Saved by the Boss (New York Billionaires, #2)

by Olivia Hayle

“I’d like to apologize about yesterday. About mistaking you for a client. I realize that wasn’t what you’d expected, and well… I’m sorry.” He pulls out the chair opposite my desk and sits down. Stretches out long legs in front of him. “I’m not,” he says. “You’re not?” “Like I said, it was enlightening,” he says and lets his gaze travel from mine to the pictures on the walls.

“You really are a hopeless romantic, then.” “I’m sorry?” “A hopeless romantic,” he repeats. “You believe in the core values of this business. You believe in love.” He says the last word like it has sharp edges. “Yes,” I say, leaning forward. He might be our new owner, but isn’t it in the best interest of the business if he learns what we’re truly about? If he understands what makes us successful? “If only you could see how well this process really works,” I say, “you’d become a hopeless romantic too.” “I doubt that, Miss. Davis.”

“Well,” I say. “Let us set you up on a date.” His eyes settle on mine with an intensity that makes my mouth dry. “Pardon me?” “If you want to see how this business truly works, I’m happy to show you. Three dates,” I say, improvising. “I’ll make the arrangements for you. If you still think there’s no merit after you’ve been on all three, and if none of the women are people you’d consider having a second date with… I’ll admit defeat.” “Defeat?” he asks. “Yes. I’ll admit I was wrong, and Opate Match isn’t for everyone.” It’s a gamble, and my heart pounds in my chest with the audacity of what I’m proposing. Vivienne would have my head if she knew. Or she’d laugh at the sheer nerve.

Anthony narrows his eyes. “And if I deem one of the dates good enough to warrant another?” “Then you’ll admit you were wrong about this company. Your company, in fact. Either way, you’ll have gained some experience about how our business works.” His jaw tightens, eyebrows drawing together over dark eyes. He’s coldness itself, and I’m about to freeze. But then he gives a single nod. “You have yourself a deal.” My smile is entirely genuine. “Oh, that’s great. You’re really going to enjoy this, I promise.” “I’d be careful about making that promise.”

What’s the best part of your day?” He taps his hands along the armrest, gaze turning to Ace. My dog has sprawled out beside Anthony’s chair like he’s never been more relaxed in his life. “My morning cup of coffee,” he replies. I note it down, and I know I shouldn’t comment, but… “Yet you didn’t want a coffee when you came here yesterday.” “I doubt your machine is very good.” I glance up at him, but there’s a wryness to his features. He knows he’s being provocative. I give a one-shouldered shrug. “Compared to whatever fancy one you have at home, it’s likely not, no.” He nods. Looks past me again.

“Yes. Well, perhaps one day. Let’s see here… oh, this is a fun one. Give me two truths and a lie about yourself.” “Two truths and a lie?” “Yes. I’ll see if I can parcel out the lie.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glances back at the half-open door to my office. “I’m born in January, my social security number ends in thirty-seven, and this suit is new.” Oh, this man is frustrating. I don’t let it show, giving him a smile. “One of them is a lie?” “Yes.” There’s challenge in his eyes. Clearly, he thinks he’s outsmarted my prompt. His three things are about as personal as asking someone about the weather. “You’re not born in January,” I guess. “Wrong. My social security number does not end in thirty-seven.” I smile, like he’s won a point, and return to the client profile. Enjoys being difficult, I write. Could be devastating if he decides to flirt with a woman in earnest. Doubtful he’ll ever do something he doesn’t want to. “You learned a lot about me from that response,” he says. “What did you just write?”

“I was willing to overlook the silent thing, the fact that I had to drag responses out of him. And oh, he had magnificent hands. Men sometimes do, and you know I like men’s hands. But even so…” “Yes?” “The thing is, Summer, I just can’t see myself dating a guy who collects dolls. I’m sorry. I know you’re so good at what you do and I always enjoy my dates, but this is a hard no for me. I didn’t know it was before I met him, so I suppose I learned that about myself tonight?” She laughs, once more the Isabelle I’d spoken to an hour ago. “So you can add that to my profile. Won’t date a guy who collects dolls.” It takes me several moments to form words. “Anthony Winter… collects dolls?” “Oh yes. It was the only subject he seemed passionate about. Porcelain ones, too.” Her voice drops an octave. “He said he has them all on display in his apartment. He’d just ordered a rare one from Russia. Had it flown here with its own attendant.” “Christ,” I mumble.

“You’re sabotaging the bet,” I say. J’accuse, Winter. Anthony raises an eyebrow. “Sabotaging the bet?” “You collect porcelain dolls?” “They have a separate room in my apartment,” he deadpans. “You lied.” He leans back in the chair. “Yes, I did.” “That goes against the bet. If you’re to get the true Opate experience, you can’t deliberately undermine yourself on dates.” “I have to be on my best behavior?” “Yes. Don’t be anything other than what you are. If you keep sabotaging, well…” “You won’t admit I won the bet fairly,” he says. “Is that it?” “Yes.” “Fine. I won’t sabotage any more of the dates.” “Thank you.”

“For the record, I told her about my imaginary doll collection to end the date. It was clear to me that we wanted different things, and I didn’t want to lead her on.” “Oh.” “I won’t sabotage going forward, but once I’ve determined that the date won’t work out, I won’t waste these women’s time.” “No, that’s good.” I nod. “I approve.”

“I’m available when you have decided on a second candidate,” he says. I can’t help but smile at the phrasing. Candidate.

“Good luck,” I say. “You’ll need it more than me.”

“Two measly dates took up that much of your time?” “There was a lot of prep work,” he says. “Takes me hours to get ready for a date.”

“A china expert and a venture capitalist fan?” Carter asks. “Anthony, where did you meet this woman, and can you point me in the same direction?” “Much like a sixteenth-century French futon,” Anthony says, “Summer is one of a kind.” I have to smile at that. He’d sidestepped the issue of me working at Opate, hiding it in the guise of a compliment. “But unlike a sixteenth-century futon, I’m not usually sold at auction,” I add.

I shake my head. “You’ve had a lot more champagne than I realized.” “I’m not drunk.” “Sure you’re not.” “I’m just… elevated by the juice of the grape.” I raise my eyebrows and she laughs. “I read that in an article once. Isn’t it a great way to say drunk?” “Sure. It’s also six words too long.”

“Read about the first beer, Summer.” “Read aloud?” “Yes. I enjoy your voice.” “Okay. Yes,” I say, smiling.

“You’re tipsy again.” “You’re not?” I ask, looking at him over the rim of my beer glass. “I get that you have a higher tolerance than me, but come on.” “I’m not tipsy,” he says. “I have at least a foot of height on you, not to mention I drink more often.” “Hey, you don’t know what I do in my spare time.” “I know enough to be sure it’s not downing beers like there’s no tomorrow. Careful there, shorty. I’ll finish the last of your final beer.” “How self-sacrificing,” I say. “That’s me. Noble to the core.”

“My aunt should have thought about that before she started,” she says. “Or perhaps we should just do a poorer job.” “That’s always an option. Embrace mediocrity, Summer.”

“I don’t have to believe in love,” he says, “to respect the fact that you do.”

“Like I said, Summer, you should embrace mediocrity.” “I can’t,” I say. “Not when you’ve invited me to a house that’s practically the Garden of Eden come to life. How will I ever be able to settle for anything less?” “Your apartment doesn’t have a lot of room for an infinity pool,” he points out. “No, nor does it have an ocean view.”

“Sing in the shower every day you’re here.” My hands curl around the edge of the blanket and I sway on my feet. Reach up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips. He doesn’t respond. I fall back on my feet and take a step toward the open patio door. Embarrassment makes my cheeks burn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… sorry.” He catches my wrist and tugs me against him, tipping my head back and slanting his mouth over mine. Anthony doesn’t kiss me like it’s our first time.

Finding the one woman you want when you have nothing to give. If the universe has a sense of humor, I imagine it’s laughing at me now.

“You failed at being a seeing eye dog, and I’m failing at being sighted. We’re a solid pair.”

should have let her run back inside, to safety, nursing nothing more than faint embarrassment. But after that first, tantalizing taste… And now I can’t concentrate for shit.

“You look like a lizard,” I tell him. “Soaking up the rays.” “And you look like a siren,” he responds, not opening his eyes. “Sing for me as well and I’ll be lost here forever.” I grin. Shoot a glance to where my discarded bikini top rests on the lounge chair. “I’m not sure I want you to drown yet. I’m not done with you.” “Thank God,” he says, “because I’m sure as hell not done with you.”

“Have you given those singing lessons of yours any more thought?” he asks. I close my eyes. “No.” “Will you sing for me now?” “Probably not.” “So I’ll have to camp outside your shower. Good to know.”

He reaches for me and I settle on his lap, the water divine and temperate around us. It laps in soft waves over my exposed breasts and Anthony looks down, a soft half-smile on his face. “Good thing you advised me to take my top off,” I say. “Thanks for reminding me of the dangers of tan lines.” “I’m nothing if not altruistic.” His hand cups my left breast, nearly covering it whole. “Of course you are.”

I grin at him. “Praise? From Anthony Winter?” “I’m capable of it, in small doses.” His hands slide down and grip my ass. “When something really impresses me.” “Oh?” “Yes. Like you, for example. And this. Not to mention these two. Or here, where I—” I cut him off with a kiss. His hands return to my waist and tug me close as I lose myself in him and he in me, in the beautiful place where time stops altogether.

“Just looking for more things I can help make happen,” I say. Before I have to leave you.

“Will I ever get to see your place?” “One day, perhaps. If you behave.” “What if I misbehave in the way you like?” “Then we’ll go there first thing tomorrow.”

“I’ll help,” Anthony adds, voice serious. “I’m passable at playing the triangle.”

“You can’t think of any. You’re a seize-the-day kind of girl.” “Guilty,” I admit. “Take me away to the dungeons—I surrender!” “About that. Where are your dungeons around here?” “We haven’t installed any yet. Working on it.” “Just what this place needs.” “Mmm. That reminds me. I still haven’t seen how you live.” “Oh, I have plenty of dungeons.” “You do?” “Yeah. That’s why I haven’t taken you there.” “Scared I’ll run if I see them?” He shakes his head. A lock of dark hair falls over his forehead and I smooth it back. “They’re only something I show to true connoisseurs.”

To have a diagnosis like that, hanging like the sword of Damocles over one’s future. My heart aches. I wish he would let me tell him that, too. That he’s worth staying with. Fighting for. But most of all, I wish he’d believe that himself.

“I’m not always happy.” “I know,” he says. “But you’re always genuine.” “An open book, or so I’ve been told.” “You let people see you, Summer. That’s strength.”

“I’m thankful I saw you, at any rate,” he murmurs. “Before it all goes black.”

“What kind of husband would I make? What kind of father?” “A good one.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and in the king of all ironies, I can see it with shattering clarity. “A useless one,” I correct her. “I refuse to become someone you have to take care of. Summer, I would rather die than be anything less than a true partner to you.”

“What do you do,” I whisper to him, “when the person you love refuses to love himself?”

“Anthony,” I murmur. “I love—” He halt my words with a kiss and shudders in my arms. “Don’t, Summer. Please. I won’t be able… please.” “Okay,” I murmur. “I won’t.” He smooths my hair back with his free hand, still buried deep inside me. “Not until I’m back with you. Not until I’m better.” “Okay,” I whisper. Lock my legs behind his back. “It’s not that I don’t—” This time, I’m the one who stops his words with my lips. They aren’t needed. Not as we cling to each other in my small bed, chasing away the future one touch at a time.

It softens my own. “Summer, I picked them out myself.” “You… you didn’t ask someone to do it for you?” “No, I went there myself. It should have been the first warning flag, really.” “Warning flag?” “That I was falling for you,” I say. “Instead, I told myself it was a good use of an afternoon, standing there, imagining a woman I’d just met in cocktail dresses.”

“Of course not. You’re the athlete.” He chuckles. “You’re the runner.” “Okay, fine. We’re both athletic.” “We are. There is one sport, though, that we’re particularly good at,” he says, eyes glittering. “A team sport.” I grin at him. “Oh, we’re Olympic gold medalists.” “They wouldn’t even let us compete,” he says, nipping at my bottom lip. “It would be unfair to all the other contestants.” “Unsportsmanlike.” His hands slide down and grip my ass. “Very,” he agrees. “We can’t have that.” “Glad we’re agreed,” I say. “Now we don’t have to train for the next Olympics anymore.” “But training is so much fun!”