Bossed by the Billionaire: Part 2 – Chapter 3

Julian

Chapter 3 – Julian

“If that’s what you want me to do, sir,” Vern says with only the slightest crack in his otherwise professional voice, “then I will make sure that it’s done.”

“I know I can always count on you.” My tone, like his, changes. He must know that there is no negotiation here. I will warn him. Not once, but twice. If he offers any of his personal judgment about what I’ve asked him to do, then he’s out the damned door. Executive assistants are a dime a dozen. Granted, hiring a new one means training them to the level I expect, but one of those levels is don’t fucking judge me, Vern.

He won’t. He values his job in this shit economy too much. God knows I pay him too much money and give him only the best benefits. Aren’t he and his wife trying for a baby? There’s no way he’ll jeopardize his job with me, even if I ask him to perform certain tasks.

Like finding out Alyssa’s class schedule and making sure she and I will have plenty of alone time in the future.

I know how it looks. Not only have I hired her as my second assistant – a position I should have delegated long ago, because Vern is only one man taking on the world around here – but we’re openly in a relationship. I don’t pussyfoot. I won’t give any personal details that aren’t absolutely necessary, but I also won’t withhold them if I deem them necessary.

I’m sure Vern thinks there are better uses of his time. I don’t think there are.

“Go ahead and give me the status report.” I sit back in my chair, taking the pressure off my feet. I barked the new order at my first assistant the moment he walked in for our morning meeting. Might as well get everything else out of the way on this fine Tuesday morning.

And what a fine morning it is, honestly. All I have to do is look out my large panel of windows and enjoy the bright spring sunlight spilling through patchwork clouds. Since spending the night with Alyssa, my life has become quite sunny. Even my driver commented on it when we got in the back of my Audi this morning. Decided to take a “normal” car since we had to drop Alyssa off at her campus for her morning classes. Most of those parking lots can’t accommodate limos, and I wasn’t about to dump her on the end of the street.

You know why?

Because if I lust after her to the extent that I do, then what are other – younger, baser, dumber – men thinking when she walks by them?

I should assign a bodyguard to tail her on campus.

“You’ll be happy to know,” Vern begins, and I’m already taking bets whether or not I’ll be happy to hear whatever he has to say, “that I have finally managed to arrange a meeting this time next week between you and Mr. Ethan Cole. So happens that the meeting with Mr. Damon Monroe will be taking place the next day as well. Trust me, it wasn’t easy to fit them both into your schedule. Or you into their schedules.” Vern sighs. He doesn’t let me see the frazzled side of his job very often, but when I do, I know it’s that bad. I don’t doubt him when he says it was difficult. Cole and Monroe arguably have more money than I do – they have to have more money, if they’re the kingpins of the east coast.

“Back to back meetings with the two men most interested in financing our next venture? God help us all if they cross paths in the hallway while one goes out and the other comes in.” Their silent rivalry is a legendary topic of conversation in the cigar lounges and country clubs. One of them will be chosen over the other in the end, however. I’d rather not be around when that voicemail of mine goes through. I should make Preston do it.

“I’ll make sure that their paths do not cross, sir.”

“You do that.” I lean forward again, elbows propped up on my desk. My large computer screen dings with new email alerts. I almost fall prey to distraction when I realize Vern isn’t done yet. “What else is there?”

“Your brother called shortly before you reached the office. He asked me if you’re available this Saturday for the wedding mixer.”

“Well?” I open my email browser. “Am I available, Vern?”

“I rearranged a few things that we had listed as ‘not pertinent.’ You and your +1 are due at the Willamette Wine Club by one in the afternoon on Saturday.”

“To think, Ted called you instead of me.” The man knows me, that’s for sure. “That’s fine. It will be a good opportunity for the family to meet Alyssa.”

Vern lingers in the doorway, his eyes widening and his hands clutching his tablet with enough strength to break it in half. There go his judgments again.

I know what he’s thinking. Me? Taking my latest squeeze as of Friday night to meet my brother, the person he’s marrying, and some of our family? I’ve got balls, yes. I’m well-aware of them. But my family won’t be shocked. They’re used to me bringing whatever woman I’m seeing to these functions, cause God damn me right now if they’re not boring otherwise. Some men of my station prefer to keep their affairs under the radar until an affair turns into moving in with me material. As long as I don’t believe my date will embarrass me or my family, I bring them. I have a feeling Alyssa will not be much of a liability. Her willingness to keep me pleased has been noted.

The way she submissively deferred to me last night, even after we went over the first half of our relationship terms, told me everything I need to know. If I tell her the rules, she’ll follow them. I reward effort. In business… and in love.

Even if she screws up, as long as I believe she didn’t do it out of malice, I won’t be angry.

That doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on her, however.

Vern leaves me to my emails and thoughts of Alyssa. He was even nice enough to leave my door mostly closed so I have a little privacy. Where is my girlfriend now? What is she doing? What class is she in? All I know about her schooling is that she’s after a degree in business – otherwise, she wouldn’t be working here. Perhaps I should ask her about her classes and gauge the effectiveness of her education. I’m not about to let my woman go to school and learn absolute bullshit. I would expect the same of my children, as well.

Is Alyssa wife material? Is she mother-of-my-children material?

I contemplate these thoughts with careful consideration at first. But, as always, my thoughts quickly devolve into a sexual nature I can’t escape. Last night had been Heaven. Even with my disappointment – that I set myself up for, of course – I still had one of the most wonderful times I ever had with a woman. Something about Alyssa excites me beyond a single night. Playing a long game with introducing her to new avenues of sex and pleasure entices me to keep her around. Get to know her. Maybe I’ll ask her about what she does during spring break the next time I’m balls deep in her.

It should be now. I don’t care if she got down on her knees, naked, and blew me again in the shower before curling up next to me in bed. I don’t care if I woke up with another raging hard-on and she didn’t say a thing when I suggested she take care of it with her hand while gazing into my eyes. The sunlight on her pretty chestnut hair was like an Impressionist image. I want to hire someone to paint her, so I never forget how lovely she looked when I came.

I can’t take it anymore. I text her.

“Still thinking about these past twelve hours, my sweet. Tell me your thoughts are consumed with me.”

She responds immediately.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either, Julian. I can’t wait to get into the office this afternoon.’

“As soon as you arrive, I’m fucking you. Do you understand? I want you to show up wet and ready for me. We’re not going to waste time.”

“You sure are virile, sir.”

“Call me sir one more time and you’ll ensure some role-playing on top of your lay.”

“All right, sir.”

Confound it all, I’m hard. How am I supposed to focus on my morning emails and whatever meeting I have before lunch with images of secretary Alyssa taking my cock on my desk again?

I’m thinking of the sounds she makes, the way her cunt accommodates my vigorous thrusts, when someone storms through my door.

“You stupid jackass.”

No one knows how to kill a boner like Preston Bradley does.

“Problem, Preston?”

He stands before my desk with that petulant look he thinks makes him look serious, angry. Yeah, right. Preston is a genius in a lot of areas, namely making me money, but he’s not a good actor. “Your dick is going to get us sued, idiot.”

“If this has to do with HR, I’ve already cleared it with them. So has she.”

“Just tell me what the fuck you’re thinking? It was a stupid bet we made when we were horny. You were not supposed to drag her into your public life.”

I’m not in the mood for his lectures, but I doubt I’ll be able to stop him by simply ignoring him. “What the hell is this about? You made your grievances clear yesterday.”

“Did you see this?” He holds his phone out to me. A text from our mutual PR adviser has sent him photos of Alyssa and me, taken by the press at last night’s party. Isn’t she gorgeous in that blue dress I had to refrain myself from tearing apart so I could get to her body beneath? She looks even better on my arm. Her look is so luxurious, so effortlessly sophisticated that I could easily see the headlines announcing that she’s my fiancée. Not that I’m thinking about that.

“Is there something embarrassing about these photos? I’d love to hear it.”

“There are whole articles being written about you two right now. This is worse than when you dated that actress last year.”

“You mean the one I dated because I knew a producer?” It was genius, really. That beautiful, sensual woman tried to play hard to get until I revealed that card. She wanted into a big summer blockbuster movie? Well, I happened to have gone to college with such a producer. I could easily introduce them, but it would be easiest if she were my girlfriend. Before Alyssa, it was some of the best sex I ever had in my life. When a woman bargains like that, it’s always better – especially when she realizes how much she likes it.

“Cut the crap. Do you actually know anything about this girl? Besides what the background checks tell you?”

“Besides what she chooses to share, that’s all I need to know.”

“Is she even clean?”

My cheeks flush red in anger. How fucking dare he? “You didn’t have these thoughts when you sent her my way Friday night?”

“One-time fling or some ass on the side is different from your public squeeze, Julian.”

“How? If she has gonorrhea, I got it either way, right?”

“Throw some Chlamydia and syphilis on there too, buddy. I’m sure you’ve heard about the syphilis outbreak in Portland.”

“This is absurd.”

“Really? ‘Cause I know you ain’t wrapping it up, pal.”

“I’m sure you practice only the safest sex with your stripper friends.”

He furrows his light brown brows at me. “I’m not as cavalier with my health as you.”

“Why does it matter? You’re a hypocrite, Preston. Just because you screwed on a new head doesn’t mean you get to chew me the hell out over this.”

“Is she on birth control?”

“Get the hell out.” No, I need to be the cool one right now. “What is this really about, Preston? I can’t believe you’re acting like this because I’m seeing someone new.”

He sighs. “Sorry, sorry.” Preston hesitates before pulling a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “Someone shoved this beneath my office door sometime between last night and this morning. I don’t know how true it is, but it made me think, you know?”

I snatch the paper from his hand. The writing was typed in standard font, standard size. From the timestamp in the bottom corner, I can tell it wasn’t printed in our office. God only knows where it came from.

“Thought you might want to know that Alyssa Pendleton has a medical history that might harm both Mr. Marcus and the company’s overall image. It starts with an H and ends with an S. Signed, a friend to the company.”

“How charming and mature.” I wad up the paper and shove it to the bottom of my trashcan. “This is bullshit and you know it.”

“Even if it is, Julian, you’re reaching an age where you can’t play like you do. And,” he interrupts me, “I don’t care if you’re the king of pulling out. You’re playing Russian Roulette with more than your own health.”

I don’t want to admit that he’s right. Admitting that means making changes – for both myself and for Alyssa.


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