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Authors: Delilah Fawkes
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At His
Service (The Billionaire’s Beck and Call, Part 1)
By Delilah Fawkes
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and
sighed as I stared at the papers I’d dropped. This was shaping up to be the worst
day ever, and it was only my second day on the job. First, I’d lost a contact
and had to break out my clunky emergency glasses, then the CEO’s assistant
called in sick before the biggest stockholder meeting of the year.
Of course, they’d called me in to assist, even
though she was only the front desk receptionist.
If all Mr.
Drake wants me to do is answer phones, I’ve got this in the bag . I rolled
my eyes, knowing it couldn’t possibly be that easy.
I hadn’t met Chase Drake yet, billionaire CEO of
Drake & Smith, but I’d heard whispered rumors about him over lunch. Words
like “terrifying” and “gorgeous” were thrown around, along with talk of all the
other executive assistants that quit unexpectedly that year. Apparently, he was
impossible to please.
I dropped to my knees, hurriedly gathering the
papers outside of the executive offices. This
is no way to make a first impression, Isabeau! Get it together or you won’t
last the week. The last thing I needed was for the head honcho to see me
like this.
A black, Italian leather shoe came down an inch
from my hand. I froze, still reaching for the spreadsheet now trapped under the
large foot in front of me. It was attached to a leg clad in an impeccably cut
suit, and as I ran my eyes upward, I tried not to tremble. A man with wavy
blonde hair and a cool green gaze stared down at me, his cruel mouth twisted
into a smirk.
“Ms. Willcox, I presume?”
I tried to push the chestnut
strands of hair that had fallen over my eyes back into my bun, but it was no
good. I was a hot mess, kneeling on the carpet in a J.C. Penney blouse and
skirt.
“Y-yes?”
He reached down and offered his hand, and my mouth
suddenly went very, very dry. I’m
talking Sahara Desert dry. Something about the way he looked at me sent shivers
down my spine, like he was sizing me up. Like I was a deer, and he was a lion,
looking for his next meal.
I put my hand in his, and let him pull me to my
feet. My hand felt tiny in his warm grasp, and I felt a jolt of electricity at
the touch.
“Chase Drake,” he said softly, his low voice
making my heart skip a beat. “So, you’re the one serving me today?”
Serving him? It felt like an odd way to put it, but hey, who was I to correct the boss?
“I guess so, Sir.”
“You guess?”
I realized my hand was still in his, and quickly
drew it back. “Ms. Johnson told me you needed an assistant for the meeting?”
I bit my lip, suddenly uncertain. His piercing eyes
were hard to look directly into. I felt like I was being tested, or maybe that
I was in the wrong place altogether.
“Keep your chin up, girl. My assistant must be
cool, confident and collected, not a timid little mouse.”
My mouth dropped open. A mouse? He doesn’t even
know me! I raised my chin defiantly, straightening up to my full height.
“Yes, Sir.”
His lips twitched into a half smile. “Very good.”
I nodded, and started walking toward the boardroom,
when he grabbed my wrist, making me gasp. He drew me close until we were almost
nose to nose.
“Remember that you represent me in there. Clean yourself up before we begin. And Ms. Willcox?”
“Y-yes?”
“Don’t let me down.”
I tried hard not to tremble, even though he’d
pulled me so close. He smelled clean like rainwater, but his hot breath on my
face made me avert my eyes. Is this how he always acted? So demanding and
confrontational?
“Will do, Boss.”
I snatched my wrist away and moved quickly down
the hall to the ladies room. I could feel his gaze on my back until the door
closed behind me. When it clicked shut, I leaned back against it, and let out a
deep breath.
What an
asshole.
I was beginning to wonder if the executive
assistant was really sick, or if
Service (The Billionaire’s Beck and Call, Part 1)
By Delilah Fawkes
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and
sighed as I stared at the papers I’d dropped. This was shaping up to be the worst
day ever, and it was only my second day on the job. First, I’d lost a contact
and had to break out my clunky emergency glasses, then the CEO’s assistant
called in sick before the biggest stockholder meeting of the year.
Of course, they’d called me in to assist, even
though she was only the front desk receptionist.
If all Mr.
Drake wants me to do is answer phones, I’ve got this in the bag . I rolled
my eyes, knowing it couldn’t possibly be that easy.
I hadn’t met Chase Drake yet, billionaire CEO of
Drake & Smith, but I’d heard whispered rumors about him over lunch. Words
like “terrifying” and “gorgeous” were thrown around, along with talk of all the
other executive assistants that quit unexpectedly that year. Apparently, he was
impossible to please.
I dropped to my knees, hurriedly gathering the
papers outside of the executive offices. This
is no way to make a first impression, Isabeau! Get it together or you won’t
last the week. The last thing I needed was for the head honcho to see me
like this.
A black, Italian leather shoe came down an inch
from my hand. I froze, still reaching for the spreadsheet now trapped under the
large foot in front of me. It was attached to a leg clad in an impeccably cut
suit, and as I ran my eyes upward, I tried not to tremble. A man with wavy
blonde hair and a cool green gaze stared down at me, his cruel mouth twisted
into a smirk.
“Ms. Willcox, I presume?”
I tried to push the chestnut
strands of hair that had fallen over my eyes back into my bun, but it was no
good. I was a hot mess, kneeling on the carpet in a J.C. Penney blouse and
skirt.
“Y-yes?”
He reached down and offered his hand, and my mouth
suddenly went very, very dry. I’m
talking Sahara Desert dry. Something about the way he looked at me sent shivers
down my spine, like he was sizing me up. Like I was a deer, and he was a lion,
looking for his next meal.
I put my hand in his, and let him pull me to my
feet. My hand felt tiny in his warm grasp, and I felt a jolt of electricity at
the touch.
“Chase Drake,” he said softly, his low voice
making my heart skip a beat. “So, you’re the one serving me today?”
Serving him? It felt like an odd way to put it, but hey, who was I to correct the boss?
“I guess so, Sir.”
“You guess?”
I realized my hand was still in his, and quickly
drew it back. “Ms. Johnson told me you needed an assistant for the meeting?”
I bit my lip, suddenly uncertain. His piercing eyes
were hard to look directly into. I felt like I was being tested, or maybe that
I was in the wrong place altogether.
“Keep your chin up, girl. My assistant must be
cool, confident and collected, not a timid little mouse.”
My mouth dropped open. A mouse? He doesn’t even
know me! I raised my chin defiantly, straightening up to my full height.
“Yes, Sir.”
His lips twitched into a half smile. “Very good.”
I nodded, and started walking toward the boardroom,
when he grabbed my wrist, making me gasp. He drew me close until we were almost
nose to nose.
“Remember that you represent me in there. Clean yourself up before we begin. And Ms. Willcox?”
“Y-yes?”
“Don’t let me down.”
I tried hard not to tremble, even though he’d
pulled me so close. He smelled clean like rainwater, but his hot breath on my
face made me avert my eyes. Is this how he always acted? So demanding and
confrontational?
“Will do, Boss.”
I snatched my wrist away and moved quickly down
the hall to the ladies room. I could feel his gaze on my back until the door
closed behind me. When it clicked shut, I leaned back against it, and let out a
deep breath.
What an
asshole.
I was beginning to wonder if the executive
assistant was really sick, or if
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