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Authors: Jackie Ashenden
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behind and hit her with a baseball bat.
She had to interview him.
Bloody freaking hell.
“Hey, Chris. You’ve gone white.” Tony now looked concerned.
It was too much. All way too much. She had to get out. Get some space. Some air.
Muttering excuses, Christie turned and pushed her way out of the ballroom, stopping in the reception area outside, breathing hard.
There were several low black leather couches scattered around and she tottered toward one, sinking down on it to give her wet-noodle knees a break. Then she lowered her head into her hands.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Shame and embarrassment spread through her. This interview was going to be a nightmare. He’d probably look at her in shock as she sat down in front of him. The geeky tech hack he’d slept with. The one who’d run out like a frightened rabbit. What would he say? What would she say?
Whoa, freaking out much, St. John?
Christie shut her eyes. Oh yeah, she was freaking out. Which was dumb. She had to get a grip here.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and opened her eyes, staring at the huge painting on the wall opposite her.
So he was her one-night stand. So he was a billionaire. So she had to interview him. So what?
She’d handle it. No biggie.
Yeah, he probably dated models or gorgeous actresses or something. But, hell, that didn’t matter. God knew, hot billionaires weren’t her usual thing, either. Those kind of guys, the guys her parents sucked up to all the time—guys like Greg—were usually arrogant, self-obsessed, and up-themselves anyway. Totally not her scene at all.
I didn’t expect you to be quite so gorgeous…
Christie’s throat closed. No, don’t think about that. Don’t.
“Chris?” She jerked her head up to see Tony coming toward her. “What’s up?”
Oh, just gearing myself up to interview my one-night stand. The one-night stand I ran out on. Nothing major.
She let out a long breath. “Nothing. I think it must have been something I ate.”
He frowned. “Do you need to go home?”
Yes. She did want to go home. Run away back to the safety of her apartment. Fire up a game of Zombie Force Online. Go back to where she was comfortable. Where she was safe.
But she wouldn’t because she had an interview to do. An interview she’d promised to deliver to her boss and one she wasn’t going to let mere embarrassment stop her from delivering.
She could do this. She could. He was just a guy. A guy she’d had bathroom-vanity sex with, but hey. With any luck he wouldn’t even remember it.
Christie pushed herself off the couch. “No. I’m fine, Tony. But I could use another glass of champagne.”
…
Joseph, his speech over, stepped off the stage. People began to surround him but he took a moment to grab the attention of a nearby aide, who responded with the usual suck-uppiness. “What can I do for you, Mr. Ashton?”
“There’s a woman here tonight, long reddish-brown hair, Gothic-looking T-shirt with a skull on it. Find out anything you can about her, please.”
Not much for the guy to go on of course, but hell, what was the point of having an aide if you couldn’t ask them to do the impossible?
The man nodded and sped off while the crowds closed in.
Joseph put on his game face, trying to do the CEO thing while his brain kept focusing on the only thing it considered important: Naughtygirl’s face in the crowd, staring at him in shock.
Perhaps it was stupid, not to mention desperate, to try to find out about a woman he’d had a one-night stand with a week ago. He’d had one-nighters before and never felt the urge. Then again, none of the women he’d had one-nighters with had turned tail and bolted on him.
All he wanted was an explanation. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
That and the fact that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. But he wasn’t going to think about that, oh no, he wasn’t.
The evening began to stretch interminably, a test of his patience and his
She had to interview him.
Bloody freaking hell.
“Hey, Chris. You’ve gone white.” Tony now looked concerned.
It was too much. All way too much. She had to get out. Get some space. Some air.
Muttering excuses, Christie turned and pushed her way out of the ballroom, stopping in the reception area outside, breathing hard.
There were several low black leather couches scattered around and she tottered toward one, sinking down on it to give her wet-noodle knees a break. Then she lowered her head into her hands.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Shame and embarrassment spread through her. This interview was going to be a nightmare. He’d probably look at her in shock as she sat down in front of him. The geeky tech hack he’d slept with. The one who’d run out like a frightened rabbit. What would he say? What would she say?
Whoa, freaking out much, St. John?
Christie shut her eyes. Oh yeah, she was freaking out. Which was dumb. She had to get a grip here.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and opened her eyes, staring at the huge painting on the wall opposite her.
So he was her one-night stand. So he was a billionaire. So she had to interview him. So what?
She’d handle it. No biggie.
Yeah, he probably dated models or gorgeous actresses or something. But, hell, that didn’t matter. God knew, hot billionaires weren’t her usual thing, either. Those kind of guys, the guys her parents sucked up to all the time—guys like Greg—were usually arrogant, self-obsessed, and up-themselves anyway. Totally not her scene at all.
I didn’t expect you to be quite so gorgeous…
Christie’s throat closed. No, don’t think about that. Don’t.
“Chris?” She jerked her head up to see Tony coming toward her. “What’s up?”
Oh, just gearing myself up to interview my one-night stand. The one-night stand I ran out on. Nothing major.
She let out a long breath. “Nothing. I think it must have been something I ate.”
He frowned. “Do you need to go home?”
Yes. She did want to go home. Run away back to the safety of her apartment. Fire up a game of Zombie Force Online. Go back to where she was comfortable. Where she was safe.
But she wouldn’t because she had an interview to do. An interview she’d promised to deliver to her boss and one she wasn’t going to let mere embarrassment stop her from delivering.
She could do this. She could. He was just a guy. A guy she’d had bathroom-vanity sex with, but hey. With any luck he wouldn’t even remember it.
Christie pushed herself off the couch. “No. I’m fine, Tony. But I could use another glass of champagne.”
…
Joseph, his speech over, stepped off the stage. People began to surround him but he took a moment to grab the attention of a nearby aide, who responded with the usual suck-uppiness. “What can I do for you, Mr. Ashton?”
“There’s a woman here tonight, long reddish-brown hair, Gothic-looking T-shirt with a skull on it. Find out anything you can about her, please.”
Not much for the guy to go on of course, but hell, what was the point of having an aide if you couldn’t ask them to do the impossible?
The man nodded and sped off while the crowds closed in.
Joseph put on his game face, trying to do the CEO thing while his brain kept focusing on the only thing it considered important: Naughtygirl’s face in the crowd, staring at him in shock.
Perhaps it was stupid, not to mention desperate, to try to find out about a woman he’d had a one-night stand with a week ago. He’d had one-nighters before and never felt the urge. Then again, none of the women he’d had one-nighters with had turned tail and bolted on him.
All he wanted was an explanation. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
That and the fact that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. But he wasn’t going to think about that, oh no, he wasn’t.
The evening began to stretch interminably, a test of his patience and his
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