for my entire laptop...”

  “No—come on!” He stood up suddenly. “A work purse? That’s what you’re choosing?”

  I glanced up in surprise.

  “...yes? Why does that matter?”

  “Because it’s boring!”

  “It’s useful!” I shot back. “I’ll use it every day!”

  A timid-looking Ruby appeared from nowhere and ventured in between us.

  “More champagne?” she offered.

  We downed another two flutes and sent her on her way.

  “Fine,” Nick glared, “I’ll get the damn purse.”

  He snatched it out of my hands and stormed away. But he didn’t head back towards the front counter to pay. Instead, he started winding in a circuitous path around the entire store.

  “Damn it to hell—Nick!”

  I hurried after him, as fast as my borrowed heels could take me.

  He was in the shoe section now, looking over the rows of heels with the bored, yet practiced eye of a man who had grown up in high society.

  The second I rushed around the corner, he seized me up and down with the suddenly-not-bored, and practiced eye of a man who had slept with a great many women.

  “What are you? A six? Six and a half?”

  What the fuck kind of voodoo skill was that?!

  “Why does it matter?” I panted, breathless from the chase. “I already picked out the purse. It’s price equivalent. Let’s go.”

  He completely ignored me, focused on my feet. For a second, it looked like he was about to tear them off and just check for himself, then his face illuminated with a sudden realization.

  “Those are Gemma’s shoes. She was a size six.”

  All at once, the hunt was on. His eyes swept up and down the rows as he marched between them, dismissing each one of them at a glance. I rushed after him, confused as hell and starting to feel a little dizzy from the champagne.

  “Seriously Nick, what are you—”

  “Aha!”

  With a look of great triumph, he reached down and extracted a shimmering pair.

  I had truly never seen anything like them. You hear about gladiator sandals, but never gladiator stilettos. At least...not like this.

  The sides of them were inlaid with the same miniature crystals that had been sewn into my gown. But instead of glistening innocently in a pattern, they swooped up with a sudden streak of jagged light that I was sure would stretch all the way up my calf. They were kept in place by a series of silken straps, so thin, that all you could see were the gemstones. The heel itself was a weapon. A knife-like point so high, it might have brought Nick and me up to the same height.

  “What do you think?”
he asked eagerly.

  There was that doting look again. I’d seen it so many times. But why the fuck was he using it on me? Had it really been so long since Gemma? Or Anya? Or whoever came next?

  “I think...” I stepped forward, laying a hand on the display case to steady myself. Two glasses of champagne? Hadn’t I said the limit was one? My eyes widened as I saw the price. “I think they’re two thousand dollars!”

  Nick blinked. Not at all following. When I stayed incredulously quiet, he asked again.

  “Yeah—but about the shoes? What do you think about the shoes? Do you like them?”

  “Have you completely lost your mind?”

  He paused. Then smiled.

  “That’s a yes.”

  And just like that—he was off. Both the shoes and the purse draped over his arm.

  Come out with me, he said. I just want to apologize, he said.

  THE MAN HAD GONE ROGUE!

  “Nicholas!” I hissed, as he circled back to the lingerie.

  There were quiet snickers coming from the saleswomen gathered behind the desk. No doubt they thought we were having some sort of lover’s quarrel. The only thing that confused them was why I would be here in person. Nick usually shopped for his women alone. And his women certainly wouldn’t have put up a fuss about the things he was choosing.

  “How about this?”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, as he held up an ensemble so sparse and sexually inviting, that I literally glanced around for the hidden cameras. Surely this was a joke, right?

  “I’m sure Anya, or Claudia, or Sophia, or Olivia would all love it.” My cheeks flushed as the saleswomen giggled even louder. “Put it the fuck down, Nick.”

  But Nick was his father’s son, whether he liked it or not. He was born to take the things he wanted. He was born to do this at all costs.

  Rule number one: never admit guilt.

  “This?” He jiggled the hanger with a little smile. “This is not my fault.”

  “Oh really.” I crossed my arms over my chest. I couldn’t wait to hear how he tried to get out of this one. “And how do you figure?”

  His handsome face shone with self-righteousness.

  “You were the one who picked that terrible bag.”

  “Purse,” I corrected, rubbing my temples.