Page 6 of Billionaire Boss's One Night Stand

“Just like you’ve wanted for so long.”

“As long as I get Gammon to go with us…” I raked my hand through my hair and then gripped it. “Fuck. I’ve got to land a client who wants an ad campaign forbaby products?” The thought of researching and analyzing that crap made me nervous. I was a bachelor. I had no nieces or nephews. Not even a neighbor with a kid. I was my grandmother’s only surviving relative, an only child of an only child. I was it. If she wanted to pass the family legacy on and keep the company in the family, I had to be the CEO.

“You can do it,” John encouraged. “Your team can do it.”

I winced, trying to envision the success. I couldn’t see it, though, because my mind was already cluttered with so many other things to do first.

“Come on. Let’s go get a drink. You need to blow off some steam. I mean, look at us, in the office on a freaking Sunday.”

I frowned. “Blow off some steam?”

“Yeah,” he said, stubborn as he grabbed my arm and led me toward the door. I’d been ready to head out, but I wasn’t sure about going anywhere other than my apartment.

“The last thing you need to do is go home and dwell on this challenge. Let’s get a drink and talk about how to make it work.”

“Let me get this straight.” I glanced at him as I shut my office door behind us. “You’re constantly chiding me for working too much, and now you’re persuading me to go out to… talk about work?”

“Well, it’s not like you’d have anything else on your mind.” He rolled his eyes. “Use me as a sounding board in the meantime. Whatever helps. Because the notion of your going home and pacing all night while you think a mile a minute can’t be healthy. You’ll be like a dog after a bone to get Gammon as a client.”

That’s right.I would be. I’d been growing impatient for a change in my life, for something new like the CEO position. And if getting a specific client was the ticket to welcome that change into my life, then so be it.

I was determined to succeed. And not a single distraction would make me stray from my goals.

“I’ll commit to one hour,” I conceded while wondering why we couldn’t just have a drink at my place and hang out there in the privacy of my home.

He nodded. “Sure, bro. We won’t be out for long.”

Whatever you say.

3

LOREN

The only nightlife Hamming had was the local bar on Main Street. It had a jukebox that seemed to be possessed, kicking on to playThrillerat random times. The beer was cheap and the food was greasy. It was basic and low-key, but that was what a small town like Hamming needed and wanted.

Not like what I found here.

I quickly learned that the nightlife in New York was much more intense. And just as quickly, I became aware of how sheltered I really was. I hated that Becca was right about me, but there was no denying how out of my comfort zone I was here. I wasn’t much of a partier, but damn, everything was just so… intense.

Did people not smile anymore? Was I supposed to be this rigid and not dare to make eye contact—with anyone? Was being polite frowned upon?

My first attempt at ordering a drink somehow offended the bartender at the first bar, because I was too slow to make up my mind on the tap choice. I gave up and tried another bar down the street. At this one, a businesswoman in a power suit knocked herwine glass on me and didn’t apologize, claiming it was my fault for selecting the vacant stool next to her. Her sneer seared me.

If I couldn’t manage to order a damn drink here, at the third place, I’d strike out and give myself a raincheck.

Maybe it was a mistake to go out at all without Hailey.

Being in a bar alone was awkward, but I tried not to let the glances bother me. No one knew me here. They couldn’t possibly have any prejudices or biases already in mind. I was a stranger. One among many. And I could fit in. I wasn’t “Becca’s younger sister” here. I was me. Loren. Ready to toast to myself for taking the huge step of moving out.

I can do this.

Yet, as I sat at the bar and waited for one of the two harried-looking bartenders to notice me, I wondered if I looked like a sore thumb sticking out as much as I felt like one.

I glanced at my denim shorts and simple emerald T-shirt. Becca always hated when I wore green because it made my eyes pop. She would get jealous over any little thing, including the fact she was the only one in the family born with dull, brown eyes. Many people commented about how bright my eyes were, but no one wanted to look me in the face here, seemingly casting me as an outsider they didn’t have time for.

I wasn’t as dressy as everyone else, and I wondered if this was how women dressed all the time. Classy and put together. Runway ready.

Stop comparing yourself.

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