The Billionaire From Portland: A Sexy BWWM Billionaire Romance (United States Of Billionaires Book 10)

by Simply BWWM

  How would you like to check out the Oregon History Museum with me on Saturday? You’ve been in the state long enough that you should learn a bit about it here, don’t you think? If you don’t want to spend your non-work hours with your big, bad boss, I can enjoy it on my own--but I thought it might be fun for you. Let me know!

  He attached the email that he’d sent to the contact person at the museum, requesting what it would cost to reserve the museum for a private event in the morning on the weekend, or maybe after the museum was closed at 5 in the afternoon--if that would be easier on them.

  He clicked send and turned back to his actual work, telling himself not to worry about whether or not Jess had gotten the email. He would find out soon enough, and getting antsy about it was pointless. If she didn’t want to go, he reminded himself, the right thing to do would be to accept it gracefully. Then, he could figure out something else to do with the tentative reservation he was making--smooth things over with everyone involved.

  But the thought of spending a couple of hours with Jessica in the museum alone, wandering the exhibits and watching her take in the information, was definitely appealing; maybe they could go to lunch after, or dinner, and make a date of it, informal as it would be.

  He had just managed to successfully get the concern out of his head when his computer pinged, notifying him of a new email on his personal account. It was--as he’d hoped in the instant he’d heard the ping--a reply from Jess. That sounds awesome! Would you want me to set up lunch or dinner to go with it? Bradley smiled slowly to himself. Clearly, there was no problem, and he wouldn’t have to smooth anything over at all.

  I’ll set it up for myself, if you don’t mind, he replied. I’d like it to be a nice day for you, since it’s going to be during the weekend, so you can enjoy yourself. He considered the options around the museum and decided that he would make a reservation--if possible and necessary--once he got an answer about what time of day he could rent the place for a couple of hours. He hoped that it would be in the evening; that way, they could take their time, enjoy it without anyone pressuring them to get out so the museum could open, and then have a leisurely dinner.

  It occurred to Bradley to wonder whether or not there would be an expectation of sex from Jessica; thus far, all of their “sessions” had happened in his office, in more-or-less controlled settings, so it was a risk to be alone with her somewhere in a social situation that invited a certain level of intimacy.

  But Brad told himself--whether or not it was, strictly speaking, true--that he was not doing this to have after-hours sex with his assistant. It was just a social event, like their twice-weekly lunches. He wasn’t against sex happening, but he wasn’t going to look for it as an outcome.

  Bradley set the issue aside while he got down to the business of answering professional emails, and business needs in his company. He knew that Jessica would probably schedule them a tryst together in a few hours--close to the end of the day, when he didn’t have anyone coming to see him--and he would want to have as much work done as possible before then, so he wouldn’t be even slightly distracted by obligations while they had sex together. He wanted to be fully present, fully able to deal with whatever might come up--and the prospect of sex, on its own, was enough of a thrilling reward for him to want to get everything done to enjoy it.

  Chapter9

  Jessica walked towards the Oregon Historical Society building from the intersection of Madison and Park, feeling the tingle through her body of knowing that she was about to meet up with Bradley, knowing that they were going to be alone--and not in the office--for the next few hours. She’d agreed to meet him there, rather than having him pick her up, reasoning that it was less like a date that way, and instead of taking her car she’d gotten on the MAX, sparing herself the trouble of finding parking.

  She’d gone to a meeting earlier in the day, even though two months after arriving in Portland, Jessica was feeling less like it gave her much benefit. She’d been in touch with her counselors and support system back in Atlanta, but it seemed to Jessica as if the situation she found herself in put her more or less on her own.

  The sex with Bradley was satisfying her well enough that, for the moment at least, cravings weren’t an issue; she hadn’t made a worthwhile connection with any of the members of the women’s group or the few freestanding meetings she’d gone to at different locations around the city. Keevah, back home, had told her to be careful: she wasn’t far enough progressed in her recovery to be able to ditch any kind of support system, and she may never be.

  She’d told Keevah about her arrangement with Bradley, and her friend and counselor and honorary “sponsor” had been cautious about that too. “It sounds good, but you know how addiction can make us think something is good for us when really it’s bad,” she’d pointed out.

  Jessica had told the other woman about the way that Bradley had been handling their trysts, and Keevah had been--somewhat, at least--mollified to know that he was placing boundaries, insisting that she come up with boundaries, and humanizing their interactions when they had sex.

  It wasn’t just fulfilling the physical craving; it was doing something deeper, something more intense that Jessica couldn’t quite find words for. She couldn’t say that she wasn’t an addict anymore or that the cravings never happened, but she was less willing to jeopardize what she had at work than she would have been before things started with Brad, at least on the level of her mental state.

  She turned the corner and approached the building, smiling to herself. She thought--she wasn’t sure--that there might be a chance for a tryst at some point in the outing, but Jessica told herself not to get ahead of things. Anticipating a “fix” was something that she’d taught herself to watch out for. She needed to look at Bradley as a human being--not as a means to an end. She would enjoy the museum with him and then go to dinner, and if nothing happened afterwards, then she would still be fine.

  You don’t need sex, she reminded herself. It was, she had to acknowledge--even the addicted part of her--true. She wouldn’t die if she and Bradley didn’t have sex. She wouldn’t die if she didn’t talk some skeezy guy at a bar near her place to take her home. She would be just fine.

  Jessica walked up the steps to the entrance of the building, taking a moment to appreciate the clean-yet-weathered facade, the blue and gold of the overhang, the evergreen plantings surrounding the frontage. It was beautiful in the way that Oregon buildings tended to be: industrial the way the older constructions in the city were, with clean and imposing lines, softened by the decades like old sentinels, standing amidst the newer growth of the downtown area. The planters with pared-down trees didn’t quite give the same kind of savage, natural look that the less-urban areas of the city took on, but they gave a splash of some color, some life, to the masonry.

  Bradley stood at the entrance, waiting for her, dressed in an actual suit--casual, without a tie, in a designer print that wouldn’t look right in a boardroom--and holding a bouquet of daisies. Jessica smiled, feeling giddy and awkward and charmed all at once.

  “I went back and forth on the subject of whether or not to get you flowers,” Bradley told her when she got close. “I finally decided on these. I hope you like them.” Jessica chuckled, feeling her cheeks warm up.

  “I do,” she said, accepting them from him. “It does kind of make this feel like a date, though.”

  “It kind of is,” Bradley confirmed. “A friendly date.” Jessica raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment. She hadn’t had any intention of creating some kind of romantic relationship with her boss; that was an idea that had trouble written in bold, red print all over it.

  “So, you really reserved the whole place for two hours?” Bradley nodded, and Jessica glanced down at the daisies. Her boss--a man she probably, in all objective truth, should never have gotten physically involved with--was taking her on a friendly date to explore a museum after hours, uninterrupted, and then dinner afterwards. It had been so long since
she’d been on an actual date--even if it was a casual, friendly one--that she wasn’t really sure how to act. She took a deep breath.

  “If this is too much for you, I can pretend I didn’t get you flowers and that they’re for me,” Bradley said, and Jessica laughed.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. “I’m just...I guess I’m just overwhelmed a bit. And worried about how this might change things between us.” Bradley’s playful expression shifted into something more serious.

  “I like you,” he said. “There doesn’t have to be anything complicated between us--no romance or anything. But I like you as a person and as my assistant. I wanted to show you a good time in the city this weekend, show you there’s more to Portland than rain, pretentious gastropubs, and a job opportunity.” Jessica smiled again, some of the tension in her belly beginning to ease.

  “Let’s just go in,” she suggested. Bradley nodded, and while Jessica half-expected him to reach for her hand, instead he moved to open the door for her, and she held her daisies so that she wouldn’t damage the stems as she entered the building, looking around her.

  Once they were in the museum together, it was a lot easier for Jessica to forget her reservations about the situation; they moved about the exhibits, the permanent ones showing the history of the state and the people who’d founded it, as well as the temporary ones, including some bird photography and pictures from the civil rights era in Oregon, along with informational displays, and Jessica found herself pulled into the fascinating information.

  “You know, I guess it never really occurred to me to wonder about what Oregon was doing all those years between ‘Oregon Trail’ and now,” she mused, and Bradley chuckled.

  “Most people who aren’t from here don’t really think about it much, I would guess,” he pointed out.

  “And yet here you are, showing it to me,” Jessica countered. Bradley laughed a little louder.

  “I guess I’m a bit of a nerd,” Bradley said musingly as they moved to one of the temporary exhibits, closer to the exit. “If this sort of thing isn’t your deal…”

  “No--no, I’m glad I checked it out,” Jessica said. “I don’t normally go to museums of any kind on my own, and if you hadn’t invited me, I might not have ended up coming at all.” She lingered at the entrance to the little alcove where the exhibit--chronicling the development of the beer industry in Oregon--and considered, yet again, what to think about the way Bradley was treating her. Was it important that this was a date? Was Bradley expecting sex? Was it good or bad if he was--or if he wasn’t? Jessica took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts out of her head, turning her attention to the exhibit once more.

  “Is it actually weird for you to be seeing me outside of work like this?” Jessica thought about Bradley’s question for a moment as they moved to the door. They’d had enough time--since the place was more or less deserted--to take everything in, to really enjoy things and talk about what they were learning, though she wasn’t sure how much of it she would retain. Oregon did--Jessica thought--have fascinating history to it. Was it weird? It had felt awkward at first, Jessica acknowledged to herself, but did that mean that it was weird?

  “I think I just don’t know what to expect,” she said finally, as they left the museum together. “Like, whether this is something romantic or not, and whether I should be worried for how this would impact work.” Bradley nodded slowly.

  “We’ve got reservations at Higgins--just around the corner, here,” he told her. “As to what to expect: I really just wanted to do something nice with you, outside of work. Go somewhere that we could hopefully both enjoy, and then go to dinner.” Jessica looked at him a little uncertainly.

  “Is sex completely off the table?”

  Bradley smiled slowly. I haven’t been expecting it, but I’m not against the idea,” he said playfully. “I want to make sure that you don’t feel like I’m just using you for sex.” Jessica shook her head, rejecting that notion.

  “No, I definitely don’t feel like you’re just using me for sex,” she said. She returned his playful smile. “I’m also a damned good PA.” Bradley chuckled, and his hand moved to the small of her back, directing her gently in the direction that he wanted to lead her.

  Higgins had a nondescript exterior, with a simply-painted sign proclaiming the restaurant’s name and a mustard-yellow stucco finish; Jessica wasn’t sure she would have been able to identify it in a lineup, coming at it from any other direction. The inside gave a better indication of the price range of the restaurant and bar: dark wood paneling and chairs, clean white tablecloths, equally pristine place settings.

  They sat down, and Jessica tried to ignore the little trickle of heat she could feel already starting to build up between her hips from the knowledge that there was a possibility of sex between them after dinner. It would--if she let it--distract her throughout the meal, and Higgins was definitely a beautiful enough place, with delicious enough smells, that Jessica didn’t want to spend the whole time she was there thinking about what it would be like when she could finally feel Bradley inside of her.

  She looked over the menu, and her suspicions about the caliber of the restaurant were confirmed: the least expensive starter, the soup of the day, was $8--and most of the starters were over $15. It wasn’t an incredibly expensive place, but it wasn’t cheap either. Jessica focused in on what the menu options were, only occasionally responding to Bradley as he made small talk. He would know--after the time they’d already spent together--that she wasn’t being insulting or ignoring him, just that she was trying to make up her mind.

  By the time the waitress came to take their order, Jessica had managed to get her mind more or less in order. “I think we should probably--quickly, for the sake of Sarah here--figure out if we want a starter, and if we shouldn’t get a wine to go with that,” Bradley suggested.

  “Did you have something in mind?”

  Bradley shrugged. “The cured meat platter has always been good, when I’ve been here.”

  “That sounds good to me, too,” Jessica agreed. She’d glanced at the starters without really paying much attention to them, but she had never encountered a cured meats platter that was truly bad.

  “I think we’ll have a bottle of the Tattinger with that,” Bradley told the woman taking care of their table.

  “I’d like the crab and shrimp cakes,” Jessica said, “and a glass of water to go with the champagne.” The waitress nodded, scribbling down the notes.

  “And I’ll have the magret and confit of duck,” Bradley added, handing back his menu at the same time that Jessica extended hers.

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve actually seen the inside of your house,” Jessica mused. While her work as Bradley’s personal assistant had made her privy to the majority of details of his life, she hadn’t been to his home as of yet; she’d picked up his dry cleaning, had scheduled and accepted deliveries, had even called repairmen and other techs to her boss’ home--but always for when he would be home, or in the case of deliveries, had them sent to the office for Bradley to keep there or take home on his own.

  “Well, you know I managed to score a place at The John Ross,” Bradley told her, and Jessica nodded. While she hadn’t been in the city long enough to really have an appreciation for property values or real estate, she had definitely recognized the importance of the fact that Bradley’s apartment--his condo--was in the South Waterfront neighborhood, according to a quick Google search she’d made once she had learned his address. Places near the water always cost more, and it was possibly one of the most expensive places that Bradley could have chosen to live while staying in the city proper.

  “You know, I wondered about that,” Jessica said. “With the kind of money you have, you don’t have to live in the city; you could be out in one of those giant mansions on the outskirts of the city.” Bradley shrugged.

  “I like being fairly close to the office,” he explained. “And of course, the waterfront is a good place to be from the per
spective of having lots of things to do--and the view is amazing.” He paused for a moment and then shrugged again. “Then too, I’ve never been much of a person for accumulating a lot of stuff, and having a huge house would just be an invitation to buy a ton of things to fill it with.”

  “Do you ever plan on having kids?” It wasn’t the kind of question that one was supposed to ask their boss--but then, Jessica thought, it also was not, strictly speaking, normal to have sex daily with one’s boss.

  “Maybe,” Bradley replied. “I haven’t really given it much thought, since I sort of gave up on dating.”

  “Well I guess that it’s probably a moot point until you do,” Jessica observed. “Date, I mean. I guess it probably doesn’t matter much where you live, if there’s enough space...if there’s not really anyone to make space for.”

  “You live out in St. Johns, right?” Jessica nodded. “I almost moved out that way--it’s one of the last sort of areas where you’re close to the city proper but it’s still quiet.”

  “I like the place I got,” Jessica told him. “It’s...it’s cozy, but in a different way from the nicer apartments you can get in Atlanta.”

  “Most of the places out that way are converted farmhouses, I think,” Bradley said, making it not quite a question. Jessica nodded to confirm. “Or if not farmhouses specifically, they’re sort of older-model split levels and 50’s era buildings, stuff like that.”

  “There are some places like that out in Milwaukie, too,” Jessica said. “I was looking there when I was moving, but it seemed like a kind of long commute--longer than I wanted, anyway.”

  “At least the MAX gets out that far,” Bradley said with a grin. Their champagne arrived then, and Bradley did the honors of opening the bottle, pouring for Jessica first.