Page 12 of The Billionaire's Caress

She slowly pulled the rim from her lips. “Your behavior?”

I nodded, crossing my arms, then uncrossing them because I didn’t want to look defensive. “No matter what was going on, I don’t want to be the kind of boss who takes the people who help me out for granted.” Or take out my frustration on you, I thought guiltily.

She brought the cup back to her mouth, finishing it before she turned to the dishwasher with a sigh. “Leila, even if you were in a bad mood, every day, you’re still ten times nicer than most people who work here.” I opened my mouth to tell her that didn’t matter, but she patted me on the arm, her smile telling me that she held no ill will. “Apology accepted.” She led the way back to my office, her razor thin stilettos like a drummer leading up to a big reveal. “My OOTD post got over 100 likes before I even got to work, my boss made me the best cappuccino I’ve had in my life, and your most troublesome client has been on his best behavior. I don’t want to brag, but this is shaping up to be the best Monday ever.”

I almost agreed with her, considering Jacob and I spent the rest of the weekend (and this morning) making up, but I refused to believe that Rich O’Connor hadn’t created some fire over the weekend for us to put out today. “Really? Nothing at all?”

I rounded the desk to my chair and Simone held out her tablet for my confirmation. “I’ve checked his social media presence, traditional avenues, a few of my sources at clubs he frequents, and they all say-” She paused for dramatic effect. “Nothing.”

I skimmed the screen before I handed it back to her. I didn’t look for verification because I doubted her story, mind you. I just found it pretty close to unbelievable that the same man who’d vomited on my rug and propositioned me and Natasha had truly turned over a new leaf. My pep talks were pretty epic, but I wasn’t a miracle worker.

Skepticism crept into my voice. “Surely he’s not up and ready for his podcast interview in an hour? Maybe we can send the runner over to his place with a fresh cup of coffee and something to eat, check the charge on his headset and mic-”

“Not necessary,” Simone chirped. “He’s been up since 7am, actually. Has already chatted with the host and they’re planning to start recording a little earlier. In-” Simone glanced at her watch. “15 minutes.”

“Simone!” I hissed, smoothing the front of my blouse like I was the one being interviewed vs. monitoring him via webcam to make sure he didn’t put his foot in his mouth.

“Sorry,” she offered, doing me one better by holding up my coffee that I’d forgotten. “I got all distracted with the cappuccino and...want some coffee? Or a fresh cup?”

“I’m good,” I answered, reaching for my coffee. Even if it had lost a bit of its punch, I wasn’t feeling too picky at the moment. I just wanted a little caffeine before I had to deal with Rich. I wanted to believe in his miraculous turnaround, but the truth was, I had my doubts. A man who spent years nurturing his bad boy image did not go nice that easily. It wasn’t like flipping a light switch. “He’s already online?”

“Yes he is,” my computer speakers chirped brightly. I shifted my eyes to my screen and Rich graced me with a wink. “It’s about time you showed up, Mrs. Whitmore.”

SIMONE HAD LEFT MY office, off to tackle another bullet on our to-do list. The more I stared at Rich’s too chipper face, the more I wished I’d asked for a second opinion. Another person who’d spent a chunk of time with him, who knew his ups and downs and in and outs—and would give him the same, necessary side eye.

The dark, midnight locks that he liked to flip and tie into a bun right before he laid into someone? Gone. In its place was a buzz cut that would have made him look more like the villain in the movie, before he even opened his mouth, but something that was definitely a rarity was stapled to his rugged face...a smile.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Before I could even answer, he leaned in, dark brown eyes darting to the left and right like he was making sure no one was listening. I guess it didn’t matter that we both knew that he was home and alone.

Unless he has some chick hiding in his bathroom that he’s forgotten about. I still remembered my utter shock when I came across the screenshots from a few months ago. The unbelievable headlines. Actor leaves escort locked in the bathroom for nearly 36 hours. It would have seemed absurd, like the Bigfoot stories. It wasn’t possible that someone could forget to tell their secret visitor that the coast was clear and leave town to work on a film project, right? Said visitor couldn’t have been so hopeless that she couldn’t figure out a door, right? Then I read some more because at that point, I was invested, and learned that Rich had tied the woman up and their role-play was interrupted. He’d been so drunk, high or both that he forgot all about her. Leaving the woman twiddling her thumbs, hog tied, waiting for her date to come untie her.

“I saw that you were checking out some music this weekend.”

I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to groan. “You did, huh?”

“What is it about you, Mrs. Whitmore? You attract men like flies to honey.” He perched his chin on his hand and hardened his jaw, giving me a print worthy picture that would have made most women quiver. “Present company included.”

I didn’t want to take the bait and I refused to talk about Jacob or Corbin with him, so I steered us back on track. “We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to make sure that you kill during your podcast in fifteen minutes.”

He did a military salute. “Yes ma’am! Since they won’t be able to see my devilishly good looks, I’ll just have to win ‘em over with my bedroom voice.” He stared into the camera and dropped his tenor to a key that would make Barry White proud. “How’s this?”

I didn’t want to laugh, but even I wasn’t immune, especially when he wasn’t being the crass, obnoxious guy that most of the world knew him as. When he wasn’t calling women bitches and hoes, he was kind of charming.

“Works for me. So let’s go through the list of topics they sent.”

Rich held up his sheet of paper like a child proudly sharing their A+ for the test they’d studied relentlessly for. “Got ‘em right here!”

I leaned in, squinting in hopes that the pixels were deceiving me. It looked an awful lot like there were no replies or notes next to hot topics and possible questions she would ask. Rich was a man that had a reputation for going from zero to hundred when he felt uncomfortable, and those blanks spots told me he was about to do something crazy. He planned to wing it during a podcast run by one of the women he’d dissed online. A woman that was notorious for taking on self-identified assholes and making their fame go poof after she took them to task. Made them explode and say things there was no coming back from.

“Rich...” I pressed the bridge of my nose and tried to remember steady breathing. Wished I’d paid more attention to flow and finding my inner zen during the sprinkle of yoga classes I’d been to instead of worrying about how ungraceful I looked. “Why don’t I see thoughts and comments? Have you even looked at these topics?”

His eyes narrowed to slits of onyx. “Oh ye of little faith.” He put down the paper—and shut down any doubt that he wasn’t bringing his A game. “Why acting? That’s easy. I grew up some place where my options were to go military, continue the family tradition of working hard and still scrapping by, or hope that good grades and a kick ass essay was enough to have some college throw me a bone.” He held up a hand, counting off each bullet point. Even though he was a little mesmerizing in person, when he wasn’t busy making me want to knock him upside the head, even his voice roped you in. There was a cadence, a swagger that wouldn’t be denied. “I don’t do well with authority or following rules.” He paused, like he was waiting for some imaginary audience to let out a whistle or two. Giving the women that were being discreet and listening as they went about their day a reason to blush and bite their lip.

Before I could shake my head, Rich continued.

“The authority thing kinda applies to both,” Rich shrugged. “And as far college, my idea of studying happened about half an hour before the test. Homework was the very last thing on a priority list that smoking, drinking, you know what-ing, and music.”

He knew he was playing me like a fiddle because my eyebrows arched at his last word. Hooked on his story. Hooked to the point that I’d forgotten all about the real reason he was on the show. To kiss ass, to atone for his slights against women and anyone else he didn’t deem worthy of respect. In this moment, he was just that ‘bad kid’ that all the other kids thought was super cool without even trying. Doing and saying things we never dreamed of doing and would never get away with.

---