The Billionaire Bargain(5)

He trailed off, and I realized that he had no idea what my name was. A whole year being his personal clean-up artist, and the man couldn’t pick me out of a line-up.

No fucking way.

“Lacey Newman,” I replied, from between gritted teeth. I didn’t know whether to be humiliated or angry as hell.

Angry won. But I still got into the car.

In the car, there was a long awkward silence—at least, awkward for me. Scratch that, it wasn’t just awkward—it was excruciating. My fingers fretting nervously at the edges of the leather seats, I cast around desperately in my mind for something to say or do; my mind ran into a big blank empty wall of nothing.

Meanwhile, Grant—the one who actually should have been feeling awkward, since he was the jerk who was flushing the company down the drain—was just fine. He opened up a polished cabinet that definitely didn’t come factory standard, and started mixing himself a drink with a speed and skill that suggested this was his normal routine.“What a night,” he said.“Well, morning now, I suppose.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Oh brilliant, Lacey. Way to go. You’re definitely going to impress your boss with this display of your sparkling wit; you’re giving him so many reasons not to discipline you for that unprofessional eye-roll. Though depending on the kind of discipline…I could feel my cheeks flushing and I mentally scolded myself for that train of thought, which was both pathetic and pointless.

“It ended with a bit of whimpering from those fussbudgets and mama’s boys in there, but at least it started with a bang.” He mimed his speedboat—his speedboat that probably could have paid for the entire block I lived on—exploding, and laughed, throaty and deep.

And then I stopped feeling awkward, because I was too busy feeling absolutely fucking furious.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” I thought about my student loans, the interest only ever creeping higher as I made payment after payment, none of it ever seeming to make a dent in the Everest-high mountain of debt I’d had to accrue to apply for this gofer admin assistant job in the first place. My knuckles went white where they gripped the seat as I fantasized again, only this time it was about slapping him.

“In more ways than one,” he added, raising his eyebrows at me, I guess just in case I was a cloistered nun who hadn’t gotten the blatantly obvious double entendre.

“Well, I’m glad you had so much fun,” I snapped before I could get a hold of myself.“Some of us actually had better places to be than work tonight, but as long as you got laid and destroyed some property I’m sure it was all worth it.”

He raised an eyebrow coolly.“Oh, hot date?”

I got a rein on my mouth just in time, and pulled hard. There is not a‘snappy comeback designer’ position waiting for you in the wings, Lacey!I took a deep breath.“None of your business. Sir.”

The nice thing about the word‘sir’ is that it’s technically respectful, but you can still cram all the loathing of the entire phrase‘you ostentatious, arrogant, overly-attractive-just-to-be-cruel asshole’ into that one syllable.

“Not so hot then?” He paused for half a second, and when I didn’t leap in to deny it, those perfect teeth flashed in a predatory grin that could have been used to sell any and all brands of toothpaste, forever.“It looks like I saved you, Miss Newman. I believe thanks are in order.”

Of all the conceited--

“Let me guess: some overweight bore in a Star Wars T-shirt, practically wetting himself at the chance for an intelligent conversation with you. Or a limp-wristed mama’s boy too scared to tell his parents he doesn’t like girls.” He leaned back in his seat, satisfied with his judgment, and dug in with a little verbal twist of the knife:“That’s about the type of parasite to go for you, with your lack of confidence—”

“You have no idea who I am!” I burst out, tact forgotten. Tact? What was tact? Sorry, Doc, I must have been hit over the head and gotten a case of tact-amnesia.

The bastard just raised one eyebrow so perfectly sculpted that it would have Michelangelo smash his David in a fit of rage and sorrow at never being able to recreate it, and then go down an easier career path, like Renaissance-era Italian politics.

Grant leaned close, his eyes pulling me closer as well, like the Earth being pulled into the sun’s orbit.“Oh?” he murmured.“And who are you, then? Who’s Lacey Newman?”

I was definitely not going to be distracted by his proximity, or the way he smelled so good, like cologne and a hint of rum and just a hint of sweat. Like he was good to eat. Like—