The Billionaire's Seduction Page 3

  “Our followers are happy to see fresh, relevant content finally,” Kelly points out. “God knows we’ve been falling short.” Under her happy words I sense a little bit of tension. I fear she might be taking it personally, the way I’ve taken over her old job with success. As much as she didn’t really want it, as overwhelmed as she was with all of the work already on her plate, nobody likes seeing a new person doing a better job than they did.

  “So what’s left?” I ask, trying to change the subject. “What do we still have on the docket?”

  Kelly pulls up her schedule. Of course I know we have the Vuitton and Klein shows, plus a sort of pre-wrap party tonight before things officially end tomorrow. I just want to talk about something a little less loaded. Lately, my interactions with her have me thinking about what it must be like to navigate a minefield. Talking about the party tonight should calm things down.

  But, as it turns out, there are mines hidden here as well.

  “Maybe we can spend some time hanging out at this party, since we missed each other a few nights back,” Kelly says, tucking a strand of golden hair behind one ear. Her silver bangles sparkle in the sunlight coming through the window. Our salads have come. There is indeed a tiny bit of chicken laid across my greens. At least they tried, I tell myself. I squeeze lemon over everything before digging in. I finally understand when truly hungry, even a plate of greens is as good as a buffet.

  “Mmm, yeah, how did things go with the guy from the show? Did he ever call you?” I ask. She’d implied the next day there’d been some friskiness between them, but wouldn’t get into specifics. I had to wonder how honest she was being about him.

  She shakes her head. “It’s never anything serious for these guys, especially when it comes to Fashion Week. So many people coming to town, leaving when it’s over. They just want to get their dicks wet and move on.” I sense she’s trying to act more casual about this than she truly is. It can’t be easy, getting older but still working in the industry. Seeing younger girls all the time. She’s still beautiful, always chic. Today her designer of choice is Elie Saab. The halter top with its ruffled peplum shows off her slim figure and smooth skin. But she only has a few seasons left before she moves into MILF territory…at least, according to our youth-conscious profession.

  “How about you?” she asks, eyeing me from over the rim of her water glass.

  “How about me?”

  “How have things been going for you out here—meet anyone interesting?” I know I’m blushing. She crows with satisfaction. “See? I knew there was no way for you to leave LA without one or two love slaves.”

  The only person I cared about was the one I’d cared about before we ever stepped foot off the plane. She doesn’t know this, of course. Should I tell her? It’s been hell, keeping it to myself.

  I decide I can trust Kelly with my secret, reminding myself it’s not as if we’re a real item, or like we’ll ever be together like it again.

  “I have something to tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anybody else. I swear to god, this has to stay between us,” I say. Her ears perk up.

  “Cross my heart,” she swears, one perfectly manicured finger sketching a cross over her bare chest. She leans forward in anticipation.

  “Okay,” I say, looking around to be sure we’re not overheard. “I slept with Adam, our first night here.”

  Her face changes. She leans away, sitting with her back against the chair. “Oh.” Then she’s silent.

  “It’s not going to happen again, believe me,” I assure her. “It was just one of those things. We got carried away.”

  “I bet you did. I bet he carried you right away,” she replies with a wry smile. She looks away. “This is why you coming to LA was a bad idea,” she muses quietly.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. I hadn’t thought she’d be excited, per se, but she’d already told me all sorts of sordid stories about the crazy sex and parties she’d seen during Fashion Week over the years. This didn’t seem so bad in comparison.

  She looks back at me, a frown showing more lines in her face than I think she’d be comfortable with. “I knew he was going to try something with you. I knew he would take advantage of how naïve you are, of how much you want to get ahead.”

  It’s my turn to frown. “Hang on a minute,” I say, “it wasn’t like the way you described it. He didn’t offer me anything or make it sound like I’d get special favors if I slept with him. I told him I wanna be treated the same as everybody else.”

  I’m interrupted by our waiter. “Everything all right over here, ladies?” I see Kelly eyeing him up. He’s very cute, like most of the guys around here. I know her well enough by now to know she has her eye on him.

  “Everything is just as good as it can be, thank you…Scott,” she purrs, giving him a million-dollar smile.

  He turns to me. “How about you, miss?” His voice is warmer. He touches my arm.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I reply with a tight smile. I’m still rankled by Kelly’s insinuation. My eyes swing back to her. She’s looking up at him, her smile fading. He’s not paying attention.

  When he leaves, I whisper again. “I told Adam I don’t want to get ahead through sleeping my way to the top. I want to do it on my own.”

  She smiles at me, almost sadly. “You’re so young,” she murmurs. “So idealistic. I barely remember those days, myself.” She puts her Birkin bag over one slim shoulder, then stands. “Believe me, it won’t take long for you to grow out of this phase. I’ll be sorry to see it happen.”

  She leaves me sitting there alone. I pick at the rest of my salad, trying to put her words out of my mind. I know she’s just a little off this week. She never liked the way Adam went over her head about this trip, even though she tried to pretend to be happy that I was coming along. Now I know why she was so concerned in the first place: She was just trying to protect me.

  I’m lucky to have such a good friend, who cares about my reputation. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to be a little more careful, a little less trusting. I don’t want to become as jaded as she is…but maybe it’s just what happens over time, when you’ve seen as much as she has.

  “Was everything okay with your friend?” the waiter asks me, coming back to the table.

  “Oh…oh, yes. She had some work to get to,” I tell him.

  “I’m sure you must be here for Fashion Week,” he tells me. “A woman dressed as beautifully as you are has to be in the industry.”

  I smile, but only to be friendly. I’m not trying to lead this guy on. “I am. In fact I have the Vuitton show in a little bit,” I say. I reach into my Chanel shoulder bag for my wallet. He stops me by putting a hand on my arm. He’s very touchy-feely, this one.

  “No need,” he says. “Your friend gave me the magazine’s account information already. You’re all settled.”

  I decide to leave before he asks if I can get him a modeling job with us.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry for the way I acted in the restaurant yesterday. I was a total bitch,” Kelly says as we’re getting settled into our seats on the plane. We’re still first class, which is something I could get used to.

  The scene in the restaurant isn’t all she has to apologize for, I think. Not only did she leave me looking like a fool when she left, but she ignored me the rest of the day. I could nearly feel the cold radiating from her during the shows. She had been MIA during the party. So much for spending time together.

  But none of this is worth fighting over, especially since she seems willing to let it go. “It’s okay,” I assure her with a little hug. “I know you’re just looking out for me.”

  “That’s totally what I’m trying to do, sweetie,” she says. “I only have your best interests at heart. I sorta feel like your mentor, you know?” I nod, feeling so much better with the tension between us gone. The feeling doesn’t last for long.

  “So,” she says, “since you’ve now seen LA, do you think you’re ready to ta
ke on Miami by yourself?”

  I gulp. “Alone? I’m going to Miami Fashion Week alone?”

  She smiles. “Well, without me, anyway. I’ll be too busy recuperating from Paris.” We both laugh. She adds, “Besides, I’m hoping to score an extra few days there. I’ll call it business research or something.”

  “I won’t breathe a word,” I say with another laugh. But I can’t help the icy fear in the pit of my stomach at the idea of navigating Fashion Week without her.

  Chapter 5

  Adam

  I’m standing behind my desk, facing the wrath of one very pissed off Kelly. Plus the deer-in-headlights look of one very overwhelmed Anna.

  “What do you mean? I hope this is some sort of joke, Adam, because I’m not laughing.” Kelly’s tone is deadly. Her normally tan skin has gone as pale as her cream colored jumpsuit.

  “I’ve never been more serious,” I assure her. “I want Anna to come to Paris Fashion Week with me.”

  The sick little part of myself, the one which enjoys watching people squirm when I tell them what to do, watches intently as Kelly tries to make heads or tails out of this.

  “But…but…” she sputters, “I’ve always been the one to go to Paris! Always!”

  “I know,” I tell her calmly, “but now I think it’s time for a change. This is the entire reason behind my being here: Change. A lot of things have to change if we’re going to get this magazine back to where it ought to be.”

  She looks like she could spit nails at me. “What about my ticket? I’m already bought and paid for!”

  I shrug. “The magazine can absorb the cost.” She’s completely incensed. I can tell that she wants me to lose my temper so she can have something to hold against me. If anything she’s more unnerved by my attitude.

  Finally I take one of the nails she spits at me, using it to seal her coffin. “Don’t pretend this isn’t more about you wanting to take an entire extra week there so you could enjoy the city. Don’t tell me you didn’t expect the magazine to pay for it. Think of it this way: You’re saving us money. Thank you.”

  Now she’s really pissed, her skin going from pale to deep red. “How dare you?” she whispers venomously.

  “How dare I?” I say, my tone still cool. I look down at my deep blue suit to flick away a pretend bit of lint from the sleeve, as though none of this matters to me. Then I look back at her, waiting to see how she manages to try to talk her way out of this one.

  She turns to Anna. “Is this you? Did you tell him I was staying on after the week is over?” she asks. Anna looks petrified.

  I save her the trouble of replying. “No, Kelly, she didn’t tell me anything. Everybody knows you treat Paris Fashion Week as a personal holiday. Like you said already, you always follow the same pattern, every time. It’s getting old. You’ve gotten away with charging your vacation to the magazine for years with no one taking you to task for it. Well now, I am.”

  My voice is getting louder. I mean, how dare this woman act like the injured party? Like she’s the victim, when she’s the one who was cheating the magazine? So now I’m just as pissed as she is. But I force myself to stay calm, thinking of the potential lawsuit my father already dangled over my head because of Anna. I don’t need Kelly suing because I maligned her reputation or some ridiculous shit.

  “This isn’t supposed to be a punishment, anyway,” I say now, my voice quiet again. She’s not buying it, though. Her arms cross over her thin body. I can see she’s trembling.

  “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but this is my final decision. Anna will go to Paris. You can go to Miami in her place. I mean, Miami Fashion Week is one of the hottest events of the year. It’s going to be killer. Let’s mix things up and get your point of view there, okay? We’ll get Anna’s in Paris.”

  “Oh, spare me,” she spits, her voice dripping sarcasm. “You can spin this all day, but we all know the real reason you’re taking her with you.” Kelly spins on her mile-high nude heels to stalk out of my office.

  I sit down with a heavy sigh, running my hand through my hair. I look over at Anna, who hasn’t moved a muscle throughout our entire argument.

  “You okay?” I ask. She shakes her head.

  “I don’t want anybody to hate me, especially Kelly,” she whispers. I can’t help noticing that just like with her parents, she’s concerned about everybody else’s feelings but her own. This is why she’s so special.

  “She doesn’t hate you. She hates me. But I know I’m right. It’ll be good for you to go to Paris to deliver followers the content they deserve. Give them an insider’s look at an event most people can only dream of.” Of course, I plan to use the week as an excuse to have her all to myself. She doesn’t need to know it. “Besides, somebody needs to knock Kelly down a peg or two and remind her she’s just an assistant, not the goddamned Editor-in-Chief.”

  Something in Anna’s eyes tells me she knows my real motivation. So does Kelly, come to think of it.

  One and a half billion, I remind myself silently. I wonder why the thought suddenly came up when I looked into those blue-green eyes.

  * * *

  “What do you think?” I ask her, as though I need to. I can read every emotion on her face. She’s like a kid on Christmas morning, their birthday and the Fourth of July, all wrapped into one beautiful, chic young package.

  “This is…beyond my wildest dreams,” she murmurs over the din surrounding us. We’ve just sat through the first show of the trip. I couldn’t describe a single thing we saw on the runway if a gun was put to my head. I spent most of the time watching Anna. She’s taken beautiful photos, now posting a few of them to social media. I use the opportunity to scan the room. I’m gratified to see Anna more than holding her own beside these Parisians. She reflects well on me, too.

  Of course, her appearance has a little bit to do with the closet back at our offices. I took her in there a few days before we left and allowed her to do a little shopping, making her swear on her life to return everything in good condition as soon as we get home. Her eyes had boggled, but after a few minutes of hesitation she had dived right in. Now she looks sophisticated in a slouchy black satin pantsuit by Galliano. I’m proud to see her looking just as good as, if not better than, everyone around us.

  “This is just the beginning,” I remind her. “We have Hermes, Laroche, Chloe, Lanvin, Balenciaga, Westwood, Saab…”

  She looks impressed. Maybe a little amused, too. “You’re learning names! I’m proud of you!”

  I shrug. “Something’s bound to rub off after a little while,” I tell her. Of course I spent time memorizing the names of the biggest designers, to impress her a little. I’d rather cut off my tongue than tell her.

  “So where to next?” she asks, all eager freshness. Her excitement is almost contagious.

  “I was thinking about ducking into a little café for coffee and croissants,” I tell her. “Then getting ready for the next show. At some point I want to see the latest stats on the social media accounts. We do have to get a little work done while we’re here.”

  Minutes later, seated together at a little table in Cafes Verlet, I review the graphs laid out on Anna’s tablet. “This is ridiculously impressive,” I tell her. She can’t hide the smile which spreads over her face.

  I pull fresh croissants out of the bag we picked up at the bakery down the street. I close my eyes in bliss at the first bite. Americans have nothing on French pastry.

  I look at the graphs again, gratified to see the trend is up, up, up in terms of the number of followers, the amount of interaction on each post and the number of shares we’re getting. “We were even shared by the Vuitton and McCartney accounts after LA,” Anna tells me. My eyebrows shoot up.

  “Talk about visibility,” I murmur appreciatively, proud of her. She nods. I scroll through the accounts, noticing she’s taken the time to interact with every comment—sometimes up to a hundred people per post.

  “Fuck me! Do you ever sleep?” I ask. “I c
an’t believe you take the time to do this. It must take you hours.”

  She shrugs. “It’s my job.” I know she’s not fishing for compliments, which is even more impressive. For the millionth time I remind myself not to be so endeared by her.

  “I hope you’ve set a little time aside to enjoy yourself this week,” I remind her. “I’d hate for you to spend all of your time in Paris replying to social media comments. How many people get the chance to see Fashion Week in the fashion capital of the world?”

  As always, she can see through me. “Give me a break,” she says, sipping her espresso. “You don’t give a sweet rat’s ass about fashion. You just want to find some excuse to have a little fun, and you want me to be in on it.”

  I try my best to look innocent, but I can’t. We both laugh.

  “So sue me,” I finally say. “I just want to have some fun. I mean, it’s Paris, for god’s sake. You’re a beautiful woman. You deserve to have a good time.” I had plenty of ideas for the sort of fun we could have together. Sure, we’d see all of the little touristy areas. I’d have to take her shopping so she could bring home some clothing of her own. But then there would be the evenings, with the fun we could have together in my hotel room.

  Hey—at least there’s a view of the Eiffel Tower from there, I tell myself. She can look out at it while she’s riding my cock. I instantly grow hard. I need to force myself to focus on business. It doesn’t help she’s not wearing a shell under the jacket of her suit. I can see the side swells of her perfect tits.

  She looks up at me from her tablet, mischief in her eyes. I’m sure my intent is clear, but she pretends not to notice. “Well, what can I say? You’re the boss, after all.”

  She’s damn right, I think. I can’t wait to show her what she can do with me.

  Chapter 6

  Anna