Page 19 of His Cruel Billionaire Scorecard

“It was good,” she said, feeling a bit shy and wondering what he was doing here.

“I’m still trying to get the hang of everything, but I think I’ll be okay.”

Olivia stepped in front of the elevator doors, stabbed a few buttons, and stepped in. She checked her time again and took a sharp intake of breath.

Talking to JB had eaten into her time. It was already 6:00 p.m., and her boss was a stickler for keeping to time.

He was sure to be pissed at her, and she was right because as soon as she turned the door handle to his office without knocking , he was already tapping his feet impatiently with a scowl on his face.

“You’re late,” he barked.

“I’m sorry, but Mr.-”

“That’s minus one point.”

***

“Mr. Knight, are you okay?”

“Oh yes, yes I am. Why’d you ask?”

After dismissing Olivia, Roman headed down to a restaurant to get some food and, of course, hold a short business meeting with one of his longtime clients, Mr. Mein.

The old man studied his face, and the lines stuck in his forehead as he dug into his steak.

Overhead, the restaurant lighting gave the place the mood of ambience.

But ambience, he was sure, was the last thing on this young man’s mind as he tore into his steak quite brutally.

“Now, now, slow down on the meat, son. Before they think you have a vendetta against the meat,” he said, laughing and taking a sip of his wine, observing Roman. “Can you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Roman stopped chewing and looked up with a frown.

“You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing, just had a long day,” he said and continued eating.

“Yeah right. It’s been a while since I saw you troubled like this. Is it a woman?”

Roman just grunted and continued to slice into his steak.

“Slow down,” Mr. Mein said as Roman began to cough.

Roman stopped and took a gulp of his wine and picked up his cutlery again.

Roman could not understand how within barely two weeks, this woman destabilized and affected him this much.

He had to be careful going forward, or she would turn out to be worse than his last personal assistant.

“Okay, I think I’ll leave you to it, we’ve discussed what we needed to talk about anyway and I have to be best at getting home to my wife,” he said, looking at his watch.

“You didn’t finish your food,” Roman said, pointing at his untouched plate of food.

“The wife is cooking today so I don’t want to fill up,” he said, patting his potbelly and giving a hearty laugh.

He managed a smile and stood up to escort him.

“You don’t need to do that,” the man said, picking up his coat from behind his leather seat.

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