Page 5 of Boss Daddy's Girl

Ellie grabs the sheet, staring at the little picture of a white-covered king-sized bed.

"It's the only room left, and we will comp the room entirely, of course," the woman explains, looking over Ellie's shoulder.

"With one bed," Ellie says. "And I can't get a room for the night?"

She shakes her head, looking remorseful.

"What about the airport hotels?"

"All booked, unfortunately."

Ellie has gone white.

"Is that a problem, Ms. White?"

"No," she says, but the word sounds strangled.

I walk over, my eyes glued to the photo on the piece of paper, but Ellie is not done letting her displeasure be known."This is unacceptable. Mr. Evans is one of the keynote speakers, how can a mistake like this happen?"

"It's fine," I cut in, smiling at the distraught desk clerk. "I'm sure we'll manage."

"I am so, so sorry. Of course, we'll be reimbursing you the cost of the entire weekend," the clerk continues, looking as if she's about to start crying.

"It's fine," I reassure her.

She still looks terrified, but Ellie finally nods, and I grab the keycard. "You don't have to bring any bags up; the bellhop willbe happy to take them. And if there's anything you need, please let us know, and we will be happy to?—"

"Yes, thank you. That will be all," Ellie interrupts. She turns on her heel, and I'm forced to follow her, staring at her ass again, of course.

The elevator ride is silent. Ellie is leaning against the wall, trying her best not to look at me. She's nervous.

"It's not a big deal. Really, Ellie."

"We work together. It's ... unethical," she says, turning her gaze towards me.

I can't help but laugh. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Ellie is red-faced. "No!" she yells. "I'm not. I don't want that. I just … it's weird! We're both adults, and we work together, and this is just … so ..."

"Strange," I supply.Exciting,I think, but I keep that thought to myself.

"Embarrassing," she counters. "But I guess it will be fine. We're going to be so busy I'm sure there will be minimal time in the room itself."

Her words are becoming a nervous babble, and I can't help but laugh. My sweet, brave Ellie being so shaken by sharing a room is almost hilarious.

"Don't worry," I say. "I'm a gentleman."

Her blush deepens, and she doesn't respond.

"Your silence is telling."

"Well, I didn't think you'd be happy if I called you a liar."

Ah, there she is. My witty, sarcastic spitfire of a girl. It's taking everything in me not to celebrate here and now, right in her face, the fact that we're sharing a room. I've hungered for this woman, in her sinfully tight pencil skirts and silky blouses that give me tantalizing peeks at her lacy lingerie, since the moment I laid eyes on her. That want morphed into a genuine, soul-shaking need when, during that first interview, she called me an asshole and stormed out. After dozens of interviews of would-be assistants bowing and scraping and nearly begging to kiss my ass, her fire was like a breath of fresh air.

But my Ellie is all professional, at least most of the time. It's all 'sir' this and 'Mr.Evans' that. I so rarely get to hear her say my name, and only usually when I've royally pissed her off, but damn, when I hear it roll off her tongue, I go hard as steel.

This must be karma for being such a stubborn prick my entire life—wanting the one woman on earth that I really should leave well enough alone.

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