The Billionaire’s Girlfriend (His Submissive #5)(5)
Author: Ava Claire

He didn’t move from his position of leisure, hands tucked behind his head, but his eyes were straight up business. "I’m not being dismissive. You said you were the best. Why shouldn’t you have the best job?"

"Because no one will respect me if I go from aide to personal assistant to publicist in a month."

Business changed to personal as his eyes darkened. "If anyone says a word-"

"That’ll show ’em," I scoffed. "’Better treat Leila extra nice or she’ll run and tattle’." I scooted back on the bed, needing to be close enough that he could see how serious I was and how important this was to me. "I need to do this for myself, Jacob. I’ve wanted to do this job all my life. It’s my freaking dream for crissakes."

"Then I’ll help you fulfill it," he said simply. "It’s settled."

"I don’t want a handout," I insisted, my voice rising along with my frustration level. "I want the job on merit, not my relationship status." When it still seemed like I was banging my head against the wall, I took a breath and kicked my legs back off the side of the bed.

I walked over to the window, looking out at the beautiful lines of the concrete jungle. This city was full of stories. Pages of broken dreams. Tales of unbelievable success. Jacob had his own saga himself—his father wanted him to go in show business, in front of the camera, instead of handling crises behind it. He should have known better than anyone what it meant to make a name for yourself and the power of controlling one’s own destiny.

I turned back to him, cooling my temper. "I appreciate everything you’ve done for me babe. Really I do. But I need you to understand how important this is to me."

He sat up and gave me a long pensive look that rooted me in place. "I need you to understand that it is hard for me to not give someone I love every damn thing under the sun." He raked a hand through his messy hair, shaking his head. "But if this is important to you, I’ll try and support you."

‘Try’ wasn’t as concrete as I was hoping for, but with Jacob, I knew I’d have to celebrate inches like they were miles.

****

I breezed through the front doors of Whitmore and Creighton, my heart hammering in my chest. The nerves weren’t the same ones that I felt when I came in for the interview, with my chest tight and butterflies whipping around in my gut, but the same feeling that I stuck out like a sore thumb remained. I was dressed as stylishly as everyone else—wearing a blush colored blouse that had the right amount of femininity and allure, a inky black pencil skirt hung on my curves and nude pumps—but I still felt like I was wearing a costume, playing a role and I didn’t quite have the words down.

There was one key difference though. Before, I gawked at the art and glossy lobby I’d only seen on my television screen. Now, I was the one being gawked at. Icy, female eyes gave me the once over before taking another go round in disapproval. With their noses practically touching the ceiling, they were clearly stumped as to why Jacob chose me. The men’s gaze lingered hungrily before they realized I wasn’t oblivious. They quickly turned away like they expected Jacob’s wrath to rain down like hellfire. Even the nice old security guard looked at me with new eyes. It was clear I had my work cut out for me. A dash of favoritism got me through the door and I needed to prove I could do this job.

I stepped into the elevator, gravitating toward the back and keeping my eyes front and center. People petered out at each floor until it was only me rocketing up to the executive floor. It was quiet in the lobby except for the hum of classical music and the click of my heels on the glittering floor. I frowned when I saw that Natasha, Jacob’s secretary, was nowhere to be found. I was hoping for a quick refresher course and I would need her key to access my office space. Maybe it would be open anyway since it was unoccupied.

I let out a small sigh of relief as I twisted the doorknob and pushed into the room. It was as unassuming as I expected. The walls were painted a conservative beige with white crown molding. There was a mahogany corner desk with a Mac Desktop computer perched on top. There was a cube like bookcase on the other wall with small decorative baubles in a handful of nooks.

I trailed my fingertips along the hardened surface of the desk, trying not to think about the other women that sat behind it. I pulled open my briefcase and pulled out some odds and ends to mark my territory. The others didn’t matter. This was my time and my chance to take on the world.

Even as I sat my little figurine I got from a tacky souvenir shop outside of Venice (much to Jacob’s chagrin) and a crystal figurine of a sleeping kitten that I got from my father as a child (even though I was deathly allergic to cats), I couldn’t help but notice how inadequate they looked on the glossy wood desk. The high back chair seemed to engulf me as I leaned back into its leathery embrace.

I slumped forward with a sigh, putting my head on the desk. I’d put on a brave face for him, for everyone, and I knew that I was more than capable to be his personal assistant and more, but I couldn’t help but think about the train wreck with Rachel. While our current client had zero chances of attempting to sabotage my personal and professional livelihood out of unresolved feelings for Jacob, I still had pause. Jacob had never really reprimanded me about my quick temper with Rachel, but I knew that I had to learn to put aside my insecurities and issues for the client. It was Business 101 and in publicity, where appearances were everything, I had to work on my poker face. I had to prove that I was the tenacious worker I’d presented at the interview and not just a quick witted with a bite.

“Ahem.”

I jerked up at the interruption and came face to face with Jacob’s secretary, Natasha. In a white blouse and a pale blue skirt that danced around her knees and equally blue eyes narrowing in distaste, the title ‘Ice Queen’ came to mind.

“Miss Montgomery, I take it?”

I stood up abruptly, clasping my hands awkwardly in front of me. “Yes–I think we met briefly before I went to Italy.”

“What are you doing in here?” she said abruptly, crossing her arms.

I frowned, stepping around the desk. “This is my office.”

“This is the office for the assistant to the CEO.”

“And I am the assistant to the CEO,” I said pointedly.

She propped a hand on her hip. “You want to maintain your position?” The biting rudeness in her voice slowly shifted to curiosity.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I said, looking at her strangely.

“Well, I’ve seen your resume,” she answered simply. “You’re overqualified. You don’t really belong in this office.”