Page 5 of Flirting with my Billionaire Boss

“Who are you hiding from?”

“My ex. It’s a long, twisted, messed-up story. I won’t bore you with the tedious details.” Only they aren’t tedious. They’re depressing. No one wants to know how much I’ve been putting up with from Markus. It’s embarrassing and makes me look weak. But now I’ve left. That should count for something, right?

“Sorry if it seems like I’m prying. You just seem like you’re down on your luck. I want to help. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing.”

I open my car door after she parks. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Stella offers. “You know, show you around?”

“If you want.” It’s nice to make a new friend. Who would have expected that? It’s been a long time since I’ve been friends with someone. Markus didn’t really allow me to have friends. Maybe being in Blue Mountain will be just the fresh start I need.

2

WESTON

TWO DAYS PREVIOUSLY

“Skipper?” A little ball of white fluff dashes past me, down the marbled hall of my mansion. I chase after him, catching up to him next to my grand piano. “Come back here, boy. What were you doing in Natasha’s room?” I crouch down beside him and scoop him up, the short legs of the bichon frise dangling. There’s something in his mouth. It looks like some type of chain. “What do you have there?”

Martha, the housekeeper who has been in our family since I was young, steps in to help. She’s a short, curvy Latina woman and the most amazing cook. She grabs the little furball from me and pries open his mouth, pulling out the long chain. “Isn’t this your grandmother’s locket?”

“What was that doing in Natasha’s room?” It’s worth a fortune and is one of the family’s prized possessions. Grandmother Keith wants me to give it to the woman I end up marrying.

Natasha’s my assistant who lives with me. My family owns and operates a real estate business that’s been around for generations, starting with my grandfather, Weston Alexander Keith Senior. I’m the oldest of five boys, and I was named after him.

It’s been convenient to have Natasha in the household. While I have enough resources to hire an entire staff, I like to keep my household small with only the core people around. I don’t need a bunch of people doting on me. But I can’t live without my assistant. I stay busy, and I need someone to handle my errands.

“So that’s where all the missing things have been going,” Martha says.

“You think she stole this?” I ask, a sinking feeling dropping into my gut. Betrayal hits me like a punch in the face from your supposed best friend who just stole your girlfriend and lied to you about it. I trusted Natasha. How could she steal from me?

Martha puts her hands on her wide hips. “Who else would steal from you?” She has a good point. Martha would never take anything from me.

That means I need to find a new assistant.

* * *

Afew days later, after finally accepting that Natasha can’t be trusted and dismissing her, I drive to the grocery store to post the job opening. Don’t laugh. It’s how we do things in Blue Mountain. Yes, I know I’m a billionaire and can afford to hire someone to find me a new assistant, but I want someone from the town. Someone I can trust. I got Natasha from an agency and look where that got me. She stole from me right under my nose.

After pinning the job notice on the bulletin board and circling the store for a few items, I pay for my food and head back to my car.

I back out and hit the brakes when I see a flash of something in my rearview mirror, followed by a light thump. Holy Smokes! Did I just hit that girl? I slam my car into park and get out.

“I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

The girl I nudged with my car–I refuse to say that I hit her–is gorgeous enough to turn a thousand heads with luscious black waves tumbling down her back. Unfortunately, the Latina girl is also covered in a smelly substance.

“You hit me!” Her bag of groceries is in a messy heap at her feet with glass scattered across the parking lot. “I have pickle juice all over me. So much for that.”

Stella, a girl who cleans my brother’s house, is standing next to her with her arms waving around like a monkey with a firecracker shoved down its throat.

“Are you injured? The food can be bought again. I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m just fine. You barely touched me. I don’t even think it’s going to leave a bruise.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“I saw the whole thing,” Stella says. “She’s okay. Just a little shook up.”

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