Page 4 of The Boss' Pet

“Remains to be seen, but I am hoping this interview is more penetrating than some others. People always ask you such basic questions. You seem bored when you answer them. I don’t want to bore you, or my readership. I want to show the world exactly who you are.”

Oh, that last part might have been a little too pointed. He narrows his eyes slightly, and I feel one of those jolts of excitement rush through me yet again. I am out of my league, and my depth, and comfort zone, and everything. I might even be out of my mind just being here in this room with this man. People like me don’t ever get to associate with men like him.

His eyes flick back to the screen.

“If you could spare just fifteen minutes, we’d all be ever so grateful. I believe your combined operations result in a profit of roughly a million dollars every minute, so I know this is a fifteen-million-dollar request. Happy to arrange an IOU.”

He looks up at me, dark eyes brimming with something that might be amusement. “I believe this is the definition of writing a check one cannot hope to cash, Miss Crown,” he says. “But I will take this as a promissory note of sorts. You already owe me two million dollars.”

I giggle. He doesn’t smile.

“Are you serious? Wait. No. Of course you’re not,” I laugh, though my voice sounds strained this time. I am starting to consider that I might be playing a very unwise game with this man. I want to get his deepest, darkest secrets out of him. Instead, I’ve put myself in debt to him. Maybe it’s not millions of dollars, but I have a feeling that he is going to make me pay, one way or another.

“You shouldn’t make offers like this to men like me,” he says. “We are inclined to take things seriously. You’re rather cheeky, Miss Crown. Brash too. Too young to understand the potential consequences of some of your actions, but more than old enough to suffer them.”

I have to stop blushing. It’s a medical requirement at this point. If my face gets any hotter, it’s going to start melting off.

“I apologize,” I say, feeling rather like I’m in the principal’s office. “I had to get your attention one way or another, and that’s how I decided to do it.”

“By making me want to take you over my knee and spank you until you are much more careful.”

His threat shocks me a little, but I don’t take it seriously. I think he is trying to assert his dominance, and he is doing so quite successfully. I feel very small, and very fortunate to be in his presence. He’s very attractive, and very powerful, and he is toying with me using the limited information he has in that email.

“I’m just glad it worked,” I say. “I’m here, and I have the opportunity to learn more about you.”

“Yes,” he says. “I suppose you do. What would you like to know, Miss Crown?”

“Is there any kind of business you wouldn’t do?”

He nods. “Anything illegal,” he says.

I feel a sense of disappointment. It’s not like I expected him to straight-up admit that he’s running an underground organized crime ring while also running the biggest legit business in the world.

“So you’re not keen on doing crime?”

He cocks his head to the side and gives me the faintest of smiles. “Of course not,” he says. “This is a rather artless line of questioning, Charlie.”

I feel a frisson as he uses my first name for the first time. There’s something very intimate about the way he forms the ‘rl’ sound in my name. It’s slightly exotic and very dominant. He says my name like he owns me.

I can see how he’s able to cast his spell over so many desirable women. There are a lot of rumors about the women he dates. Unlike most rich men, Marcus Waterstone has absolutely no reputation for infidelity. He’s a career bachelor, never married. Of course, the general consensus is that a man like him would never marry. He must be absolutely besieged by women wanting to become Mrs. Waterstone and bear his babies. Equally, he’s probably surrounded by gold diggers who would no sooner get a ring on their finger than file for divorce. Even a fraction of his fortune would set anybody up for life.

“I apologize,” I say. “I’m not accustomed to interviewing men of your caliber.”

That should settle him down, make him think I’m just nervous rather than wildly inept.

“I think you had specific questions in mind when you wrote to me,” he says. “And I would encourage you to ask them. I do have another meeting in seven minutes.”

“Seven minutes! We’re already halfway through!”

“Yes,” he says, allowing himself a small smirk of amusement at my distress.

“There’s never enough time for anything,” I complain. “I could ask you so many questions.”

“Such as?”

“Such as why you’ve never married, why you spend so much time in countries without extradition treaties with the US, whether or not your companies are trading with countries sanctioned by the government, what your favorite color is, whether or not you think it is ethical to be a billionaire, what your favorite meal is, whether or not you’re secretly running a cabal of some sort…”

He answers me rapid-fire, just as I threw the questions at him.

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