Page 8 of Billionaire Devil

My assistant is, objectively speaking, a good-looking woman. And not my type at all.

She’s also the one woman who has access to my entire life at her fingertips.

Sloane smiles and waves to me. We’re all in a good mood tonight.

A woman is talking to Sloane, with her back to me.

She has dark, glossy hair that spills down her back. She’s slim, wearing a dress that hugs her curves and leaves her tanned, toned arms bare.

Chances are I’ve met her before.

But no. I’d remember that hair, which is long and silky, cut in layers. The shorter layers have a jaunty little wave to them. It’s an unusual haircut and it’s sexy as fuck.

I make my way over to them.

As I get closer, I check out the girl’s outfit, which isn’t something I would usually take a lot of notice of. I’ve lived my life in New York, surrounded by rich, beautiful women. They’reallfashionable. But this friend of Sloane’s has a sophisticated flourish to her look.

As I make my way through the crowd, I’m forced by all the people I know to do my duty as a Maddox. Mingling, saying hi, sharing a joke. But I’m in laser-focus mode. Some invisible force is tugging me toward the girl.

I want a better look.

Sloane and the mystery girl are obviously friends, judging by the way they’re leaning in, like they’re telling secrets.

I’ll choose to ignore the fact that Sloane notoriously refuses to introduce me to her female friends.

I guess I can’t entirely blame her for that. I’m very up-front about the fact that I don’t do commitment. At all. Never have. I make sure women know that from the word go. I’m up for a good time, but when the night ends—which it always inevitably does—the night ends. I make sure they know I won’t call before I offer them a second drink. They’re fine with that, every single time.

That doesn’t, however, stop each and every one of them from thinking she’ll be the one to change me. To convince me she’s the one worth reforming for. And when that doesn’t happen, they start acting like I’m the worst guy alive when I follow through on every single one of the promises I made when I first met them.

That alone seems to be enough to ensure that Sloane doesn’t think I’m a good match for any of her friends.

To be fair, I probably wouldn’t want a womanIcared about platonically sleeping with me, either, unless all she’s interested in is the best night of her life.

I realize how arrogant that sounds, but I’m just talking from experience. Before you run for the hills and write me off as an asshole or a man-whore, let me explain one thing. I’m honest, I’m fun, I make people laugh like they haven’t laughed in a long time, they often tell me. They can be themselves with me.

But when we get to the bedroom, I’m no gentleman. I’m careful and very thorough in all the ways I need to be. I’m also hung like a fucking Spartan. And I know how to use my gifts.

That’s just the way it is. I happen to be very, very good in bed. This isn’t me singing my own praises. This is the talk of the town. Which Sloane loves to point out to me every chance she gets. I swear she keeps a digital scrapbook of the quotes.

Colton Maddox is the best lay on the planet, according to one Victoria’s Secret supermodel, a headline Sloane insisted on reading to me.He was gone by morning but, girlfriend, I have been SHATTERED in the best kind of way, enlightened beyond recognition, and I’m still high on my three-orgasm endorphin rush. Baby, come back to me.

Or something like that.

Or, according to a starlet I met at a movie premiere a few months ago,Colton Maddox, CALL ME, you sexy beast! Holy Amazeballs, Batman, I need another night with you. Pretty please with whipped cream on top! Once was never going to be enough, you bad, bad boy. You just can’t DO those things to me and then disappear like a hot, ten-inch, dirty-talking ghost, it’s not fair!!!

And so on.

Sloane warns her friends to steer clear of me, but there’s an intrigue she can’t control. Women fall for me at the drop of a hat and there’s nothing Sloane or anyone else can do to curb their enthusiasm. I’m a piece of A-list billionaire prime beef and half of them are madly in love with me before they’ve even met me.

It is what it is.

I can overhear the girls’ conversation now, and I grab a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket.

“So how’s stuff going with work?” I hear Sloane ask the girl.

“Today is actually the start of my first vacation in a year,” the girl replies. She still has her back to me, but the soft husk to her voice is strangely magnetic. It’s the kind of voice that could calm your worst fears or talk you off a ledge. “I’ve got two weeks off.” Mystery girl takes a sip of her champagne and I see her shoulders visibly relax. So wherever she works is stressful, then. Some instinct that feels new to me doesn’t like this.

It’s then that I get my first look at the girl’s face.

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