Romance: The Boss (17 page)

Clint swings me instantly onto the dance floor, locking my waist firmly in his hands. I have no choice but to drape my own around his neck as the two of us sway softly along, like we are lovers enjoying a night out together.

I decide not to hold back any longer—I’m determined to know what it is he needs so desperately to say to me.

“So, I’m waiting,” I state openly, looking him right in the eye.

“Whatever do you mean?” he simpers, his glazed cerulean eyes all-consuming. I already feel a part of me bending to his will, wanting to kiss those exemplary lips that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since Thanksgiving.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask firmly, not giving him any hint as to what I’m really thinking about.

“Doing what?”

“This! Bringing me here to dance.”

“Well,” he begins, an excruciatingly slow smile adorning his lips. “Because I’m an incredible dancer and it would be a waste to not show all these people my extraordinary talent.”

More wit, really? That’s how he wants to do this? He’s not taking me seriously at all.

For a thirty-two-year-old, he sure doesn’t act like it.

“Okay, I’m out of here,” I whip at him, but when I try to break away he doesn’t let me, his grip only tightening in the struggle.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, Lauren. The song isn’t over yet.”

It comes out like a stern order, not a sliver of wit left in his pitch.

“I don’t care about the free drinks. Just let me go.” I try to pull away again but he keeps on talking.

“You know it wasn’t that long ago when we were in this exact same position. The Starling Bright Foundation’s benefit, remember? It was the first time we danced together.”

How could I forget?

That was the night where things had begun to change between us, when we were pirouetting along a very fine line between work and pleasure.

Not to mention the photo of us taken that night that had the whole of New York in a buzz.

“Don’t remind me,” I jeer, letting my stubbornness overrule my heart.

But Clint doesn’t seem to hear me.

“Then you slipped on that last stair and I stepped in gallantly, catching you before you hit that hard floor in front of all those people. What a gentleman!”

“Why are you bringing that up?” I ask, shaking my head in sheer bemusement. “What is the point of all this, Clint?”

“The point is,” he states, his voice now stricter, “that I have feelings for you, Lauren. We’ve shared a myriad of moments this past year and what happened over Thanksgiving was the peak of them. You know as well as I do that in those moments, everything else had fallen away so that all was left was just the two of us.”

In any other context what he’s said would be romantic, poetic even, and just what any girl would want to hear.

But where were those words last week when we’d be having this same discussion in his office?

How can I trust him now?

How do I know that he means it?

I caught him with Elsa. Has he forgotten about that part?

“That’s all they were, Clint: moments. Yes, they were intense, but they were also fleeting,” I tell him indifferently. “And after they were over, you just went back to being that self-indulgent hedge fund billionaire with an ego almost the size of New York itself.” I want to say more, but I think what I’ve said is punishing enough. “Look, I’m here with people. You can’t just step in and ruin my night like this.”

He grunts uncouthly, shifting his feet. “People? You mean Adam?”

“No. He’s just a friend.”

It’s a half-truth. He doesn’t need to know that Adam and I kissed, or that coming to this bar tonight was for another double date.

“Does he know that? Because he clearly wants you,” Clint pauses, looking at me like I’ve hurt him again. “Did you sleep with him?”

The question comes out blunter and more malicious than anything else he’s ever said to me.

“That’s none of your business,” I snap at him, risking the fact that it might only infuriate him more.

“So that’s a yes?”

“No. And even if I did, you’re my boss! You have no right to ask me about my personal life!”

“Yes, I’m your boss,” he whispers bitterly, imitating a smile at the couple beside us who are clearly earwigging. “But you’re more than just a paycheck to me, Lauren. I can’t get you out of my fucking head!”

He looks down momentarily.

I can tell he’s torn up; I’m just finding it hard to believe that it could be over me.

Does he really care this much?

He could have anyone he wanted.

Why is he so fixed on me?

Is it because I’m more unattainable?

Is it because I’m his employee?

What is it about me that he likes so much?

“Why don’t you just come over for Christmas?” he then says earnestly, like he’s just made the switch from Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll. “My family’s here and Mom is going all out on the cooking this year. I know she’d love it if you came.”

“Clint,” I sigh, unwrapping my arms from around his neck. I hadn’t even realized I still had them there. “I’m flying back to Colorado tomorrow night for the holidays. Besides, this is crazy. I’m your PA and you have a girlfriend, remember? Elsa.”

“Elsa’s not my girlfriend,” he says emphatically, leaning in closer. “That day in the office wasn’t what it looked like. The only reason why she was there in the first place was because I cancelled another lunch with her and she wanted to know why. So I told her.”

“Told her what?”

“That I was…” he stops, struggling to get the words out.

“What?”

“That I was…in love with someone else,” he finally exhales, looking at me like a defeated hero.

I turn away and try to remain calm.

He said it again, the L word…

“So you and Elsa were together?” I ask, stepping out of his grasp.

“No, we were just…”

“Sleeping together?”

“Yes, but not since I met you.” He takes a long pause. “Not since that night outside the hotel. And then later in the bar.”

What?!

He’s about to pull me back to him but I edge farther away.

“So you do remember?!” I practically shout, suddenly not giving one flying iota about who can hear us.

“Of course I remember,” he answers faintly, like he’s ashamed that he hasn’t said it sooner.

Good.

He should be ashamed, and so should I for that matter.

Talk about a conversation long overdue.

“But—but why didn’t you tell me?” I cry, anguish flooding through me.

All that time of not saying anything to each other. All that time that I’ve spent trying to figure out whether or not he remembers me. And he has all along.

We could’ve saved ourselves so much bullshit.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want it to change anything between us,” he says carefully, his eyes pleading with me. “I was hoping everything would just come out in time.”

“But it did change things between us, Clint. It influenced everything that has happened this past year.”

And then it dawns on me, the reason why I got the job in the first place. Why hadn’t I realized it sooner?

“That’s why you gave me the job, isn’t it? You knew who I was as soon as I walked in for that interview.”

He lowers his head, another clear sign that he’s guilty.

“Yes,” he says point-blank.

“And what? You thought it’d be fun to play around with your PA while no one was watching? Was that your plan?” I’m practically steaming at him. I can’t believe what he’s done, hiring me under false pretenses like that.

I can hear Brooke in full reprise: What a wolf!

“No, of course that wasn’t my plan,” he answers defensively. “Look, I want you to know that I hated myself that night for leaving the way I did. I even went back to your apartment a week later, but by then I figured you probably thought I was a jerk and so I just couldn’t bring myself to ring that damn doorbell.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

Not only does he remember me, but he also went back to my apartment?

I wish he had rung that doorbell. Then everything would be different and far less byzantine.

I draw in a lungful of air and then decide I need more of a breather.

“I have to go,” I utter quietly, the warm tears already blurring my vision.

“Lauren, please don’t,” he begs, and for the first time I truly believe him.

But I need to go.

I need to think.

“The song’s over, Clint,” I whimper, starting to choke up. “You got your dance.”

He tries to grab my arm again but I manage to move it just in time, making a beeline for the edge of the room.

I don’t stop until I’ve made it out and am standing in the beer garden of Rapid, the cold air knapping at my face.

I can’t believe Clint has done this to me again, slung all this on me without even considering what I might be feeling.

That flight to Colorado couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Thirteen

It’s exactly one hour and forty-five minutes before the bright lights of New York City will be drifting below me, the yellow blinks getting further and further away.

Brooke left not that long ago; she doesn’t like goodbyes.

Even though it’s only for a few weeks, there’s every chance she’ll be at some resort in Canada with Matt and his family when I get back, skiing her away contentedly through the rest of winter.

I told her she should come back to Colorado and see her parents instead. But Brooke is as stubborn as they come, and now that she and Matt are getting serious, I don’t think Colorado will be on her radar for at least another year.

If only she understood how precious your parents are.

But then again, sometimes the only way you ever find that out is when you lose one of them.

As I wheel my suitcase toward the door, a part of me feels empty and lifeless.

Clint hasn’t called or messaged since I saw him last night—I think he’s finally given up on me this time.

After lying in bed until the early hours of the morning, replaying it all over in my head, I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t blame him.

All I had to do was forgive him and accept everything that he’d said.

But I was too stubborn and proud.

There he was, practically pouring his heart out on the dance floor and what did I do?

Like I always do when things get too intense: I walked away.

I push it all aside to deal with another day yet when that day comes, I put it all off again.

And where has it gotten me?

Nowhere.

I’m miserable and lonely and desperately want to see Clint so badly that it hurts.

It’s like a blade straight through my heart.

I miss him, and now it’s too late.

I take a few deep breaths and try to compose myself. I’ve quit my mantras; they work for one week but are then hopeless the next, and they sound really stupid when I speak them out loud.

I’ve decided that breathing techniques are the surer bet and before I know it, I’ve proved myself right: a period of calm is lapping over me like a wave gently breaking and seething across the sand…

Bang! Bang! Bang!

There goes that tranquility.

Argh, I can’t believe Brooke!

She forgot her keys to the apartment again?

That’s the third time this week she’s had to thump on the front door for me to let her in. And just when I was ready to walk out with my head held up high—slightly elevated, anyway.

“Brooke! I don’t see why you don’t just put your keys in your purse like—” I begin to say, swinging open the door, only to find that it’s not Brooke standing there.

Chapter Fourteen

“Hey,” he pants, partially out of breath. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.”

“Clint,” I whisper, almost speechless. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” he states resolutely, like I should’ve already presumed he would be here. “I’ve told you twice now. I love you, Lauren, and I’m not letting you get away that easily.”

“I—”

But Clint doesn’t let me finish.

He scoops me up in his arms ardently, slamming the door behind him with the kick of his heel before he pushes me up against the nearest wall.

He crushes his mouth onto mine, fire and heat pouring into me, searing through me like rivets of electricity.

I start to lose my mind, giving it up willingly, finally admitting to myself that this is what I truly wanted.

This is what I’ve been craving for these last six months.

This is what I’ve been yearning for since that first night he ever touched me.

I pull off his coat and let it fall to the floor, my fingers then ripping at his shirt, its buttons popping beneath my touch. As I reach up on my tiptoes to meet him halfway, I feel the blood pounding in my veins. I want him to devour me whole, an unreserved passionate fire meeting his incredibly.

His tongue plunges between my lips, tasting me and finding my own to twine around his, while his hands drive into my long, thick, dark hair and grab it in handfuls.

My entire body feels like it’s melting into his.

He drives me harder against the wall, like he needs my limber body against his, my breasts pressing into his chest as he wedges a thigh between mine.

The need to touch and be touched nearly overwhelms me, a hunger surging inside me like a demand.

And I need more.

The touch of his warm hands on my bare skin sends another burst of heat straight to my sweet place, making it ache when he draws my blouse up just enough to slide his hands beneath it.

Before I know it, both blouse and bra have been tossed away and he’s closing his hands around my waist, seeking out the curve of it and the arch of my ribs. I have never experienced such delicious torment.

I spread my hands across the muscles of his chest, quivering when he unbuttons my jeans and slowly slips them down, removing my G-string promptly with his teeth.

His mouth hovers over my cunt, smelling me before he engulfs it, sucking on my clit tenderly while his hands knead at my buttocks hungrily.

I can already feel myself getting close, shuddering when his tongue changes direction, finally hits the precious spot, and stays there, the orgasm exploding as I run my hands through his hair in a frenzy.

When I finally stop moaning, Clint stands and hitches my leg up to his waist.

“I can’t wait any longer. I need to have you, Lauren. I’ve waited so long to be inside you again.”

“I want you too,” I whisper, undoing his belt feverishly and releasing his thick erect cock into my hands. I stroke it slowly, delicately, loving the way it’s making him squirm, until he takes my hands away and pins them high above my head.

I’m helpless to stop him having his way with me now.

I cry out in joy when he thrusts himself inside, pleasure and pain becoming indeterminable as my back scrapes against the wall.

“Yes!”

Clint keeps a hold of my leg as he plunges deeper, both of us carping loudly at how amazing it feels.

Six months of waiting.

Six months of sexual tension.

Six months of being near each other constantly and now, finally, we have accepted our fate and are fucking our way into each other’s souls.

As we vehemently kiss again, I know that all of it had been inevitable, that everything that has happened between Clint and me has been leading to this very moment.

I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and for the first time in my entire life, I think that he’s the one.

Clint Townsend is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

“You’re so beautiful, Lauren,” he gasps. “Just seeing the look on your face and how much you’re enjoying me being inside of you is driving me crazy. I’m too close. I can’t help it—I’m going to cum.”

“It’s okay, I am too,” I tell him, and then we’re both suddenly shuddering in each other’s arms.

Clint slams me one more time against the wall, the warm pulse of him blowing inside me as I let my orgasm flow out too, cumming together in one long, mind-blowing exhalation.

When the feeling finally begins to peter off, we laugh and fall to the floor, breathless.

“Well, that was certainly worth the wait,” Clint quips, still fighting for air and kissing my knee.

“You’re telling me,” I croon, fluttering my eyelashes at him like I’m ready for round two. “I think I could make love all night at this rate.”

“Damn, woman! Give me a breather first, will you,” he grins and folds his hand in mine. “Wait, I almost forgot I have a Christmas present for you.”

He rises and helps me up, our hands still entwined as he picks up his coat off the floor and takes out a white envelope.

“What’s this?” I muse, taking it from his outstretched hand.

“Why don’t you open it up and find out?”

I smile coquettishly and tear it open. “A postcard?” I ask, somewhat dumbfounded. “Of…Venice? I’m not sure I understand.”

He winks. “Turn it over.”

I do as he says and read out what’s scribbled on the other side:

Dear Lauren, will you have dinner with me?

I shake my head at him, still confused. “Of course I’ll go to dinner with you, but I still don’t get the Venice connection.”

“Do you remember what you told me the first night we met? About sitting by the canal in Venice, a glass of wine in your hand, looking out at the sunset?”

“Yes…” I utter, the picture already forming in my head.

“Well, that’s my present to you, gorgeous. Dinner in Venice anytime you want, courtesy of me and my private jet.”

“Are you serious?” I say jubilantly. “Clint, that is…literally the best Christmas present anyone has ever given me.”

“So that’s a yes then?”

“No, that’s a hell yes!” I squeal and throw myself into his arms, kissing him wistfully, so in love with him and the moment.

When we finally come up for air, he looks at me peculiarly.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” he asks, narrowing his flawless eyebrows at me.

“Getting ready for what?”

“Colorado.”

Shit. I completely forgot about my flight!

“Oh my God,” I cry out. “I’m going to miss my plane! What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock on the dot.”

“You’re kidding?! My plane leaves in thirty minutes! I’m not going to make it!”

“Good,” he smirks, nuzzling my neck.

I smile but brush him away. “No, I can’t. I told my dad—”

“Lauren,” Clint interrupts, holding me by the shoulders. “It’s all right. We’ll take my jet. I can have it ready in an hour.”

“We?” I ask intriguingly, my eyes beaming at him wildly.

“Yes, we,” he smiles, folding me up in his arms again. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re coming with me?” I repeat.

“Of course. I want to meet the man who raised such a beautiful, smart, and witty young woman.”

“You are class through and through, aren’t you?” I quip, kissing him again with fervor, happiness closer than it has ever been.

“I am,” he smirks. “And as it turns out, you’re not a gold-digger either.”

I laugh as I remember back to the first time we met – Clint saving me from nose-diving into the pavement as I stepped out of a New York cab.

I gaze out the window and watch the light begin to tremble, the city skyline bathed in a ruby glow as the night begins to creep in.

I see my life bright and magnificent out there: a pale blue dream with Clint by my side, everything and anything within our reach.

The last six months may have been some of the most confusing and trying of my life, but if I’ve learnt anything from all that, it’s to have patience, to never lose hope, and to also never judge a book by its lavishly sexy yet egotistical billionaire cover.

Why, you might ask.

Because underneath the cover, there’s usually more to the story than what you can see with a naked eye.

There’s a decent person parading in the tailored Armani suit, a person who is worth loving and fighting for.

And what’s in store for the billionaire and his PA as they take New York by storm?

Well, that’s another headline entirely…