Belonging to the Boss by Jenna Rose
Derick
Christ,what a body on her. Even better than I remember. I still can’t believe she doesn’t remember meeting me. But she was pretty drunk, so I guess it’s not that out of the question. But as I look across the car at her, at her silky smooth legs poking out of the perfect-fitting silver dress I had picked up for her, I realize that this arrangement is going to be even harder than I thought.
Her body goes on for days. It just does not quit.
Legs that seem to go up forever to a pair of hips that could have been drawn by an artist that was designing the world’s most ideal woman—ideal for breeding purposes. Her stomach is flat and toned like she spends hours in the gym, but I bet if I was to ask her, she would say she doesn’t even have a membership.
Just great, great genes.
And then those tits…
Maybe I’ll tell her that getting naked in front of me at least twice a day is part of her contractual obligation, because I’ve got to get a glimpse of those puppies, because if the way they’re sitting in that dress right now is any indication of how plump and perky they are, she’s got an award winning rack on her—a rack that could get her out of the art world and straight into the modeling industry.
But not if I’ve got anything to say about it.
My eyes only. I know there are plenty of rich assholes out there who love flaunting their young, hot girlfriends around, even so much so that they don’t mind (or even enjoy) if they post half-naked photos of themselves on the Internet, but I’m not one of those men.
Damn, what am I saying? Girlfriend? Gracie is my personal assistant, not my girlfriend, and I’m already getting flashes of jealousy over her, and we haven’t even gone out in public together yet. Tonight will be our first time.
She’s accompanying me to a business dinner where she’ll be acting as my assistant for the first time. It won’t be too hard and should give her the first taste of the job. I’m sure she’s nervous, but funnily enough, so am I. Not about how she’ll perform. I can always make a few calls and bring someone in to take over for her if she fails miserably. No, I’m nervous about how the other men at the dinner will react to her. And that’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time.
I didn’t inherit my wealth; I made it. And you don’t become a billionaire by wasting your time on women. So let’s just say it’s been a while since I was in anything resembling what you’d call a relationship. The women I did have in my life came and went with such speed that the men working the door at my building started joking that I was having them delivered via Doordash.
I’m not shallow. I’m not an asshole. But I never felt that sting of love, that Cupid’s arrow, that pang you’re supposed to feel deep in your chest when you know. So I wasn’t about to force a relationship on a girl when I knew deep down it wasn’t meant to be.
But when I saw Gracie at that restaurant in the Village, even though we barely said five words to each other, I felt something. And I knew right then that I had to have her.
“So you’re going to need me to draft up some contracts or something?” she asks as we pull into Mark Bessy’s estate.
“Yes, that’s right,” I reply, matching her sarcasm. “By personal assistant I actually meant contractual attorney. I hope you brought your laptop.”
“Oh, I’ve got it right here,” she replies, reaching for the small purse I provided her back at the penthouse.
See, it’s just little things like that that make me feel all funny inside—like a teenager again or something. Gracie doesn’t seem to care that I’m a billionaire. She doesn’t seem intimidated by it or interested in it at all, which is strange considering pretty much every person I meet in my life is.
Once I started making money, making real money, my father warned me that people would start treating me differently because of it, and he was right. Right up until the moment he had a heart attack and died on me.
“You’ll be my assistant,” I tell her as the car pulls up at the front steps. “If I need anything, you’ll get it for me. If, for some reason, Mark needs anything and his assistant is unavailable, you’ll get it for him.”
“So mostly I’m a gopher.” She frowns.
I counter with a smile. “A very, very sexy gopher in a three thousand-dollar dress.”
“Only three thousand?” she asks, getting out of the car. “A little cheap for a billionaire, don’t you think?”
I have to suppress my grin as I get out of the car so Mark’s men don’t see it and think I’m in a vulnerable position for tonight’s negotiations. I also have to catch up to her and pinch the back of her dress to slow her down.
“You’re my assistant,” I whisper. “You walk behind me.”
“Sounds more like a servant,” she whispers back.
“If that helps you remember your place, just think of yourself that way.”
She glances back at me and flashes me a feisty, yet discreet look that Mark’s men can’t see. I do, however, catch every single one of them, of which there are five, checking her out as we take the stairs.
Yeah, she’s sexy, boys, I say with my eyes. They get the message and look away.
Mark greets us at the door, his arms open and a grin on his face. He’s wearing his stupid white suit that he thinks makes him look like a Cuban gangster to go along with the Cuban cigar between his fingers.
“Señor Beaumont!” he proclaims, making me cringe. If this prick wasn’t worth almost as much as I am, I would gladly never do business with him again. “How are you this evening—” He stops when his eyes land on Gracie, who despite having been teasing and playful with me up until now, I feel press up close to me for comfort when he does this. “And who do we have here? Found yourself a woman, have you, Derick?”
“An assistant.” She’s right to correct him, but for some reason when she does, I feel a sting in my chest as though I’ve just been rejected by my high school crush. “I just started today.”
“Ah,” Mark muses, raising his eyebrows. “I always knew Señor Beaumont had good taste, but my, my , my…what a vision of beauty he has brought to my estate.”
Mark reaches out for her hand, to kiss it like some skeeze out of a romance movie no doubt, so I quickly take her by the waist and pull her past him and inside.
“Okay, what do you say we get this meeting started? You have drinks somewhere? Gracie can get us some drinks, can’t you, Gracie?”
“Drinks!” Gracie says with too much enthusiasm. “I sure can. I may not be old enough to drink, but I can get the drinks! Where are they?”
Mark’s eyes flash. I can see he’s almost as enamored by her as I am. He points toward the study. “The bar’s in there. I like an Old Fashioned, you know like Don Draper from Mad Men?”
“Sure, no problem—”
“Actually, why don’t I come with you and show you—”
Little fucking weasel.
“No, she needs to learn to do this job on her own, Mark,” I say, stepping in his way and motioning toward the meeting room. “Get him an Old Fashioned, Gracie, and get me a scotch on the rocks.”
“Will do, boss,” she replies before scurrying off to the study. I lead Mark to the meeting room but catch him glancing over his shoulder before I close the door behind us.
“Señor Beaumont.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Quite a looker, that one.”
“Don’t you have a fiancée, Mark?”
He laughs. “One fiancée, two. Who can keep track these days?”
Cringe.
But Christ, this girl is going to end up setting my world on fire. She already is. My normally razor-sharp focus is beyond dulled. I can barely remember the bullet points I’d memorized last night for today’s meeting. Instead, I’m thinking focused on the fact that Mark is having a completely normal, completely predictable reaction to my new, gorgeous assistant.
“So, you need my supply chain contacts in China, Derick,” Mark says with a cocky smile, knocking me back to reality. That’s right; I’m looking to streamline production of one of my recently acquired clothing companies, and Mark’s got the infrastructure I need to make it happen.
“Need is a strong word, Mark,” I reply with a grin. “I’d like them, and if we’re being honest, you doing business with me on this would be good for you too.”
“Ah, there’s that famous cool-as-ice façade of Derick Beaumont.” Mark smiles. “I’ll tell you what—”
There’s a gentle tap on the door, and Mark stops and looks up as Gracie enters, carrying a tray with our drinks carefully in one hand.
She says nothing, as a good assistant should, and simply comes over to the table between us and sets the drinks down with a soft smile. As she does, her dress clings to her body, emphasizing every succulent curve, sending a fresh dose of blood pumping straight to my cock.
Lord help me I need to fuck this girl. I’ve had everything a man could possibly have in life, yet I’ve never wanted anything more. The way her ass curves down her back and meets her thighs—it should be fucking illegal. But when I see the way Mark is looking at her, I can see he’s thinking the same goddamn thing.
“I’ll tell you what, Derick,” he says with a smile. “My Chinese contacts are worth what? At least two billion to you in the next eighteen months? I’ll give you them to you for free.”
“Free,” I repeat, my voice low. He better not be headed where I think he’s headed with this.
“That’s right.” Gracie turns to go, but Mark reaches out and snatches her by the wrist and stops her. “All I need is one night with this new assistant of yours.”
I’m on my feet in an instant, rage flowing through me like high-voltage electricity, my fist clenched by my side like a prize fighter ready to strike.
“Let. Her. Go.”
Mark’s eyes go wide with shock. I’m known for being cold, cool, calm and calculating when it comes to business, but my reaction surprises even me. This is not like me. Gracie is looking at me like I’ve turned into another person too.
“Have you lost your mind, Derick?” Mark asks.
“Do you want to see?” I ask. “Keep holding on to her and you will.”
Mark isn’t one to back down. It’s one of the reasons he’s so successful. But even he can see that I’m not fucking around right now, and after no more than three or four seconds, he lets go of Gracie’s wrist.
“Congratulations, señor, on screwing up the biggest business deal of your life.”
There will be other deals, Mark. Don’t lose any sleep over me.” I reach out and take Gracie by the arm and pull her to me. “Come on.”
I’ve never felt more possessive in my life than when I lead Gracie out of Mark’s house and out to where the car is still waiting by the stairs. The valets haven’t even had time to put it in the garage.
“Derick, I—”
“Get in!” I snap at her as I tug the back door open. She glances back at me but does as she’s told. I follow after her and bark at the driver to get moving back to the penthouse. “Why did you let him touch you like that?”
I’m snapping at her, but this is the first of a valuable lesson she needs to learn, and one of the reasons I made her take this job in the first place, beyond the selfish reasons of me wanting her by my side at all times.
“I—Derick, what do you mean let him?” she replies, confused. “He’s your business partner. A billionaire. A powerful man—”
“So you just let him touch you like that? Would you let him fuck you too if he wanted?”
“What?! No!”
“Then stand up for yourself!” I grunt. “You think you’d be ready for a job in the New York City art world if you can’t tell a man to take his hand off you? Do you have any idea how competitive and cutthroat that business is? It’s not all Sex in the City, Gracie. You don’t get to just sit there and have rich women drinking mimosas come in and buy paintings from you all day.”
I can see the shock in her eyes. Maybe I’m being harsh, but the image of Mark with his dirty paws on Gracie is still embedded in my mind, and I can’t shake it. Seeing that made me fully realize just how badly I’ve been bitten by her too.
Christ, is this what they mean by love at first sight?
We sit in silence for the brief ride back to the penthouse. I feel bad about snapping at her, but I also need to teach her. How is she ever going to be ready to enter the art world if she can’t stand up to a prick like Mark?
When we get out of the car, I let her walk ahead of me. My eyes are glued to her hips as they sway back and forth with such perfection that my cock is painfully hard beneath my pants by the time we get to the living room. She stops, turns and faces me, her question written all over her face without having to say anything.
“What now, boss?”
“Let me show you to your room.”
I’ve had a room prepared for her, nicer than anything she’s ever seen, but for some reason I lead her down the back stairs to the servants’ quarters. They’re still nicer than where she’s living now, but I can tell by her reaction that she’s not pleased with them. But she still doesn’t say anything.
There’s an awkward moment at the door before I leave her, when our bodies are mere inches apart, when I smell her soap, shampoo, and perfume, when I feel the heat of her body and am close enough to slip a hand up her dress and check whether or not she’s wearing any panties.
And unless I’m completely insane, I can see a desire there in her eyes.
She wants me to do it. Wants me to take her and pound her until we’ve both forgotten about what happened tonight.
And I’m this close to doing just that when I hear my father’s warnings about what women want from me echoing in my mind.
“Good night,” I tell her as I turn away.
“Good night,” I hear her say sarcastically as I start up the stairs.
What a night. What a goddamn night.
