Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance (9 page)

I was more than a little intrigued by the “Asshole’s Latest Slut” listing – if I tapped that one, would I find myself talking to the supermodel who’d been draped all over my boss on the cover of People last week? Or maybe that one actress who played a vampire on HBO? There had been all kinds of rumors about her lately … but I decided it was pretty unlikely either of them would be much help in getting my problem child to San Francisco, so I kept scrolling until I saw “Asshole’s Chopper Pilot.”

Bingo. A helicopter would skim right over the dense morning traffic and be able to drop down – I assumed – right next to wherever that Gulfstream of his was parked, making for the minimum amount of fuss, muss, and travel time. I tapped that contact, and moments later the voice of Mr. K’s helicopter pilot sounded in my ear.

“Pulaski here – what’s up, Lexington? Are we heading out again?”

“Um, hi – actually, this is Ashley Daniels, Mr. Killane’s new personal assistant. Mr. Lexington sort of got himself fired this morning …”

“Seriously? Thank god – it’s less than professional of me to say so, but I couldn’t stand that guy. So, Ms. Daniels, are we taking the boss somewhere else today?”

“As in you brought him here this morning, so the helicopter is still up there on the roof?”

“You got it – I’m grabbing a late breakfast in a break room on the 73
^rd
floor right now, but we can be ready to take off in fifteen minutes, no sweat. Where are we going?”

“Mr. Killane made a last-minute decision to head out to San Francisco this morning, so we need to go to wherever he keeps his private jet – I’m assuming that would be at some exclusive rich-guy part of the airport? Forgive me, I’ve never been anybody’s personal assistant before, so this is all new to me.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Daniels – new as you are, you’re still a huge improvement over that jackass Lexington. Besides, making all these arrangements is the easy part of your job; the hard bit is being around Killane all the time. He’s a good guy at heart, but his moods are more than most people can handle. Anyway, I can put you down right outside the private hangar where his jet is parked while he’s in town. Just call those guys and let them know we’re coming, so they can fuel up, put in a flight plan for S.F., and be ready to go when we get there. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Just be understanding of the fact that I’m pretty much making this job up as I go, okay?”

“You’ll be fine, Ms. Daniels.”

I put a mental note of ‘nice guy’ next to Mr. Pulaski’s name, and moved on to “Asshole’s Pilot.” That turned out to be a Captain Wiley, the pilot of Mr. Killane’s Gulfstream G650 jet, and another fan of dealing with anybody other than Danny Dipshit.

“We were just out here running some routine maintenance checks anyway, Ms. Daniels, so your timing’s perfect. We’ll be ready to head out as soon as you get here.”

Next step, where would we stay in San Francisco? A few minutes of googling revealed that the city’s finest hotel, featuring plush accommodations, fawning staff, four-star room service, and overall sinful luxury, just happened to be owned by … wait for it … Killane Corporate Holdings. The staff there seemed startled, thrilled, and terrified at the news that their supreme leader was about to descend on them from out of nowhere; after a few nervous minutes, the hotel manager confirmed that the presidential suite was being primed for the big guy’s arrival and that the hotel’s grandest limousine would pick him up at the airport.

The job couldn’t be this easy, could it?

Over at his desk, Mr. Killane had abandoned Angry Birds for what sounded like an actual business call – something about market indexes, commodities futures, and the Tokyo exchange, whatever – and I was thanking the gods who look out for round girls that apparently I didn’t have to know anything about all that crap when Dana stuck her head in the door.

“Ms. Daniels?”

I lurched to my feet, still feeling a little like an imposter in my new position, and hustled over to her. She handed me a small envelope.

“These just came up from Operations for you, Ms. Daniels. They’re pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll be happy to help you if you have any questions.”

“Thanks, Dana – and, ah, I’m sorry about Danny.” I wasn’t, not one bit, the abusive creep had it coming, but I felt I should try to say something more or less conciliatory.

“Don’t mention it, Ms. Daniels.” She held a smile on her face by sheer force of will, and I wanted to punch her abortion of a boyfriend until his nose splintered and he begged for mercy.

Then a different thought jumped up and begged for my attention.

“Oh, and apparently we’re going to San Francisco shortly – can I get my purse from you? And would you mind just stowing my other stuff in a corner somewhere until I figure out where to put it?”

“That won’t be a problem at all, Ms. Daniels; I’ll be happy to take care of your things until you get back. One moment, please.”

Dana came back with my purse, accepted my instructions not to water Lester, and returned to her post in the outer office. I thrust the envelope she’d given me into the depths of my purse – whatever the cards thing was all about, I figured it could wait until later – I slung the purse’s strap over my shoulder, and I skimmed down the contacts list on Danny’s former phone again. Was I forgetting anything?

I made two more calls, and then took an incoming one from Mr. Pulaski, who notified me that his pre-flight check was complete and that the helicopter was ready and waiting.

The muted roar of the rotor blades from the rooftop helipad announced that it was time. If I’d forgotten some critical thing, well, I’d find out soon enough and then I’d deal with it.

“Mr. Killane, we’re ready when you are.”

A few minutes later we were buzzing over the city skyline, as I gawked out the window at the skyscrapers and avenues and antlike people and cars slipping past beneath us. I tried not to stare around at the decadently furnished interior of the helicopter, but all that opulence was hard to ignore – after all, I’d never been in any helicopter, much less one that was fitted out like a flying limousine.

I also kept stealing glances at Mr. Killane, sitting two seats ahead of me and absorbed in a call to someone on the team in San Francisco that was negotiating the deal I knew nothing about.

He hadn’t said a word to me since I’d been left to figure out the whole personal assistant thing on my own. Was I fated to be ignored until he whistled for me? Did he expect me to jump into his San Francisco hotel bed like a good little trained whore? Did he really appreciate the charms of my allegedly luscious ass and generous curves, or was that just another mind game? Would I instead have to field calls from “Asshole’s Latest Slut,” and help her set up their next hot session of thin-rich-and-gorgeous-people sex?

The thought made me burn with jealousy – a seriously stupid mental reflex, given that I’d never done more than talk to the guy, and had not one bit of right to that tall, muscular slab of man candy that oozed wanton sex appeal from every pore …

Body, you stop this right now or so help me, I’ll throw away my vibrator.

My body helpfully reminded me that my vibrator was sitting on the end table by my bed in my tiny studio apartment far below, and that the only logical response to this horrifying fact would be to jump Devon Killane’s bones until we both collapsed from exhaustion.

That’s a great scenario you’ve got there, body, but no deal – not that the possibility has ever come up before, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m not the kind of slutty girl who sleeps with her boss.

Up front, Mr. Killane leaned forward in his seat, still on the phone to his faceless minion in San Francisco. His suit jacket did its best to stretch over his broad shoulders, a whiff of his musky cologne drifted back to me, and the need aching deep inside me was my body’s way of reminding me that, hey, it could wait.

Ten minutes after lifting off we dropped down onto the airport tarmac, right next to a gleaming Gulfstream G650 private jet with the Killane Corporate Holdings logo emblazoned on the fuselage. I thanked Mr. Pulaski and rushed out of the helicopter in pursuit of my boss, who was already marching up the steps into the Gulfstream. Still on his phone, he couldn’t be bothered to so much as glance at the plane, the personal flight attendant waiting at the top of the steps, or me – his surroundings, things and people both, were just so much background noise.

I thought the helicopter was a flying tribute to excess, but one look inside Mr. K’s private jet made his chopper look like a rusted out Yugo by comparison.

My feet sank into the ivory-white carpet as I wandered around admiring all the opulence. Oversize leather couches with mahogany armrests and silver cup holders sprawled in front of giant plasma screen televisions, a wet bar occupied the front wall of the cabin, and an executive office suite complete with a mirror-finish boardroom table commanded the space at the rear of the cabin. Or what I assumed was the rear of the cabin, until I noticed a door in the back wall, just behind the table and almost concealed by a potted plant – what was back there? A Jacuzzi, a private conference room, a sex dungeon?

Mr. Killane ignored all the comforts of his jet-engined magic carpet in favor of marching up and down while barking orders and the occasional threat into his phone. I left him to it, picked out a leather recliner wide enough for two of me, and sank into it with a sigh. The cushions felt like eiderdown pillows, the leather seat belt sported a gold-plated buckle, and two identical recliners lounged about nearby, just waiting for privileged asses to drop into them.  The cherry wood coffee table in the midst of this seating arrangement displayed orchids in a fluted crystal vase and offered macadamia-nut cookies and peppermints in a silver dish.

A girl could get used to this.

While I was closing my eyes and savoring the comforts of this mansion with wings, the flight attendant appeared at my elbow.

“Ms. Daniels, can I get you anything?” She was a willowy redhead with mile-long legs and a face that belonged on the cover of Vogue, but I tried not to let that bother me. You’re a big girl working in a what-in-the-name-of-my-trust-fund-is-that-chunky-bitch-doing-here world, Ashley, and that’s another fact of your new life you’ll have to get used to. So suck it up and act like you belong here, okay?

“Some orange juice would be great, thanks.”

Chilled orange juice arrived in front of me less than sixty seconds later. I sipped, I eyed my boss as he issued directives over the phone to some unseen minion thousands of miles away, and then it came to me – seeing as how I had no idea how long I’d be out of town, I needed to call Mom and give her a heads-up about my on-the-road status.

I knew I should also tell her about the whole scary-new-job-that-may-or-may-not-last thing too, though I was a little uneasy about just how to phrase all that … say, Mom, did you know that I’ll be around my tall, gorgeous, and seriously weird billionaire boss pretty much all the time, and that he won’t stop hitting on me?

I retrieved my humble entry-level smartphone from my purse, got hold of Mom, and let her know about this trip and my new job in terms that were as casual and non-alarming as possible.

Smart woman that she was, she didn’t buy it for a minute.

“Honey, you do realize that being the object of some crazy rich guy’s obsession is not a good thing, right?”

“Mom, you’ve seen the magazines. He’s got gorgeous stick women dripping off him wherever he goes, so he has to be joking about wanting to jump the likes of big ol’ me – besides, the pay for this job will let me help you out in a major way, so don’t worry, please.”

“I don’t care if you drown me in worldly comforts, Ashley – it’s not worth it if it means you have to do god knows what in the service of a man who’s borderline psychotic.”

“That’s a little strong, Mom. He’s moody and difficult, but he’s also funny and kind of nice, in bursts here and there …” My voice trailed off as I imagined adding ‘oh, and he’s hotter than a summer day on the sun, Mom, and if he weren’t my boss I’d be all over him in a heartbeat.’ What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, right?

Yep, she saw right through me.

“Oh god, Ashley – you like him, don’t you?”

Terrifying, and absolutely true.

I did like Devon Killane. I did want to see that rare smile of his again. I looked forward to being around his craziness full time.

Lusting after the guy was bad enough, but liking him elevated this nightmare to a whole new level.

I dealt with this horrifying fact by bravely changing the subject.

“Anyway, Mom, I’ll make a grocery run for you when I get back –”

“My cupboards are not bare, Ashley, and don’t change the subject. Your dad was funny and nice too, and you know how that turned out.”

“He’s not Dad, and if you met him, you’d realize that.” I forced the temper out of my voice and added, “Besides, with all these actresses and models and heiresses throwing themselves at him all the time, it’s not like he wants me around for anything more than comic relief, I’m sure.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, baby.”

“Oh, so it’s cool to launch myself at him like a horny catapult and have my way with his magnificent body? Hang on, let me put the phone down and I’ll get right on that, okay?”

Mom snorted a laugh. “Smartass. Just don’t make the same mistake I did, all right? That’s all I’m saying – that, and wait to rape him until you get to the hotel, so you can have room service send up champagne and strawberries afterward.”

I giggled, and Mom added, “At least it sounds like a major step up from slaving in the receptionist mines – anyway, just do the best you can, make up whatever you don’t know, and the rest will take care of itself.”

We traded goodbyes, and I tossed the phone back into my purse. Then I leaned back in my throne of decadent luxury, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. The plane’s engines roared at a higher pitch and a faint rumble ran through the cabin as we pulled away from the hangar and rolled slowly out toward the runway.

“So, will you have your way with my magnificent body here on the plane, or do you intend to restrain your passions until we arrive in San Francisco?”