Page 17 of The Billionaire Alpha's Assistant

How could I be so stupid? Did I actually think his little indiscretion in his office meant something? What did I think was going to happen this weekend?

Vivian told me I’d be expected to accompany him to Aspen for work, and yet part of me thought he dragged me here for some little weekend tryst.

Maybe he did.

Hell, what do I know? Intimacy means nothing to a man with Rafael’s wealth and status. I’m sure he fucks whomever he likes, whenever he likes.

Maybe he thought he was going to fuck me between now and the time his girlfriend arrives for Thanksgiving. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

“That one,” says Rafael after some deliberation, pointing at the deep-plum bag at the very end of the row. If it were any other handbag, the plum would look gaudy, but there’s no way for a Birkin bag to appear gaudy.

“Very good, sir,” says the shop owner. “I’ll wrap it up immediately.”

Rafael hands over his credit card without another word and waits for the man to wrap up the gift. Out of some morbid sense of curiosity, I glance down at the tag the shop owner cuts off the bag and nearly choke on my own saliva.

The price is thirty thousand dollars, and Rafael scrawls his signature on the receipt without even glancing at the amount.

My cheeks are still burning as we exit the shop. Rafael holds the door open for me and comes around to my side of the Rover to let me in — a surprisingly chivalrous gesture that takes me by surprise and somehow intensifies the bitter disappointment simmering in my gut.

He climbs in and hands me the giant tangerine gift box, which is set off with a smart black bow. I’m not sure why it stings so much that he dragged me along to buy a gift for his girlfriend. I’m his assistant. I shouldn’t expect him to treat me as anything else — even if he did give me a mind-blowing orgasm earlier.

“The bag’s for my sister,” says Rafael quietly as we merge back into traffic.

My heart gives a tiny flutter, and I whip my head around to look at him.

“She’s a professional dancer who just made the New York City Ballet. I wanted to get her something special.”

“Oh,” I say, my voice coming out half an octave higher than normal.

Rafael is staring straight ahead at the road, but there’s a satisfied gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before.

His sister. Elena is his sister.

“Will you be seeing her this weekend?” I ask, somehow managing to unstick my throat.

“Yes. She and my mother get in tomorrow morning. You’ll meet them then.”

I raise my eyebrows, and my stomach does a weird little flip. It shouldn’t surprise me that Rafael invited his family to spend the weekend at his house over Thanksgiving, but somehow I never pictured him as a family man. The image is hard to reconcile with the cold CEO who orders his staff around like he’s the master of the universe.

What’s even stranger is that he’d want me to meet his family. After the stunt I pulled this morning, he can’t possibly expect to keep me around as his assistant.

My mind is still spinning as he pulls on to a narrow tree-lined street flanked by towering blue spruces. An iron gate opens automatically when we pull up, and Rafael drives on through.

At the end of a long brick drive is a sprawling stone lodge that seems to be nestled right into the heart of the mountain. Snow-covered trees flank the circle drive, and Rafael gets out first to open my door.

I gape like an idiot as he leads me up to the enormous entryway, where someone has already turned on the lights. A fire roars in a stone alcove just off the entryway, where there’s a heated outdoor sitting area overlooking the infinity spa. A gondola is visible just beyond, and I realize that Rafael has his own private lift.

I shake my head and walk inside, gaping at the twelve-foot ceiling.

“Welcome to Ninhursag.”

“Your house has a name?”

Rafael shrugs. “All rich people’s houses have a name.”

Even though I can tell he’s watching for my reaction, I roll my eyes hugely.

Rafael leads me through the house, and I can’t help but gawk at the stunning wood-paneled living room with a stone fireplace tall enough for me to stand in or the dining room with a long mahogany table large enough to seat twelve people. A long hallway with a vaulted ceiling bisects the downstairs, revealing polished wooden beams that remind me of a posh viking hall.

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