Page 122 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

Stella laughed a little and whispered, “Tell her you’re doing push-ups.”

“I’m doing some push-ups.”

“Push-ups?!”

Stella whispered, “Tell her your doctor suggested thirty minutes of intense exercise.”

I chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you that you could go home?”

“You did,” Mrs. Mills said from behind the door, “but I had some filing to do, sir.”

“Very well. Good night.”

“You don’t need me to come in to help with anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Stella whispered, “Tell her you’re exercising in your underwear.”

I shook my head, chuckling, trying to sound grumpy and serious. “Good night, Mrs. Mills.”

“Alrighty then! Have it your way,” Mrs. Mills said brightly. “Although it’s such a pity you don’t need my help with anything…being the dashing young man you are. Cheriooo.” She cackled as she left.

I waited until the sound of her footsteps disappeared down the hallway and then turned my attention back to Stella’s face. She grinned at me impudently. I pulled out and pushed back in. Hard.

“Ahhh,” she moaned. “That was close.”

I kissed her collarbone, thrusting harder. “Oh, she knew,” I rumbled, eyes on the place we were joined.

She gasped, throwing her head back and squirming beneath me. The smell of her fruity-scented perfume consumed me as time stopped.

51

STELLA

Despite the huge portion of delicioustagliatelle al ragù alla BologneseI’d eaten during lunch at Giovanni’s when Ace picked me up from my doctor’s appointment, I was already starving. Ace had said he couldn’t deny the most beautiful woman on the planet anything. And yes, Dr. Maxwell was a wonderful doctor, and possibly even hotter than Tilly had described him, but me—of course—I only had eyes for Ace. We were going to have dinner at his place. In fact, he’d offered to cook—something I was particularly taken aback by because I’d hadnoidea he could cook.

The drive to the Upper East Side was like stepping into a different dimension. I was in awe of the stark contrast between my neighborhood and his every time I made the trip.

“It’ll rain later,” I commented, staring out of the Aventador’s passenger-side window as we raced toward his home.

He put his hand on my leg and squeezed. “How do you know?”

“The birds are roosting in the trees earlier than they usually do.” I wrinkled my nose at him and adjusted my glasses. I had become perfectly comfortable wearing them around him, especially now that my eyes felt drier than usual.

He laughed. It was a noise that resembled what I imagined an avalanche would sound like. “What makes you say that?”

“I read a lot,” I replied, shifting to look at him. “And not just detective books. Sometimes I throw a little baking book or a nature guide in there, you know, as a palette cleanser.”

“Huh. Palette cleanser. I like that.” He chortled. He looked like a sculpture made of pure gold in the late-afternoon sun. His wheat-colored hair partially concealed one of his icy-blue eyes. “Did you know I read several Miss Marple novels in my last year of college just because I knew you liked them?”

“Shut up. You didnot,” I gasped, playfully slapping his chest. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not. I really did,” he admitted, giving me the cutest smirk.

“There’s only one way to know if you’re being honest. Which ones did you read?”

“Not trusting me, huh?” he teased. “Let’s see.The Body in the Library.Sleeping Murder, and my personal favorite,4.50 from Paddington.” He smiled, triumph coloring his expression.

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