Read Online What's Yours Is Mine: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Cerise Preston Story Book 1) by Sasha Moore, Anita Cox - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sasha Moore, Anita Cox
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She had been working her ass off with very few breaks for a very long time, and while her determination sustained her, even a hard-nosed woman like herself needed a little pampering every now and then. She put on her most relaxing collection of CD’s, filling her apartment with the sweet sounds of the music that she loved best, and, humming along, turned on the taps in her oversized tub, lighting several candles that made the room smell like freshly baked sugar cookies. Delightful. She slipped out of her suit and blouse, taking particular joy in peeling down her pantyhose, which felt a bit like being released from the moist confines of a nylon prison, and tossed the clothing on a bench at the end of her bed to put away later. Padding naked and barefoot to the kitchen, she selected a bottle of her favorite Cabernet and filled up the large and elegant bulb of her wine glass, bringing it to the tub. She piled her hair on top of her head, knowing that the humidity of the bath would turn it into a soft cloud hovering above her like a dark halo, and not caring in the least. She wasn’t going anywhere tonight anyway, she could attend to it in the morning, as usual.
Slipping into the soothing warmth of the jetted tub, she sighed deeply and leaned her head back against her puffy yellow bath pillow, closing her eyes in contentment. She made sure her wine glass was in easy reach, and sipped from it occasionally without even bothering to open her eyes. Right here, right now, in this moment, the stresses and challenges of life melted away, and her shoulders loosened as her body finally relaxed. She imagined herself carried away on the notes of the music, and refused to think about anything even remotely associated with work. It was a glorious mental and emotional vacation that was abruptly jarred by the buzzing text tone from her phone which rested on the granite vanity. She instantly decided to ignore it, determined that nothing would disturb her private time. Two minutes later it buzzed again, and when she continued to ignore it, the determined party on the other end decided to try their luck at calling – three times in rapid succession. Frustrated at the noisy interruption, but resolute in her decision to relax, Cerise used the remote control to turn up her music, drowning out the phone until at last the caller/texter gave up. She lingered in the bath until her eyes began to droop, then took her time toweling off, smoothing cocoa butter, the smell of which made her crave chocolate, onto her weary limbs, and finishing off her substantial glass of wine. She put the wine glass down on the vanity and glanced at her phone, noting that it was Blake who had been texting and calling relentlessly, and decided not to bother reading the messages or listening to the multiple voicemails.
“Sorry, Mr. Blake Hamilton, I am NOT a booty-call kind of girl,” she mused sleepily, talking to her now-silent phone before tossing it on her night stand to be charged. Whatever he wanted could wait until morning if it pertained to business, and would wait a hell of a lot longer than that if it didn’t. She slipped into her softest pink flannel boxers and a stretchy matching cami and climbed between the covers, sleep overtaking her almost immediately.
“Where the hell were you last night?” Blake demanded, storming into her office without warning. Cerise’s wide-eyed assistant Marcus was at his heels blathering apologetically about not having time to ask her if it was okay for Mr. Hamilton to come in.
“Thank you Marcus, that will be all,” she smiled sweetly at the clearly-rattled young man. It wasn’t every day that the owner of the company violated protocol and blazed into an office without proper notification. “Hold my calls, please,” she directed kindly, then turned, eyes blazing, to Blake when Marcus closed the door.
“What is the meaning of this, Blake,” she demanded, eyes narrowed with
Slipping into the soothing warmth of the jetted tub, she sighed deeply and leaned her head back against her puffy yellow bath pillow, closing her eyes in contentment. She made sure her wine glass was in easy reach, and sipped from it occasionally without even bothering to open her eyes. Right here, right now, in this moment, the stresses and challenges of life melted away, and her shoulders loosened as her body finally relaxed. She imagined herself carried away on the notes of the music, and refused to think about anything even remotely associated with work. It was a glorious mental and emotional vacation that was abruptly jarred by the buzzing text tone from her phone which rested on the granite vanity. She instantly decided to ignore it, determined that nothing would disturb her private time. Two minutes later it buzzed again, and when she continued to ignore it, the determined party on the other end decided to try their luck at calling – three times in rapid succession. Frustrated at the noisy interruption, but resolute in her decision to relax, Cerise used the remote control to turn up her music, drowning out the phone until at last the caller/texter gave up. She lingered in the bath until her eyes began to droop, then took her time toweling off, smoothing cocoa butter, the smell of which made her crave chocolate, onto her weary limbs, and finishing off her substantial glass of wine. She put the wine glass down on the vanity and glanced at her phone, noting that it was Blake who had been texting and calling relentlessly, and decided not to bother reading the messages or listening to the multiple voicemails.
“Sorry, Mr. Blake Hamilton, I am NOT a booty-call kind of girl,” she mused sleepily, talking to her now-silent phone before tossing it on her night stand to be charged. Whatever he wanted could wait until morning if it pertained to business, and would wait a hell of a lot longer than that if it didn’t. She slipped into her softest pink flannel boxers and a stretchy matching cami and climbed between the covers, sleep overtaking her almost immediately.
“Where the hell were you last night?” Blake demanded, storming into her office without warning. Cerise’s wide-eyed assistant Marcus was at his heels blathering apologetically about not having time to ask her if it was okay for Mr. Hamilton to come in.
“Thank you Marcus, that will be all,” she smiled sweetly at the clearly-rattled young man. It wasn’t every day that the owner of the company violated protocol and blazed into an office without proper notification. “Hold my calls, please,” she directed kindly, then turned, eyes blazing, to Blake when Marcus closed the door.
“What is the meaning of this, Blake,” she demanded, eyes narrowed with
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