Page 26 of Boss Daddy's Girl

I'll deal with feeling crowded. There's no way in hell I'm going to stand and risk him noticing me, especially after Drake knocked him senseless last night. I do glance back long enough to see thepurple bruise on his jaw sloppily covered with makeup and allow myself a satisfied smile.

Introductions are finished, and it's finally time for Drake to go on. He wrote his own speech, which I went over and carefully edited for public appropriateness. One instance of 'fuck' in a speech is funny; five instances are bordering on insane. But despite my editing, the speech oozes Drake Evans, climber, CEO and unwilling heartthrob—confident, blindingly intelligent, and maybe just a little arrogant.

It's brilliant. He's brilliant. I love him.

Wait, what?

I'm so distracted by my own thoughts that I miss the entire first half of Drake's speech. I've seen it dozens of times, anyway. I know how it begins, a story about how he started climbing as a kid, and then progressed from there to the summit of Mount Everest. I know how it ends, too, with an inspirational quote about dreams and working hard.

It's the middle where he's really got the audience on edge. He's talking about climbing the Dawn Wall, a particularly difficult climb that earned him his reputation as a rockstar climber. I remember when he told me about this particular climb, about the difficulties he faced, and the determination he needed to make it to the top. I remember his enthusiasm and passion as he told the story.

Drake is in his element. He's passionate and bold, his eyes bright and his hands gesturing wildly as he tells the story. It's hard to believe that just a few hours ago, he was standing in our suite, completely naked, with me in his arms.

He finishes his speech, and everyone claps. There's a quick break, and the moderator takes the stage again. "Next, we'll hear from the star of the new documentary, ‘The Ecstasy of the Summit’, Claude Vanderhoven. That captivating speech will start in thirty minutes. Don't miss it!"

My eyes snap to where Claude is standing, and my stomach twists at the sight of him. He's in the middle of the room, just a few rows in front of me. His blond hair is perfectly styled, his suit immaculate. Luckily, the crowd is standing from their seats and moving, many of them desperate for a drink or a bathroom break between the speeches, and I figure I'll be able to slip out before I'm noticed.

What I don't anticipate is the absolute chaos of the crowd trying to leave through two small doors. I'm ready to tear my hair out ten minutes later when I finally manage to shove through the throngs of people and into the hotel lobby again. I can almost let out a breath of relief.

Except somehow, Claude has managed to catch up with me. He's leaning against the wall near the doors, casually scrolling through his phone. I turn to go in the opposite direction, hoping to flee unnoticed, but then he looks up and catches my eye.

"Ellie!" he shouts.

I grit my teeth. "Claude," I reply, trying to sound cheery. "How's your face?"

Fury flashes over his expression before he quickly controls it, smoothing down his suit jacket in a calming gesture. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. To apologize for how forward I was last night. Not that it excuses your … boss' abominable behavior, but I didn't know you two were sleeping together."

His words, blunt and dripping with disdain, have me both embarrassed and pissed off at the same time. "How dare you assume?—"

"Is it a lie?"

"It's none of your damn business is what it is!"

Claude shrugs one large shoulder. "If Drake wants to pay someone to both be his assistant and warm his bed, who am I to judge? I just got the impression you weren't that kind of woman."

I see red, my anger flaring bright and hot. "Listen here, you smug bastard—" I start, ready to tear into him. A few other people in the lobby turn to look at us in alarm, and I inhale deeply, trying to center myself and find some control. "He is not paying me to sleep with him, okay? Again, not that it's any of your damned business, but any personal relationship I have with Drake is outside of our working relationship."

"Oh. So you don't mind that he's having brunch with another woman right this second?" Claude asks.

I open my mouth, then snap it shut again. What the hell did he just say? "Brunch? With another woman?"

Claude shrugs again, that insufferable grin still on his face. "Yes. My assistant was picking up a coffee for me and sent me this picture. After what happened last night, he thought I would find it very interesting."

Claude holds his phone up, and no matter how much I want to deny it, the proof is right here on the screen—Drake sitting across from a tall, dark-haired woman who is certainly not journalist Kenneth Hopper. She has her head tilted back,laughing, and Drake is relaxed and grinning. They look cozy, even from the distance of the photo.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, and I swallow hard. "I see," I say quietly, my voice sounding strained to my own ears. "I'm sure it's just a business associate."

"Ah, Ellie, but wait. It's a video."

Before I can spare myself and turn away, he hits the play button on the screen and the video starts. Above the sounds of the crowded cafe, I can hear Drake's deep voice cutting through. I would recognize it anywhere.

"Ellie was just my assistant?—"

The video ends as abruptly as it began, but the damage is done. I swallow hard, pushing the bile rising up my throat back down. "You know what, Claude? Go to hell."

Claude's smirk only grows. "What's the matter, Ellie? Upset that Drake is fucking someone else?"

I want to slap that smug look right off his face, but I can feel tears building behind my eyes, and I refuse to let them fall in front of Claude. Instead, I whirl around, intent on finding Drake. I manage to hold them in until I'm at the door of the cafe, and then I see them, still entrenched in their meal and each other's company. He ditched an interview to be with this woman. He lied to me.

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