Read Online His To Indulge (Billionaire Erotic Romance) by Evelyn Rosado - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Evelyn Rosado
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exited
the elevator. “And you’re late,” he said tapping his watch looking back at
me. I stood motionless, waiting for the world to open up and
swallow me to save me from my embarrassment.
I finally knew what career suicide felt
like.
***
Nine long years as head cheerleader for this
football team, but never late for a game. Never. Today just wasn’t
my day. How many times throughout the week do you swerve to hit a
deer and your front passenger tire pops in the process? I had to
call roadside assistance to come and change it. I guess the days of
a prince charming driving up to fix a damsel’s flat tire are long
gone. So much for chivalry!
I got to the desk where I would be working
and tossed my purse in the chair. I had no time to go to the ladies
room to do a once over. I hoped my hair wasn’t a mess. First
impressions are everything in this business – especially with these
hotshot billionaires. Hopefully, the coffee I bought him before I
pulled in to the facility was still hot. Jenny from the team’s
Public Relations department texted me last night saying Mr.
Conrad’s favorite roast of coffee was Jamaican Roast. And he liked
it piping hot. Hopefully, this coffee would be the olive branch
making up for my lateness.
I scurried into the doorway of Mr. Conrad’s
expansive office. He stood behind his desk looking out the huge
window overlooking the empty practice field. His ash gray pinstripe
suit tailored his towering frame to perfection.
“ Mr. Conrad, I’m so sorry
I’m late,” I said.
His mouth stayed closed shut – unmoved by my
apology. He gaze still fixated on the field.
“ Hello? Mr.
Conrad?”
Again, nothing. Was this guy deaf? He could
hear me loud and clear. What’s his deal?
“ Mr. Conrad?” I stepped
closer to him; my neck peered around him, trying to catch a glimpse
of his face. Okay, what the hell’s going on? Was he conscious or
just being an asshole?
At least thirty seconds went by, no
dice.
“ This organization has been
lackadaisical in recent years,” he said, finally breaking the
deafening silence. “Still living off the memory of the glory days.
Those days are over. There’s a culture of losing in the air here
now. It’s not something I will tolerate. Anything less than a
championship is unacceptable. And if it does not happen, drastic
changes in personnel will be made. Including you, Ms.
Martin.”
“ I’m so sorry Mr. Conrad,
it’s just…”
“ Excuses already I see.
Punctuality is of the utmost priority with me,” he said turning
around. My heart fluttered. He had the classic, masculine jaw line,
peppered with almond speckles of facial hair. His hair was light
brown and sported a neat Caesar cut. But his skin - a rich, deep
shade of olive - shimmered from the ray of muted sunshine beaming
through his office window. I imagined his body drowning into
mine.
“ May I have a seat?” My
hand became fleshy from holding the cup of coffee so long. I softly
placed the cup down on his desk, hoping it didn’t make a
sound.
I bent my knees to sit. “Please…keep
standing,” he said. He sat down in his chair and leaned back. He
looked towards the bookshelf on the wall at the picture of Arthur
Burkewood, the Hawks former owner who sold the team to him. “You’re
only here as a favor from Arthur. I have the upmost respect for
that man. He told me you’d be best for the job. So far it remains
to be seen.”
He took two whiffs of the coffee; the steam
swirled above the cup. His face frowned and a deep, vertical crease
formed between his eyelids. He looked sexier angry. I envisioned
him stealing me away and holding my arms down on the bed and
skewering my pussy with his manhood.
“ Dark roasted Jamaican
hazelnut,” he said. He abruptly grabbed the cup, held it over the
trash can, paused then released it from his clutches. It made a
loud metallic thump. Droplets of black liquid splashed on the
floor. I came to work late and then I get the wrong coffee.
Termination
the elevator. “And you’re late,” he said tapping his watch looking back at
me. I stood motionless, waiting for the world to open up and
swallow me to save me from my embarrassment.
I finally knew what career suicide felt
like.
***
Nine long years as head cheerleader for this
football team, but never late for a game. Never. Today just wasn’t
my day. How many times throughout the week do you swerve to hit a
deer and your front passenger tire pops in the process? I had to
call roadside assistance to come and change it. I guess the days of
a prince charming driving up to fix a damsel’s flat tire are long
gone. So much for chivalry!
I got to the desk where I would be working
and tossed my purse in the chair. I had no time to go to the ladies
room to do a once over. I hoped my hair wasn’t a mess. First
impressions are everything in this business – especially with these
hotshot billionaires. Hopefully, the coffee I bought him before I
pulled in to the facility was still hot. Jenny from the team’s
Public Relations department texted me last night saying Mr.
Conrad’s favorite roast of coffee was Jamaican Roast. And he liked
it piping hot. Hopefully, this coffee would be the olive branch
making up for my lateness.
I scurried into the doorway of Mr. Conrad’s
expansive office. He stood behind his desk looking out the huge
window overlooking the empty practice field. His ash gray pinstripe
suit tailored his towering frame to perfection.
“ Mr. Conrad, I’m so sorry
I’m late,” I said.
His mouth stayed closed shut – unmoved by my
apology. He gaze still fixated on the field.
“ Hello? Mr.
Conrad?”
Again, nothing. Was this guy deaf? He could
hear me loud and clear. What’s his deal?
“ Mr. Conrad?” I stepped
closer to him; my neck peered around him, trying to catch a glimpse
of his face. Okay, what the hell’s going on? Was he conscious or
just being an asshole?
At least thirty seconds went by, no
dice.
“ This organization has been
lackadaisical in recent years,” he said, finally breaking the
deafening silence. “Still living off the memory of the glory days.
Those days are over. There’s a culture of losing in the air here
now. It’s not something I will tolerate. Anything less than a
championship is unacceptable. And if it does not happen, drastic
changes in personnel will be made. Including you, Ms.
Martin.”
“ I’m so sorry Mr. Conrad,
it’s just…”
“ Excuses already I see.
Punctuality is of the utmost priority with me,” he said turning
around. My heart fluttered. He had the classic, masculine jaw line,
peppered with almond speckles of facial hair. His hair was light
brown and sported a neat Caesar cut. But his skin - a rich, deep
shade of olive - shimmered from the ray of muted sunshine beaming
through his office window. I imagined his body drowning into
mine.
“ May I have a seat?” My
hand became fleshy from holding the cup of coffee so long. I softly
placed the cup down on his desk, hoping it didn’t make a
sound.
I bent my knees to sit. “Please…keep
standing,” he said. He sat down in his chair and leaned back. He
looked towards the bookshelf on the wall at the picture of Arthur
Burkewood, the Hawks former owner who sold the team to him. “You’re
only here as a favor from Arthur. I have the upmost respect for
that man. He told me you’d be best for the job. So far it remains
to be seen.”
He took two whiffs of the coffee; the steam
swirled above the cup. His face frowned and a deep, vertical crease
formed between his eyelids. He looked sexier angry. I envisioned
him stealing me away and holding my arms down on the bed and
skewering my pussy with his manhood.
“ Dark roasted Jamaican
hazelnut,” he said. He abruptly grabbed the cup, held it over the
trash can, paused then released it from his clutches. It made a
loud metallic thump. Droplets of black liquid splashed on the
floor. I came to work late and then I get the wrong coffee.
Termination
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