The Billionaires: The Bosses

by Calista Fox

  “Like that,” he groaned. “Just like that.”

  She sucked him hard.

  His body jerked. “Christ!” The orgasm built, fast and furious.

  While she held him with one hand and continued to suckle, her other hand shifted to his balls. She cupped them. Rolled them gently. Tugged a little.

  “Bayli,” he said again, knowing this woman was going to be his undoing. To the depths of his soul. “Make me come. Suck me harder and make me come.”

  She feverishly did as he bade. Christian’s gut clenched; his groin blazed. His cock throbbed in wild beats, keeping time with his hammering heart and pulse.

  Instinctively, he placed a hand at the back of her head, keeping her in place as her mouth widened and his hips lifted so that he fucked her mouth. Her fingers worked their magic on his sac until every fiber of his being pulled taut and his breath caught.

  She drew him even deeper into her mouth and Christian lost it.

  “Yes!” he all but growled. “Fuck, yes. Take it all. Swallow me down.”

  She didn’t let up. A heartbeat later he exploded in her mouth.

  She kept perfect pace with him. Sucking him dry. Leaving him convulsing and groaning …

  And wanting so much more from her.

  SIX

  Bayli stirred when a crimp in her neck pinched too tight. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know she was huddled against the mound of pillows that lined the wall separating her apartment from the guys’ next door. Nor did she need to crack an eye open to know she was alone.

  She felt the void instantly. A frigid air that had nothing to do with the actual external climate and everything to do with an inner sense of loss. She flopped onto her other side and stared at the vacant space before her. This set of pillows still held the indentation of Christian Davila’s head. The sheets were tossed back and rumpled. His enticing scent still lingered.

  But none of this chased away the chill in her bones.

  Because Christian was gone.

  Hugging the bedding to her bare chest, she sat up and shoved a hand through her disheveled hair, pushing the strands off her forehead and cheeks and sweeping the mass over one shoulder.

  It wasn’t a huge deal that he’d slipped out while she slept, right? In the land of one-night stands, this was pretty much on-par with devastating dating folklore.

  So it probably wasn’t even wrong that he’d spouted all sorts of fairy-tale lines about how he and Rory St. James were going to change her life. Make all her dreams come true. How they were going to hire her to host a travel/cooking/discovery/whatever show and she was going to be a superstar and would never, ever have to stress out about paying all the bills that flooded her mailbox, because Bayli had filled out credit and financial applications in her own name in an attempt to get her mother the best care possible above and beyond government programs and whatever Disability inadequately covered.

  Bayli had never even appealed to her father for aid, because that would mean facing a man who had split as soon as he’d learned of her impending entrance into the world. A man who’d decided long before he’d even met his daughter that she wasn’t worth his time, love, or help.

  Emotion roiled through her, but Bayli knew she couldn’t afford to give in to it. She’d been going it on her own for so damn long that she’d really been foolish to believe last night that Christian Davila had designed a relaunch of his failed cooking show based around her.

  Yeah.

  Right.

  And there’s oceanfront property for sale in fucking Arizona.

  She sighed and threw off the covers.

  Bayli blamed herself for the sting of naïveté. She’d had a reasonable mental conversation with herself when Christian had offered her a ride and a drink at his apartment. That inner voice had told her sleeping with him was a bad idea because she was vying for a job at his restaurant.

  And what had she done, despite laying down her own law?

  “Idiot,” she said with a shake of her head.

  What had she expected in the grand scheme of things? That he would somehow see beyond her lapse in moral values and find it endearing that she’d fucked him and gone down on him within hours of meeting him? So that he would hire her in a professional capacity?

  Not unless it involves the word porn.

  Bayli let out a small shriek. Would have pulled the covers over her head if they weren’t strewn everywhere.

  Jesus Christ!

  She’d just proven that she would go to any lengths in order to get what she wanted!

  Who the hell had she become—so damn fast and all over two devilishly handsome men?

  Fallen angel to the extreme!

  “Well, you’re not exactly a whore,” she mumbled. Because there’d been no money left on the bedside table.

  Then again … there was no bedside table.

  “Urg!” She buried her face in her hands as shame rushed through her.

  Why’d I have to do it?

  Why’d I have to do him?

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  As the thought festered in her head, the bathroom door swung open. Bayli jumped, her heart thudding heavily against her ribs.

  “Morning,” said a fully clothed Christian Davila. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” He crossed the studio in a few long strides and rested a knee on the edge of the bed. He kissed the tip of her nose and grinned. “I borrowed your mouthwash and a hairbrush. Not sure I used the right one. You really need four different types? I’m talking about the hairbrush, not the mouthwash.” He winked.

  “Depends on the style,” she absently said as she took him in, all fresh and minty smelling and with dark stubble lining his prominent jaw. He was damn sexy.

  Excitement shot through her, making her forget about the tramp she’d been the night before.

  “So, I have a ten a.m. brunch,” he explained. “But you go back to sleep. It’s only a quarter to seven.”

  “I thought you’d left already.”

  “Not a chance.” His gaze slid over her naked body. “And believe me, I’d crawl right back into bed with you, except that I have some business to attend to. Then I need to stop into the restaurant to speak with Rory. What’s on your agenda today?”

  “I have a four-hour shift at the library, starting at eleven.”

  “Such a beautiful bookworm.” He kissed her. One of his searing lip-locks that made her practically melt into the mattress.

  When he pulled away, she was breathless.

  He said, “Have a fantastic day. And don’t forget to lock the door behind me.”

  “Are you kidding?” she quietly quipped. “I’ve pretty much forgotten my own name at this point.”

  Christian chuckled. “That’s flattering. Now why don’t you cover up all that gorgeousness of yours so I can find the willpower to get on with my day? Before I say to hell with it all and call a courier service to deliver a couple boxes of condoms to us.”

  “There’s someone who will actually deliver condoms on a Sunday morning?”

  “Sounds a little sacrilegious, sure. But this is New York.” He kissed her again, then shifted off the bed. “My driver’s waiting downstairs. I’ve gotta get a move on.”

  “Of course. No worries. Go be productive. And I shall immerse myself in the beauty of the written word.”

  “God, I adore that about you.” He swooped in to steal yet another kiss, catching Bayli by surprise. “Sexy and smart. Trust me, audiences are going to love you. Fuck.” He whistled under his breath before whirling around and heading toward the door with a purposeful gait. “Rory and I need to hash out this new platform immediately. I want you in front of a test audience as soon as possible. I’ll contact your agent first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m with the—”

  “Polenski Agency.” He tossed her a sly look over his shoulder. “That was what my business with Jackson Rutherford was last night when I was still at the party while everyone else was departing. I already knew I
had to see you again. Yet there you were, waiting for your driver—and perfect timing for me.”

  She sighed. “Christian, I wasn’t waiting for a driver. I was waiting for a cab. Plain and simple. Nothing fancy, not even an executive town car.”

  He pulled up short of the door and turned back to her. “Bayli. Sweetheart. That doesn’t matter. Whether you were waiting for a cab or a helicopter, it doesn’t change the fact that you are sensational. And soon the whole goddamn world is going to see what I see when they look at you. Because they actually will get a chance to look at you. No more hiding out in the stacks at the library. You’re going to be a celebrity. I’m going to make sure of it.”

  His brows wagged enthusiastically, making her giggle. Then he ducked out the door. Bayli stared at the empty space where he’d just stood, finding it next to impossible to believe that not only had Christian Davila spent the night in her apartment, but he also was bound and determined to give her the big break she was desperate for.

  She felt guilty for having doubted him. But nothing ever came easily for Bayli.

  It took a good five minutes of trying to school her breathing and slow the quivering of her body before she slipped from the bed and locked up. Then she returned to the warmth and comfort of her thick bedcovers, pulling them up to her ears. She couldn’t contain her ridiculous smile, so she didn’t even try.

  It was a long shot to hang her hopes and dreams on something of this nature. Not just the TV show that could flop, like their first iteration evidently had. This time, however, it could very well be Bayli’s fault if the program didn’t make the grade. But beyond that, there was the crystal-clear reality that she’d just slept with a man who’d be her boss.

  Bayli would have to accept the fact that she’d been seduced by the casting director. Willingly seduced.

  Like her crummy apartment, she wouldn’t be sharing that tidbit with social media or in Vanity Fair.

  But Bayli would always know it.

  So would her guardian angel, her mother.

  Bayli inhaled deeply. Gave herself another mental pep talk.

  It’s the twenty-first century, Bay. In this day and age, I’m sure it’s perfectly acceptable to fuck your boss.

  Right?

  Bayli sighed. How the hell would she know?

  She closed her eyes and tried hard not to fantasize about working so closely with both Christian and Rory. Tried not to conjure delusions of what this project might actually be like. Again, she was wary of getting her hopes up. But it was damn difficult not to build the fairy tale in her mind.

  Luckily, she was still a bit exhausted from the night before and all the unexpected twists and turns. And was out minutes later.

  * * *

  The main-door buzzer woke Bayli around nine. She grumbled as she scooped up her discarded clothes and quickly dressed. Then pressed the button on the intercom, suspecting it was a wrong number.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Breakfast delivery for Miss Styles.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t order breakfast.” She couldn’t afford a delivery fee and a tip! She always grabbed a bagel at the shop on the corner if she was out of them in her own kitchen.

  “Compliments of Mr. Davila. May I bring it up?”

  Bayli was taken aback. She hadn’t anticipated this. But who was she to turn down breakfast from Christian? “Sure.” She buzzed in the deliveryman.

  Except that when she opened her door for him, it wasn’t a mere deliveryman standing before her. It was a fully uniformed Davila’s NYC waiter. He swept in with a flourish, the way Pierre LaVallier would have done, and went straight to her tiny counter space, where he set down the box he’d carried in his arms. Then he began unpacking stuff. A lot of stuff.

  His head inclined to the round glass table that sat two in the far corner of her studio. “Would you like it over there?”

  “Sure.” This said a bit more tentatively.

  “I’m Denny, by the way.”

  “Bayli.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” He crossed to her table and briefly removed the vase of faux flowers. He snapped open a crisp wrinkle-free full-length white tablecloth and covered the glass top with it. Then he returned the vase to its proper place.

  Next, Denny prepped hot tea and coffee service with individual-sized pots and accompaniments. He carefully placed a china cup on a saucer, then set the table for one, complete with gleaming flatware and a linen napkin. The food had been stored in warmers and he arranged each dish on a serving platter and indicated the offerings as he laid them out in the remaining space at her table.

  “Eggs Benedict with Chef’s special hollandaise sauce; steak and eggs with breakfast potatoes; and egg-white frittata with spinach, mushrooms, heirloom tomatoes, and a side of asparagus spears.” He added slices of toast and little jars of jams and jelly. Then asked, “May I pour coffee or tea for you? I have a box of popular selections for the tea … honey and lemon as well.”

  A bit mind-blown, Bayli barely eked out, “Coffee is fine, thanks,” before Denny was pouring for her.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “I take it black.”

  “Very good.” He added utensils to the platters. “I’m happy to serve you. What would you like to start with?”

  “Oh, um…” Awkward! She shook her head and told him, “That’s not necessary. I can manage on my own. Can someone just come back later to pick everything up?” She eyed him with hope that he’d be perfectly happy leaving her to her own devices.

  He hedged a moment. Then said, “Chef St. James would like me to serve you.”

  “Oh, well … I don’t really need you to serve me, so … you can just tell him whatever you need to in order to keep him from yelling at you and I’ll serve myself. Sound okay with you?”

  Denny grinned. “He does seem to enjoy doing that. But I guess what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right? I mean, it’s probably a bit uncomfortable having a stranger in your apartment, breathing down your neck while you eat.”

  “That is true. And I’d be eternally grateful.”

  “Fine. I have your number. I’ll check back with you. Just don’t feel obligated to clean anything. Of course we’ll take care of that at the restaurant.”

  “Wonderful. And please thank Mr. Davila and Chef St. James for me. And—oh!” She rushed over to the armoire where she’d stashed her handbag the previous night and whipped out some of the cash for the cab that had never come for her. She thrust a twenty at the server for his effort and his discretion.

  He only grinned at her. “Thank you, really. But Mr. Davila already took care of my tip.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to tell him or anything,” she said, still offering Denny the money.

  “I appreciate it, Miss Styles. I’m covered, though. Mr. Davila tends to be a little over-the-top. Not that I’m complaining.” He chuckled amiably.

  Bayli’s stomach fluttered. “Yes, I agree.” Her gaze slid to her small table, every inch of it covered. “Apparently, Chef St. James shares his philosophy.”

  “Indeed.” Another friendly laugh. “He can be prickly, I won’t lie. But I respect how hard he works, how serious he is about running his kitchen. I’m hoping to someday graduate to prep cook.” He clapped his hands together—and possibly his impeccably polished heels, too—and said, “Now. Enjoy this meal before it gets cold. I’ll check in with you later.”

  Bayli smiled. “You can be assured I’ll give you a favorable evaluation.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I’ll see myself out.”

  Bayli was glad she hadn’t taken a sip of coffee at that moment, or she would have spewed it over his formality. And the fact that “seeing himself out” required all of three seconds of Denny’s time.

  She locked the door behind him and then settled into a comfy spa-blue chair at the table. Draped her napkin in her lap. Eyed the food that all looked sinfully delicious—and which filled her apartment with a rich aroma she was certain had neve
r permeated this space before, not in its gazillion years of existence.

  In fact, Bayli simply pulled in long breaths for a few minutes, savoring the scent and the vision sprawled over the white linen cloth. She wasn’t one to indulge in this nature. For one thing, she needed to fit into her clothes and not be ten pounds heavier than what her stats claimed she weighed. Two, she couldn’t afford to eat like this, financially, even if she wasn’t in need of constantly keeping an eye on the scale.

  Yet this was one hell of a treat. Knowing Christian had arranged breakfast for her upped the ante on devouring everything in sight. But what really encouraged her to dig in was that Rory St. James had prepared this feast for her. And he’d done an astounding job. Her first taste of the eggs Benedict had her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Then she sliced through tender medium-rare beef that melted like butter on her tongue. Even the uber-healthy frittata was divine, the asparagus spears lightly sautéed so they remained crisp.

  While Bayli sipped her coffee and contemplated her next round of sampling, her phone rang. She squealed in delight as she connected the videoconference call with Jewel and Scarlet.

  “You guys are not going to believe this!”

  Bayli panned the phone over the tabletop so the camera caught every tiny bit of her breakfast service.

  Then she turned the phone toward herself and said, “Look at this spread! I am in culinary heaven right this very moment!”

  “What the hell, Bay?” Scarlet asked with a laugh. “I’ve never seen that much food in front of you. Like, ever.”

  “I know, right?” She beamed. “Christian and Rory had it sent over from their restaurant. Sent over. With my own personal waiter, by the way. Whom I had to kick out, because that’s just plain creepy to have someone hovering when you’re still in your jammies. I’m just sayin’.”