The Billionaire’s Promise (His Submissive #8)(14)
Author: Ava Claire

It was like a ratty t-shirt that had seen better days but you still gravitated to the comfort in its worn threads. And considering the staff wine reception was sure to draw Rachel like flies on crap, I needed a little comfort. But instead, the squeaky hinges admonished me for wanting to hide out. I had every right to go to the wine reception. Still, after the epic fail with Alicia, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to grin and bear it if Rachel decided to show up, armed with every insulting joke in creation.

The drum at my door made me snap to a ninety degree angle and put on a mask of professionalism. When Jacob appeared in the doorway, I dropped all pretenses like I had it together and let my curly hair wash onto my face.

He circled around my desk, perching on the edge beside me. “We don’t have to go. Maybe something pressing came up and we had to fly to London.”

I let out a groan.

“Spain.”

I grunted.

“Bora Bora?”

Anywhere but here sounded like heaven. But there was a key feature the destination had to have. “Security detail, military grade, to keep your Mom and Rachel out?”

“It can be arranged.”

I peered at him through a veil of chocolate brown curls, expecting to see a smirk or some look along the lines of, ‘Yeah right’. But he was just studying me, willing and able to do anything to make me feel better. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“When it comes to you, the word ‘no’ doesn’t exist.”

Be still my beating heart…

We could sneak out the executive elevators, down to the garage and be climbing on his jet just as all the premium liquor was kicking in and Rachel was really pulling out all the stops.

“No,” I said firmly, for my benefit as much as his. I flipped my hair out of my eyes and stood up tall. “It’s just a drink or two and some h’orderves. I can do it.” I forced a smile. “I’m a professional.” I stood up, sliding the skirt down a bit and smiling at the way his eyes traveled over my curves like he was wishing I’d gone with running away. We could have finally made use of the private chamber on board.

“I don’t know how you expect me to keep my eyes off you,” he said, his voice like a slow hand stripping me down.

I slid up against him. Eye to eye. Lip to lip. “I don’t.”

I pressed my lips against his, finding a little piece of bliss and forgetting about everything else but my fingers locked in his hair and his lips locked against mine. I tried to hold onto his taste as we took the elevator up to the roof.

The early evening air was brisk and warm. The roof, usually lined with wicker furniture and flowers, was the perfect oasis from deadlines or to enjoy a cup of coffee or lunch. It was transformed into a set-up fit for any swanky bar or nightclub. White globes and cylinder lanterns cast a warm, ethereal glow over the rest of the simple, classic furnishings. White, modern chairs and ebony sculptures framed the space. Servers dressed in black made the circuit.

Jacob wrangled two glasses of wine for us before he had to step away to take a call and I scanned the people, looking for Claudia. I stopped when I saw Snap Girl from Research and Development, whose actual name was Elle Kent.

She gave me a tiny wave and wandered over, giving me a peevish smile. “Leila, right?”

So we were pretending that we hadn’t engaged in clipped, awkward conversation half a dozen times. “That’s right. And you’re Elle?” Even though I wasn’t a big fan of reintroducing myself, she was clearly trying to be friendly and since I had little to no friends at Whitmore and Creighton, I decided to overlook her amnesia.

She blushed and gave me a nervous giggle that was clearly the product of several glasses of wine. “That’s me!” She gestured around us. “It looks amazing out here, huh?”

Whitmore and Creighton knew how to put on a party. The jazz band lowered their volume, drawing attention to the small stage off to the side. Missy slipped up to the forefront, dressed in her usual fierce all black get up, but her hair hung in soft, carefree waves around her face. She ruffled her locks demurely before speaking.

“I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for stepping away from their desks and sticking around to unwind with us. Enjoy!”

Everyone gave her a polite round of applause and she sauntered off to a cluster of white lounge chaises in the corner. It was clear, even now, that there was the hierarchy and she was in the VIP section. When I narrowed my gaze, I saw Rachel sitting in the center, dressed in a ruby red dress that was a dead ringer for the one I wore to the restaurant in Venice when I cut her dinner with Jacob short.

I remembered Missy’s sudden befriending of me and frowned in anger. Was she Rachel’s spy? I knew there had to be a catch.

Rachel brought the rim of her glass to her lips and gave me a look that said ‘buckle up’.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Elle said dreamily beside me.

“Who?” I asked glumly, even though I was about a hundred percent sure she was talking about the permanent pain in my ass.

“Rachel Laraby,” Elle said excitedly. I’ve seen every movie of hers. She’s incredible.”

I grunted a reply. As horrible as Rachel was in real life, I couldn’t deny that she had some acting chops. Even though her last film about a waitress who had an affair with a writer was a massive flop, I’d seen clips. The woman knew how to immerse herself in characters, drawing you into her world.

When she rose from the couch, tossing me a wink, I finished my wine with a massive gulp and yanked a second from a server making the rounds.

“Oh my god…she’s coming over here!” Elle squealed with glee.

“Joy,” I muttered, not even attempting to hide the fact that I was decidedly on the other end of the spectrum. Elle gave me a weird look but it dissipated as Rachel glided toward us, everyone dutifully parting like the Red Sea.

“Leila!” she said with faux cheeriness, her teeth glittering like fangs. “Don’t you look lovely!”

From the way her green eyes inched over me like I was caked in poo, I knew I’d chosen the perfect dress this morning. I knew Rachel’s tell–and she was trying way too hard.

“Ms. Laraby!” Elle said breathlessly, in awe of her. “I’m such a big–”

“That’s nice,” Rachel cut in, widening her phony smile. She held up her empty glass. “I’m absolutely parched.”

Elle gobbled up the bait, hook, line and sinker. “I’ll get you another.” She flitted away, probably off to personally crush the grapes.