The Billionaire's Bauble Read online

  “I see from your resume you’ve had unpaid summer internships in executive offices. Who was paying your way while you attended college?” he asked, suddenly wanting to know the truth.

  “My parents,” she admitted ruefully. “But they want me home now that I graduated. I don’t want to go.” The words brought a tightness to her mouth, and David immediately wondered exactly what had happened back home that this little morsel still couldn’t face.

  “Bright lights and big cities no longer hold the allure? Is charming, little old Fairbanks, Alaska, more inspiring than the Big Apple?”

  “I’m from Upstate, a farming community. The only bright lights we see are at the high school football games. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy New York City, but I prefer the quiet life, nature, hard work.” She brightened at her own tale.

  David laughed aloud at the pretty story, as he reassessed her sophisticated presentation. Sloane’s eyes narrowed. She stood and said, “I guess I blew this interview.”

  “On the contrary, I would hire you myself, but I plan to date you.” He smiled as she tilted her head and pursed her lips in disbelief. “You know, there are laws against CEOs dating their employees,” he added, and that made her smile a little.

  David wanted to kiss her again and again, but he rifled in his desk drawer, finally pulling out a heavily embossed business card. He turned it over and wrote a few words on the back, then held the card out to her.

  She hesitated, her hand wavering in the air like a virtuoso violinist before carefully removing the paper from his hand. He could see she didn’t want to touch him, was being careful not to. He must proceed cautiously.

  “Tony is a very close friend, and he also happens to own a company that almost rivals Grant—at least in crude oil production. I’m sure he will have a place in his operations for a smart, hard-working woman like you.”

  David wasn’t exaggerating. Sloane seemed determined to work, and it was the least he could do since this interview clearly had not gone as planned. Plus, he wanted Sloane Porter in Fairbanks so he could pursue her. He wouldn’t rest until he got those panties off.

  Sloane held the business card in her left hand and extended her right hand to him. He held his own hand out, and she shook it vigorously.

  “Thank you, Mr. Grant. I assure you, your recommendation will not be wasted.”

  “Surely you can call me David. I have seen your breasts.”

  She abruptly dropped his hand and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” he added, and he could hear a bit of panic in his voice. What was that all about? He realized he wanted this woman more than he had wanted anything for a long time. Just one night would end this nonsensical obsession with her identity. “What about dinner? It should be here momentarily.”

  Sloane turned back toward him. She held up the card, smiled brightly, and said, “I have a job to get. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”

  She moved toward the exit, and he watched, open-mouthed, as her firm behind swayed out his office door.

  Sloane felt the heavy door close behind her, and she leaned against it for just one moment. The luxurious outer office was empty. It glittered with sparse modernity, all black, gray and steel. Utter silence greeted her ears, except for the rapid beating of her heart. Frankly, she was surprised it hadn’t stopped. But it hadn’t, and she wouldn’t run.

  Deliberately, slowly, she sashayed across the thick carpet and pushed the down button on the elevator panel. Please, don’t let him follow me, she thought. As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped in and allowed herself one look back. David stood, smiling rakishly, leaning against the doorjamb of his office doorway. She turned and waved with just the tips of her fingers as the doors slid shut.

  Unfortunately, her self-control only lasted so long.

  She practically ran out the building’s giant glass doors and toward her car. She had to get away before she whooped for joy. As she drove away from Grant Oil, she bit her lower lip and squeezed the steering wheel. “It was him. It was HIM!” she exclaimed to her rear view mirror. She drove to her apartment in an ebullient daze, trying to digest the facts and regain her equilibrium.

  After that night at the low-rent bar, Sloane had dreamed she would cross paths with her mystery man. In her fantasies, she would run into him—at the grocery store or a nice restaurant—they would exclaim, exchange numbers, a romance would ensue.

  Never did she imagine their reunion would occur at Grant Oil, that he would be the CEO, the owner. It was crazy! She’d almost let him have sex with her right there in his office chair.

  How could she help it? David looked like a movie star, so fit and perfectly formed. His thick, dark hair and liquid brown eyes had nearly undone her. And the way he’d looked at her, with such naked desire. He wanted to make love to her badly. She could feel the heat of his arousal through his suit fabric. His massive shoulders, the V of his muscular torso, the thick thighs she almost touched as he kissed her shoulders. She had nearly ripped all her clothes off. At least she had the sense to stop at her blouse. She smiled and groaned all at once.

  Sloane arrived at her tiny, tidy home, left her heels at the door, and went to her kitchen to boil water for tea. She got a yogurt from the fridge and sat down, dizzied, at the counter. She could feel an acute pulse in her thighs.

  Trying to will her mind and body into order, she stood up and stretched.

  Truth was, Sloane had been aroused before, but those interludes were nothing like what had occurred in David’s office. She’d had sex, but not fireworks. The way David had kissed her, so sensuously, so fiercely, it seemed they would both explode. He seemed as starved for her as she was for him. Could he feel as she did—that maybe they were meant to be together?

  His words rang in her mind: “I want you. I plan to date you.” Was date plural? Did he want more from her than sex, than a hot time, one time?

  When that evening so long ago ended, Sloane had never forgotten him. He had played at the corners of her memory like a foggy dream. If she admitted the real truth, she didn’t want to leave Alaska because of him. She long regretted missing her chance with a man so sexy, so real, a man who had ignited in her a passion that had flamed in her heart for two years.

  She’d run away that night, not because she didn’t want him, but because she was coming close to giving in, to behaving like... The way she had behaved that afternoon?

  She realized her own response had likely given him the wrong idea. Damn. Would David think she had loose morals? Might he assume her an easy conquest?

  Grabbing her laptop, she sat on her leather-covered couch and pulled the afghan her mom stitched down onto her lap. She fingered the colorful yarn, the fine circles her mother had wrought. The soft, resilient thread reminded her of what she was made—grit, determination, hopefulness, love.

  Sloane was no party girl, no one-night stand. She wanted a soul mate, not a back seat or office chair tumble.

  She put her hand to her forehead. Oh, she wished she hadn’t let him take off her bra. Her beige bra. Gee, how sexy, she thought, and then giggled. She couldn’t help but cross her arms about herself and hug herself tightly, remembering the way he’d gripped her like he would never let her go—despite her poor choice of lingerie. Sloane smiled as she typed “high end lingerie” into the search engine on her computer.

  Soul mates. The words came unbidden and gleamed like diamonds in her mind. She twisted her grandmother’s wedding ring on her finger and remembered the love between her grandparents, between her own mother and father. Sloane believed in true love, had seen happily ever after, and she would never settle for less.

  Could David Grant actually be the one?

  Sloane had a feeling she would soon find out.

  Chapter 2

  Sloane noticed she had new email from her mom. She opened the message, and scanned its contents before dialing her mom’s number. She got the answering machine.

  “Sorry, Mom. I knew you would be waiting. It’s really late there, I kno
w. If you get this before you go to bed, call . . .”

  Her mother picked up, sounding bleary with sleep. “Sloane, how’d it go, sweetheart? Did you get it?”

  “Well, not exactly, but I did get a lead,” Sloane admitted, pulling the afghan tighter across her lap.

  “What happened?” Her mom sounded suddenly alert, as if she could sense Sloane’s excitement.

  “Hmmm. It’s hard to describe, really. I went to the office and met with the secretary as planned, and then she told me I would have to meet the boss, the one I would have been assisting had I gotten the job.”

  “So is that the lead? You get another interview with the big cheese?”

  “No, Mom. I had the interview this afternoon, and . . .”

  “She didn’t hire you. Why? Not enough experience?”

  Sloan laughed aloud. Oh, she had an experience. Just not the kind that gets one hired.

  “Mom, listen, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Of course, dear, go on. I was just eager, that’s all. Please, tell it your way, and I’ll keep quiet. Go on. Go on.”

  Sloane could hear her mother running water for the teakettle. She could imagine the kitchen back home, large and full of canning supplies. Her mother always made strawberry jam when June rolled around and the berries were in season.

  Sloane continued. “The blue suit you sent me was a big hit. It made me appear very professional, very grown up.” Sloane didn’t add and very sexy. “I sent you a picture message on your cell. Make sure Dad opens it for you, so you don’t delete it first.”

  “Should I wake him now?”

  “No, no, let Dad sleep, but you’ll like the picture, so don’t forget.”

  “Okay, dear. But about the job . . . So you looked great, but it didn’t work out? Did you tell those people that you could run your father’s farm single-handedly? You know how to milk a cow, run a tractor, and figure the accounts. Honey, you’re smarter than any of your brothers. Did you tell them you’re a whiz on the computer? Certainly a big oil man needs a girl who can do everything!”

  “Mom. Ah.” Sloane sighed. “No, we didn’t get to any of that exactly. Honestly, I’m not quite right for this particular job.” Alaska is not New York, she wanted to shout, but she listened as her mom interjected, “Nonsense. You’re perfect. They just don’t know what they need is all.”

  “Mom, I did get a lead to another company in the area, one that David, I mean Mr. Grant, said was sure would hire me. That’s good news, right?”

  “David? Do you know him? I’ve never heard you speak that name before. Isn’t Grant the name of the company?” Sloane’s mom was no dummy. She put two and two together faster than a math teacher.

  “Oh, he was very personable, Mom, and yes, he is the owner . . .”

  “Oh my, Sloane. What a break to get to meet the owner! Too bad he didn’t hire you, but if he gave you the name of another company, you must have impressed him. Why didn’t he hire you himself? Tell me everything!”

  Sloane didn’t want to get into any details right then. She gulped air, trying to find the right words. Luckily, her cell phone beeped.

  “Mom, I have another call. Can I call you tomorrow when I know more?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. Please don’t forget. Bye now.”

  Sloane pushed the accept button on her cell and said, “Hello?” into her pink phone.

  “Is that you, Sloane?”

  Sloane’s heart began to beat loudly. The deep, throaty tone permeating her eardrum could belong to no other than David Grant.

  “It is she. With whom am I speaking?” She could hear her own voice rise a bit with each clipped word. She stood up from the couch, letting the blanket fall to the floor, and began to pace the tiny room.

  “You are speaking with David Grant.”

  She could hear his smile behind the words.

  I am speaking with David Grant. I am speaking with David Grant. The words echoed over and over in her ears.

  “Are you there, Sloane?”

  She couldn’t find her voice for another moment. She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and put her hand to her tousled hair. Okay. Okay. She had to say something.

  “Sloane?” He sounded concerned, or was it peeved? She couldn’t tell.

  “I’m here. Um . . . what can I do for you, Mr. Grant?” she stammered.

  “David. Remember?” The sound of his sensuous chuckle brought Sloane around quickly.

  “Mr. Grant,” she said, “I am sure you have a reason for calling. What . . .”

  “Will you go to dinner with me tomorrow night? I would love to get to know you better. We could pick up where we left off today. Or better yet, we could start all over.” Again he chuckled. Clearly he found the idea of dating hilarious. And how rude to interrupt her like that!

  “What’s so funny?” she snapped. “Are you laughing at me?” Sloane had grown up with older brothers, so she knew teasing from derision; she just wasn’t sure which David intended or what she was feeling. She sat down hard.

  “I’m laughing because this phone call is about as far as possible from the way I’d like to do this thing. I’d much rather see your gorgeous face, ask you for a date between kisses, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate me showing up uninvited at your home.”

  Sloane smiled and almost wet her pants. “No, I would rather you call. Smart choice.” She was trying to sound casual as her stomach clenched tighter and tighter.

  She held the phone to her ear and waited. Silence. Had he hung up?

  She heard the sound of a keyboard as David sighed loudly and said, “Sloane, I am in the middle of a big deal, and my BlackBerry is blowing up right now. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, say seven, and we’ll roll from there. Oh, and don’t forget to call Tony, sweetheart. Bye.”

  Sloane stood up and looked at her phone. ‘Call ended’ flashed on the miniscule screen. In less than two minutes he had indicated he would like to get into her skirt and assumed she was available for dinner. The arrogance! Then why was she jumping up and down?

  She had barely processed her thought when a sharp knock at the door made her stop mid-jump. Through the window she could see a capped man with a clipboard. He knocked again, even though he could clearly see she could see him.

  She took the five steps to her front door, threw it open and said, “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a delivery for Sloane Porter. Glad you’re home because I couldn’t leave all these on the walkway. They’d obstruct the other tenants’ paths. Shall I carry them in?” Sloane looked around the man’s side to see flowers. Not just a box or a vase-full, but dozens and dozens. Roses in crystal, potted orchids, chrysanthemum and lily displays. Was this a joke? There must have been a thousand dollars worth of flowers outside. For her?

  The man said, “Are you Sloane Porter?”

  She nodded enthusiastically, and he stepped around her with the first vase. By the time everything was finally squeezed into the apartment, it looked like a florist shop was ready to open. Sloane thanked the deliveryman and gave him a five from her wallet. He snorted and left.

  Sloane closed her door and turned to look at the display. David Grant. No doubt about it. No card. No...

  All of a sudden she remembered the card David had given her and that she needed to call “Tony” for a job. She looked at her wall where the clock should be, but all she saw were red roses. She decided it was too late to call someone about a job. Even though the sun was still out, it must be closing in on nine or ten o’clock. Sloane sniffed the roses delicately before going to rummage through her purse. She needed to find that card.

  David Grant paced his study as the stock numbers rolled across the bottom of the 72-inch flat-screen TV perched above the stone fireplace. Almost time to move, he thought. The numbers looked close, but the time wasn’t right yet.

  He had to dial back the eager beavers. Why couldn’t they see every deal has a sunset moment, a perfect time to close? He and his partners had been w
aiting months to secure several stock options, and while everyone wanted to jump now, David knew if he waited long enough, the profits would be bigger than any he’d received so far.

  He hated waiting as much as anyone, but there was plenty to keep him busy.

  Several assistants typed on keyboards around the room. One had fallen asleep over her laptop. He glowered at them. Probably time to let them go home. The massive grandfather clock in the front hall boomed eleven times, and he needed them all at corporate by seven.

  “See you tomorrow,” he barked as he left the study and headed up the main stairs of his mansion.

  He dialed Tony on the way up.

  Tony answered. “What the hell, David? This better be good. I’m busy right now, dude. Busy, get it?”

  “Tell Maya I said hello and that in a week or so she should be twice as rich as she is today, thanks to me.”

  “Maya doesn’t care. Not one bit. She has enough money.”

  “No such thing.” David laughed.

  “You’re in a good mood. What gives?” Tony asked, his demeanor suddenly curious.

  “I have a woman I’m sending your way. She needs a job. Give her a damned good one where she can work flexible hours, work from home, not work too hard...”

  “What? Let me get this right. You want me to hire a girl and have her do less for more. Are you drunk?”

  “Haven’t had a drop, Tony. Her name is Sloane Porter, and I’m dating her. She’s too good for your company anyway, so consider it a gift.”

  “What can she do?”

  “I don’t know. Executive management, I guess, but I don’t want her working in an office, at some slimy’s beck and call. Set her up well, Tony.”

  “I’ll call HR in the morning. When will she be arriving?”

  “She should be calling you soon. Thanks, man.”

  David hit the landing just as the conversation ended. He felt alive tonight, ready to take on any challenge.

  He went into the workout room and stripped out of his suit. As he removed his shirt, he smelled Sloane’s perfume, and it brought a flood of images into his mind—her full lips, those exotic sloe-shaped eyes, her delicate collarbones, and if he never saw breasts again, he had seen the most perfect pair ever created. He decided he better run on his treadmill for a good long while or he would never catch some sleep. He walked into the workroom and bypassed the weight machines and various high tech exercise toys, until he reached the sturdy old treadmill under another giant TV. Futures were broadcasting.