Sleeping With My Boss: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (A Dirty Office Romance) (9 page)

I sighed. “All right, but seriously, just
one
more. That's all. One more.”

Anton raised his hand and snapped his fingers and the
resident VIP room waiter hurried over to our table. He ordered two more
whiskeys in French, which the waiter hurried off to get. At that moment, the
door to the VIP room opened, and a bouncer let in a bevy of stunning, young,
French women. One of them caught sight of Anton and sent a sparkling smile our
way. He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“This is the girl I want to introduce you to. She is a
model for lingerie. She was very, very eager to meet the young American CEO I
have been telling her about. Look at her friends, too, Asher! Are they not
sexy? All of them are models—and they are all very, how do you say, liberated
in their attitudes about men and women, if you know what I mean.”

“Aren’t all the French?” I joked.

Anton grinned and clapped a hand on my shoulder as he
broke into laughter.

The woman who had smiled at Anton came over to us
while her friends headed to the bar. She was drop dead gorgeous; she wouldn’t
have looked out of place on any magazine cover. The revealing, white cocktail
dress she wore left no doubt why she was a lingerie model. Long, silky,
chestnut-colored hair cascaded around her shoulders. She locked her stunning
brown eyes on mine and smiled flirtatiously as she approached.

“Anton, is this your American friend?”

“This is him, Marie. Marie Thenaud, may I introduce
you to Asher Sinclair.”
She turned to me and took my hand in hers. “It is a pleasure to meet you,
Asher,” she purred, her voice heavy with a French accent, but her English was
flawless. “My friend, Anton, told me you were handsome—but you are, in truth,
even more handsome than I could have imagined. May I sit with you and have a
drink?”

I was a bit taken aback with how brazen she was. It
wasn’t what she said as much as her body language and tone of voice. Granted,
in my experience, French women rarely had any apprehensions with being forward
and despite how interested she seemed in me—and how incredibly physically
attractive she was— I looked at her sitting across from me and I simply wasn’t
interested.

I smiled as it dawned on me: there was only one woman
I was interested in and she was back in California hell bent on giving me the
cold shoulder.

Despite my feelings about the situation Anton had put
me in with Marie, I didn’t want to be rude to her or my host and tell the woman
to go elsewhere, so I shifted over on the plush sofa and made space for her.
Plenty of space.

“Please, sit down, Marie,” I offered. “It's a pleasure
to meet you.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” she said with a wink
and a smile.

Her companions then showed up, carrying a number of
cocktails, one of which they handed to Marie. Our waiter arrived, as well,
bearing fresh tumblers of whiskey on the rocks for myself and Anton. The women
sat down, one on either side of Anton, and he draped an arm over each of their
barely-covered shoulders.

“Now the party is about to get started!” he said with
a wicked grin.

 
He raised his
glass, and the ladies all did the same. Reluctantly, I followed suit.

“To Asher Sinclair, my good friend and business
associate!” he roared. Then, in one gulp, he drained his glass.

“Whoa, thanks, Anton, but that's not how a fine
whiskey should be enjoyed! You know that as much as I do,” I declared.

“I don't care!” he shouted. “Let's get drunk! Party!
Have some fun!”

The women next to him giggled and sipped at their
cocktails.

“Come on, Asher,” he said, “why are you drinking so
slowly? Are you a man or a boy?”

“Anton, remember what we said? I don't want to have a
hangover-”

“I
said
, are you a man, or are you a boy?”

I shook my head and downed my whiskey. Damned peer
pressure. There didn't seem to be any point in resisting. Anton snapped his
fingers and called the waiter over again. He shot off a rapid-fire order in
French, and the waiter hurried off once more. In the meantime, Marie tried to
make small talk with me while Anton flirted brazenly with the other two women.

After a few minutes, the waiter returned carrying a
tray with two fresh whiskeys and an array of shots.

“Oh no, Anton. Come on, I did not agree to this.”

“It is too late, Asher, my friend!” he said with a
laugh. “Come now! The ladies are going to drink their shots, yes, ladies?”

They all voiced their approval and giggled.

“You see, Asher! It is only you who is being, what is
the word? Ah, yes, boring! Come, it is Friday night in Paris! Have some fun, my
friend, have some fun!”

“All right, all right,” I sighed. The more I drank,
the harder it was to resist.

We downed the shots, and before long, I was starting
to feel light-headed.

“I want to dance,” Marie announced. “Come, let's go to
the dancefloor!”

The other ladies also seemed eager to dance, as did
Anton. He stood and beckoned to me.

“Come on, Asher! We cannot let the ladies down. It
would be very rude!”

I heaved myself up off the sofa, feeling weary and
decidedly unenthusiastic. Marie, however, looped her arm through mine and all
but dragged me onto the dancefloor. My vision was starting to swim, and I was
losing my ability to maneuver and maintain control—a feeling I did not like. At
all.

On the dancefloor, Marie didn't waste any time in
making her intentions clear. She started dancing suggestively, putting her
hands all over me and grinding heavily against my body, moving sensually to the
music.

I couldn't deny that I was starting to feel aroused
and part of me was starting to really get into it. But, at the same time,
despite the drunkenness and the gorgeous, scantily-clad lingerie model grinding
her body against mine, I couldn't get the thoughts of Lilah out of my head.

We weren't together. I didn’t owe her anything. Hell,
we’d only shared one kiss that she had made rather clear was a poor judgment
call—but even so, something inside me felt as if I were cheating on her. And
that was something I would not do.

I stepped away from Marie.

“I really have to go to the bathroom, all right?”

“Shall I come with you?” she asked, smiling suggestively.

“No, no,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “That won’t
be necessary. I'll be back soon. You wait here.”

I hurried off the dancefloor to the back of the club
where the bathrooms were—but just before I got to them, I veered off to the
right, and headed through to the storage area. I pushed through a door that
said “Staff Only” in French—I could understand that much, at least—and hurried
through the storeroom, surprising a waiter, who started babbling at me in
French.

“Exit, exit,” I said in English, but he seemed to not
understand me.

I ignored him, and he ran off, presumably to fetch a
bouncer or manager. I found a door at the end of the storeroom which lead
through a narrow passage, and then there, at the end of it, I managed to find
an exit that lead out into an alley.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped into the dark
alley and paused to inhale in a few deep breaths of the cool night air before
heading through the alley to the main street where I hailed a cab. I told him
the name of my hotel, and we took off into the night.

I pulled out my phone and texted a quick apology to
Anton explaining that I'd become ill and had to rush back to the hotel. Yes, I
lied. But it was a little white lie that would save a lot of hard feelings in
the long run. I put my phone away and leaned back in the seat, watching Paris
fly by my window as thoughts of Lilah swirled through my drunken mind.

CHAPTER 10

Lilah

Asher had been away in France
over
the weekend for a business trip, and to be honest, I felt a little
relieved to have had some distance between us. I'd been doing my best to keep
him at arm's length all week at the office—and succeeding. However, I felt that
my
strategy was backfiring
big
time.
It
seemed as
though
my attempt to
avoid conversation with him
left him more
determined to get closer to me.

If I
was
perfectly honest with
myself
, a large
part of me
wanted
him closer. But that
wasn’t the part focused on keeping my job separate from my personal life. I was
beginning to understand how the government felt when it tried to separate
church from state.

Keeping Asher Sinclair at arm’s length was definitely
among the greatest challenges I'd faced in my life.
I'd finally landed my dream job, and I was on track to make a name for
myself. I had positioned myself to set up a career characterized by power and
success—yet, coupled with my goals to make it in my career field was a burning
desire, a hungry yearning for another human being that I hadn't felt since my
ex-fiancé had left me a month before our wedding.

It didn’t help that this person was the CEO of my
firm, the person who, quite literally, held the key to my career's success—or
failure—in his hands.

I knew that, eventually, he would respect my wishes to
keep everything professional and put my career first. He was cut from the same
cloth as me, even if our backgrounds were vastly different. What we did share
was a driving ambition and a tireless work ethic and an almost crippling
aspiration for sheer perfection.

Since I have always been a rational
person—who knows that mixing work and pleasure could easily turn into a recipe
for catastrophe—I could see how things might end terribly if I decided to walk
the path that leads to a romantic relationship with Asher.

But, another part of me was
wondering
if it would be a risk worth taking; a man like Asher
Sinclair did
n’t
come around often. I
couldn’t stop
myself
from thinking that,
perhaps, a relationship with Asher was a bonafide, once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity. He'd already revealed, in
a number
of
ways, that he was nothing like the billionaire playboy stereotype
that others made him out to be.

He was grounded in reality, even with his vast power
and billions of dollars, was extremely disciplined, and surprisingly kind and
gentle, despite his physical prowess and penchant for violent sports. He was,
in many ways, a man of contradictions—an enigma, revealing small pieces of
himself to me.

But why me?

That was the question I hadn't been able to shake.

I mean, sure, I was
a
fairly attractive woman who knew how to work a sexy business
suit
, and he seemed to be impressed by my drive
and creativity. But was he only pursuing me to satisfy his own ego, or was
there something
more
at play? My gut kept
gnawing at me that it was the latter.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Sinclair Building
and parked my car. A quick check of my watch
confirmed
that I was early. There were still a good twenty minutes left before I was
required to be in my office.

I'd only just gotten my car back from
the mechanic, and since I had spent the entire weekend relaxing with Meghan
while trying to temporarily forget about work—going to the spa, getting a
mani-pedi, treating myself to a massage, and eating at a couple of new
restaurants we’d been planning to check out—I hadn't had the chance to give
over the car the once over to make sure the mechanic had done a good job.

“Well, there's no time like the present,” I said
aloud,
and popped the hood.

I stepped out of my car and walked around to the front
of
it
, raising the hood. I examined the
motor just as my dad had taught me, checking over fine details that the average
person wouldn't have thought to look at. It seemed, thankfully, that the
mechanic had done a very thorough job. I was about to close the hood when I
heard the deep, raspy rumble of a sports car booming through the underground
parking lot.

I looked up and saw Asher pulling up to park in a spot
next to me. He rolled down his window and smiled.

“Car troubles again, Lilah?”

“Nope. Just giving the motor a once over to make sure
the mechanic did what I asked him to do. So, you're in a Porsche today? Please
tell me you didn’t get rid of the Maserati.”

“I told you, I collect these things,” he replied with
a cheeky grin. “Variety is the spice of life.”

“Carrera GT,” I remarked, looking the car up and down.
“Great car.”

“I do like it, yeah. That's a decent Beemer you're
driving there, too.”

“It's been good to me. German engineering, you know.”

He revved his Porsche and smiled.

“Oh, I know, believe me.”

He killed the engine and got out as I closed the hood
of my BMW and locked the car up.

“I'm surprised you're at work
so
early,” I said. “When did you get back from Paris?”

“Oh, my private jet touched down at two
this
morning.”

“This morning?”

“Yeah. I tried to sleep some on the plane, but the
time change is killer. So, I'm running on about three hours of sleep right
now.”

“Shouldn't you get some rest? I mean, I know how
committed you are to work—as I am—but if you're sleep deprived, you're not
going to get too much done.”

“I know, I know. But there are things that really have
to be taken care of this morning. I'm planning to take the afternoon off to get
some rest, then come back in the evening to get everything else done.”

Our eyes met
,
and I couldn't
stop
my gaze from
lingering for a bit longer than it should have. However, in
my
defense, he hadn’t looked away. What was
happening? I broke the gaze first. It wasn't the time or place for moments. I
needed to keep my distance until I could figure things out a bit better in my
head.

“We'd better head upstairs,” I said hurriedly.
“There's a lot to get done this
morning,
like you said.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Upstairs. After you.”

We walked over to the elevator and rode up together in
silence. As soon as the doors opened, I made a beeline for my office, mumbling
a quick “See you later” as I left him behind.

I felt as if I was losing my
focus,
losing my edge.
Every
time I closed my eyes, all I could see was that handsome, rugged face staring
back
at me with
an
air of deep affection trumped only by desire. One thing I was certain
of, it was going to be another long week of avoiding that handsome face.

***

Friday afternoon didn't seem to be the best time for a
meeting,
but as the most junior member of
the team, I wasn’t exactly in a position to complain. Instead, I went into the
boardroom, took what had become my usual seat, and waited in silence for
everyone else to file in. I'd made a few friends in the office, but I wasn't in
a particularly chatty mood. It had been quite a tough, trying
week
with a heavy workload, and I was all but
mentally spent.

After everyone had come in and taken their places,
Asher walked in with a broad smile on his face. Following him were a couple of
waiters carrying boxes of lavishly iced donuts.

“Take a donut or two, or three if you're not too
worried about your waistline,” he joked. “Because this isn’t so much a meeting
as it is a celebration.”

When the box was presented to me by one of the
waiters, I took a delicious-looking chocolate one with macadamia nut sprinkles
and looked around the table, trying to gauge people's reactions to Asher’s
announcement. Personally, it had altered my mood a bit. Where before I had been
a little on the drab end of the spectrum, I was suddenly perked up and excited
to hear what the celebration was all about.

Asher shot me an intense glance, and then he dimmed
the lights and turned on the projector screen.

“All right, ladies and gents,” he announced. “Pay
close attention to the screen. You will have seen these charts before, but I
just want you to look at them again so that the images will be cemented into
your mind.”

He brought up the sales charts for the Harry Winston
athletic watches and gave us a few moments to peruse the less-than-stellar figures.

“Now,” he continued, “if you all remember, a new
member of our team,
Ms.
Lilah Maxwell,
came up with a brand new strategy for marketing these watches a few weeks ago.”

Murmurs of agreement flitted around the room.

“I've been keeping a tight lid on developments, but
over the past week, the executives at Harry Winston and I have been closely
monitoring sales of these watches. Now, remember, this is just one
week
after implementing the new campaign. Are you all ready?”

My heart was hammering in my chest. I wasn’t one
hundred percent sure it wasn’t about to jump into my throat and right out of my
mouth. I hadn't been expecting this. I was utterly unprepared for the topic of
this meeting or—as Asher had put it—celebration. Granted, the word celebration
itself suggested success, but what if my ideas had bombed? I would look a
failure and a fool in front of everyone on the team!

I reminded myself that Asher had brought us here to
tell us
good
news. Not bad. Which meant, maybe my ideas hadn't failed.

There was no maybe involved, though.

I gasped—along with everyone else in the room—as he
brought up the charts that showed the sales figures over the past week.

“Oh my God,” I murmured under my breath. “It worked.
It totally,
totally
worked.”

“When was the last time any of you saw a spike in sales
this extreme?” Asher asked, looking calmly around the room. “Seriously, people,
when was the last time you saw
anything
like this?”

Nobody could answer; we were all dumbstruck, it
seemed.

Asher slowly brought the lights in the room back to
full force.

“Lilah, could you please stand up,” he said, looking
at me.

I hesitated, and he nodded to encourage me. I pushed
myself up on shaky legs and tried to hide the fact that my hands were trembling
from the rush.

“Please, let’s give the savior of the Harry Winston
campaign a hand!” he shouted. “She deserves it!”

The room erupted in a thunderous bout of applause. I
was a little embarrassed to be in the spotlight and the experience had me
fighting back tears of joy. Thankfully, I managed to keep my emotions in check.

“Well done, Lilah, well done!” Asher exclaimed. “Is
there anything you'd like to say?”

“I… I just want to thank everyone on the team,” I
managed to utter. “I can’t take all the credit for this. I honestly couldn't
have done it without you guys. And without your support, Mr. Sinclair. Thank
you for believing in me.”

Everyone applauded again, and I sat down, a little
light-headed from all the adrenalin flowing through my veins.

“That's all, ladies and gents,” Asher said as the
applause died down. “You can head back to your offices now. Enjoy the rest of
your Friday afternoon, and have a great weekend! I'll see you all on Monday.”

Everyone got up out of their chairs and started
shuffling out of the room. I waited until they had left, leaving Asher and I
alone in the room. I walked up to him, smiling from ear to ear.

“It worked. It really worked, Asher; it really
worked!”

“I knew it would. I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you for having faith in me and trusting in my
abilities.”

“I know talent when I see it, Lilah,” he replied. “And,
you've got it in boatloads.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like to celebrate later tonight with a
drink?”

Had my defenses not been down in that moment of
elation, I might have been able to think clearly, but all logic and reason had
flown out the window the moment I saw the sales numbers.

“I'd love that,” I replied.

“Excellent,” he beamed. “I'll message you later to
make arrangements.”

***

It was as I was applying my eyeliner that it hit me: I'd
made a promise to myself to keep my distance from Asher, to keep things
professional. And yet there I was, putting on makeup and acting like a nervous
high schooler trying to decide which cocktail dress and heels to wear to the
jazz lounge we had agreed to go to.