Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance (5 page)

Another camera peered down from a point just in front of the desk, giving a close approximation of the view a visitor would have when they walked up to talk to me.

The third and fourth cameras were closer yet, apparently mounted somewhere in the greenery to either side of my desk. These would have shown him close-up profile views of me, the sort of angle you’d have if you were sitting right next to me.

The fifth secret little eye was hidden somewhere above and behind my chair – in a ceiling panel, maybe? – and gave what would have been a great view down past my right shoulder. Right now, it was displaying a live shot of Lester, my dead jade plant.

Hi, Lester. Are you as creeped out as I am, little guy?

The sixth and last camera – that he was showing me, anyway; there could be a dozen trained on main reception, for all I knew – peered down at my position from another overhead angle, and at the moment displayed a view of the picture of Mom I kept on my desk.

Enjoy the snapshot of my only family, asshole, complete with its cheap Wal-Mart frame.

I didn’t know whether to be terrified or mad as hell. Should I bolt for the door, or stay and claw his eyes out?

The monitors snapped off.

I stared at the blank screens for a few seconds, and then turned around to face Mr. Killane.

He stood six feet away from me. His arms were crossed in front of him, one eyebrow was raised, and he stared at me. A faint smile drifted across his lips.

“I’m not sure why, Ms. Daniels, but I find I enjoy watching you.”

Swell, sir. That’s not disturbing at all.

His smile vanished. “I don’t like not being sure, Ms. Daniels.”

I didn’t see how that was my problem, but I kept my mouth shut. I concentrated on my rent. I thought about my student loans. I ran through the list of Mom’s bills in my mind, the bills that I had to cover for her. I considered how low my bank account was, and remembered that I’d need to get her stocked up on groceries soon.

And what about that other Devon Killane, the one whose face had lit up in that unguarded, beautiful, completely genuine smile only a few minutes ago? Was he still around, hiding somewhere inside the crazy guy standing in front of me?

But was he flat-out crazy? Or was he pretending? Because something in his words, his body language, and the gleam in his blue-violet eyes just seemed a little bit off to me – not crazy, but like a brilliant actor wanting me to believe he was crazy.

But why? Did he just enjoy screwing with the heads of receptionists?  Maybe he was nuts, or maybe I was just one more human chess piece he was maneuvering around the board of his daily life, a pawn he could sacrifice on a whim at any moment …

“Ah, I see your attention is wandering again, Ms. Daniels.”

He leaned forward from the waist, arms still crossed, and made an elaborate show of sniffing the air in my direction. What the hell?

Straightening, he smiled. “But it seems your distraction is my fault entirely, and I do apologize.” His voice said that, but his smug face said this situation was altogether my fault and that he was enjoying every bit of my guilt.

“Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Please, Ms. Daniels, don’t play coy – I can smell your arousal from here.”

What. The. Fuck.

No, he did NOT just say that.

The worst of it was that while my brain slammed into panic mode and sprinted in six different directions at once trying to figure out this rapidly accelerating disaster, my body happily agreed that yes, it was very much aroused, and would sure love to have Mr. Killane help it out with that.

Body, this is your last warning – SHUT UP, or I’ll throw out my vibrator and join a nunnery.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He didn’t miss a beat – he just leaned his head back, pitched his voice a bit higher, and performed a dead-on imitation of the mini-rant I’d hit him with in the lobby that morning.

“You heard me – I said ‘I can smell your arousal from here,’ in clear, unaccented English. You know, you might want to see a doctor about your hearing problem.”

I was stunned speechless. I had never in my life been so stunned or so utterly speechless. Was my mentally unstable billionaire boss pulling a sex-for-your-job number on me after all? How did the tall, slinky girls handle something like this?

Mr. Killane sailed right along. “I haven’t fucked a lovely ripe body like yours in ages, so this should be quite entertaining. I can have you on top of my desk,” – he nodded back over his shoulder at his enormous desk – “or we can go at it here on the floor, though the hardwood would not do my knees any favors. Would you mind being on top?”

I chose my words with great care, in much the same way I’d choose the correct path through a field littered with land mines – only in this situation, I had a feeling there were no appropriate words and no safe path.

“Sir, I’m sure you realize that even if you called a halt to whatever this is right now, you’ve already committed some seriously actionable sexual harassment –”

“What I realize is that there are two people in this room, and one of them – hint, hint, it’s me – can afford the kind of lawyers who could get capital murder plea bargained down to jaywalking. What sort of legal representation can you muster up, Ms. Daniels?”

None, and he knew it.

“Not to mention that there’s no one remotely within earshot this late in the day, and as it happens, my office is one of the few rooms in this building with no security cameras or hidden microphones. In a courtroom battle between my word and yours, I somehow doubt I would lose.”

I knew he wouldn’t.

“So what do you say, Ms. Daniels – the desk or the floor?”

This situation was fucked, and so was I – one way or the other.

“Mr. Killane, do you think you could possibly be just a little more disgusting?”

“Trust me, Ms. Daniels, we haven’t even begun to plumb the depths of just how disgusting I can be.”

“If this is your idea of seduction, I have to say that your technique really sucks.”

“Actually, I’ve found that you don’t need a seduction technique when you have 58.6 billion dollars – women just come flying at you from every direction, like confetti.”

“Do you have any idea how pathetic that sounds?”

“Yes, but not only can I afford virtually any material object I might want, I can also afford to say any mad thing that crosses my mind without having to care what it sounds like.”

Hands thrust in his pockets, he strolled right up to me, stopping less than a foot away. I wanted to smack that smug, confident smile right off his gorgeous face.

“So, Ms. Daniels, just how badly do you want your job?”

Well, he couldn’t make it any plainer than that, could he?

And sure, I’d love to climb that magnificent body like a tree, under other circumstances …

But jump my boss here and now in exchange for my dead-end job, or for any job? No way – I might have too many curves and too little money, but I still had to be able to look at myself in the mirror each morning, and no amount of cash or lustful frolicking could buy my self-respect.

Sorry, body.

I stared up into his compelling eyes – way up, he had to be at least a foot taller than I was – I clamped my fingers together behind my back, and I forced myself to take in a couple of slow, deep breaths.

Sure, you’re staring into the face of your own personal apocalypse, Ashley, but you might as well focus.

I had no idea what to say, and did it matter at this point? Conclusion: no, it did not in fact matter, so I let my brain wing it.

“Mr. Killane, do you know what I can afford? I mean, with the three dollars and I think maybe seventy-eight cents I have in my checking account?”

“Let’s see – a gallon of milk and a loaf of store-brand bread? One of those hilarious gossip magazines that claims I’ve gotten yet another helium-breasted celebrity pregnant? A jar of cherry-scented Japanese sexual lubricant? The possibilities for three dollars and change are quite endless, Ms. Daniels, but my patience is not.”

“Fuck you right to hell and back, Mr. K – and while you’re in transit, think about the fact that I’ll always be able to afford dignity and self-respect, and no self-centered jack-off like you will ever be able to take them from me. Do you know what you can do with main reception, you deviant freak? You can take that desk and that chair and that headset and your hidden pervert cameras, and you can cram them all right up your arrogant ass.”

“Ms. Daniels, I think that you –”

“Were you under the impression that I give a rat’s ass what you think? Sorry, Dev, but I don’t think, I know – I know that no matter how obscenely rich or handsome you are, you don’t have enough money or cock to make me stay here, either as a receptionist or as your own personal fucktoy.”

Wow, brain, thanks – that was some sweet improvisation on short notice.

He didn’t blow up. He didn’t rant or rave. He drew his eyebrows together, appeared to give the matter some careful thought, and then did that head-to-one-side thing again.

“Are you sure about that, Ms. Daniels?” He glanced down at his fly, I swear to God. “I’ve been told it’s really quite a nice cock.” He looked at me again, and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t care if it’s ten feet long and made of adamantium, it’s not getting near Ashley Daniels.”

And just like that, a smile spread across his face. It was three parts triumph and one part that sweet, genuine grin I’d seen for a fleeting instant back when our heated little discussion was still making a minimum amount of sense.

Wait a minute, asshole – didn’t I just win this conversation? It was a scorched-earth kind of win, sure, leaving me jobless and nearly broke, but still a definite win – right?

Devon Killane didn’t seem to know that. He strutted over to his desk and dropped into his chair with a blissful sigh. He leaned his head against the back of his throne, relaxed, brimming with confidence, and looking like six kinds of winner.

“Finally.”

Huh?

“That is so much better, Ms. Daniels, I can’t tell you – I quite honestly thought we were going to be here all night.”

“Mr. Killane, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” And why was I back to calling him ‘Mr. Killane’ again, anyway? What sort of evil magic was this guy working on my confused brain?

“After enduring a great deal of tiresome posturing from the ‘please don’t fire me’ version of Ashley Daniels, I finally found myself talking to the bold little spitfire who told me off this morning – she’s the one I called up here, you know.”

I was beginning to wonder if I knew anything anymore.

He held up his left hand, spread his fingers wide, and began ticking off scenarios on them, one by one.

“First, I inflated the importance of main reception while attacking both your work ethic in general and your dedication to that lowly position in particular – I didn’t expect you to cave to my opening maneuver, and indeed you did not, but it seemed a likely enough place to start.

“Next, I implied I was not at all happy with your setting out a lavish spread for the homeless unfortunates of this city –”

“Mr. Killane, I think calling a box of doughnuts and some off-brand coffee a ‘lavish spread’ is just a bit of an exaggeration.”

“It’s quite the whopping exaggeration, Ms. Daniels, but that’s how I roll. In any case, I also made passing reference to the aroma and grooming habits of Jerry and his associates – I thought a classic ‘billionaire kicking the peasants’ moment like that would surely get a rise out of you, but you resisted that ploy as well.

“At that point, it was obvious the big guns were called for. I drew your attention to the security cameras and revealed that I’d spent the day in ‘creepy stalker’ mode, watching you from afar like some deliciously awful sexual predator – any woman in her right mind would have bolted for the door at a moment like that, but you stood your ground.

“I couldn’t then and can’t now imagine why such a bold customer would rein back her survival instincts for the sake of a pennies-an-hour receptionist job, but it seems you manage to confound me at every turn. I have to say, Ms. Daniels, it’s been a long time since I’ve come upon a woman so maddeningly difficult to figure out.”

“Um … thanks, I guess?”

“Usually there’s not a bit of figuring out to do, beyond gauging how much money and sex they intend to bleed out of me. And sex is in fact what it came down to – when I oozed into your personal space and implied that sexual assault was only moments away, the real Ashley Daniels finally stepped up to the plate. Ironic, given that it was obvious you would have quite enjoyed a bit of extracurricular fun.”

“Not in exchange for my job, sir.” I decided not to contest the point that yes, I would have enjoyed some gorgeous-muscular-tall-guy loving, if only the circumstances had been vastly different.

“That’s just it – why did you hang on to your dreadful little job like a drowning woman clinging to the side of the last lifeboat?”

Before I could answer, he swiveled his chair to face the window and looked out into the dying light of early evening. He said nothing for a puzzling minute or two, and then he swung around again to face me.

“Ms. Daniels, what is the most endangered species on the planet?”

Okay, a total non sequitur – I shouldn’t be surprised, but where could he be going with this? His stare and the way he sat there as still and cold as a dead man said this was a critical moment in whatever it was we were doing – but my nerves were pretty close to shot by this point, so I wimped out.

“Sir, I have no idea.”

He somehow became even more still, even more focused.

“Humor me, Ms. Daniels. Guess.”

“Hmm – the giant panda? Siberian tigers? The Pacific Northwest tree octopus?”

He wanted to laugh at the octopus thing, I could tell – and just who was this sweet, funny version of Devon Killane who kept peeking out at the most unexpected moments?

 “Not even close.”

He stood, he walked around his desk, hands once more thrust into the pockets of his suit jacket, and he stopped a few feet away from me.

His voice was calm and rational. “Ms. Daniels, I assure you that the rarest creature on this earth is the person who’s willing to tell 58.6 billion dollars to fuck off.”