Page 75 of Assistant to the Billionaire CEO

Ace started walking toward me, and I took a step backward. One of his hands was in his pants’ pocket. It made his chest look even broader than it usually did.

“I sentence you to one kiss,” Ace growled.

“One kiss?” I asked, my eyes wide. One kiss? That didn’t sound like a punishment and— “I thought you said we shouldn’t—”

Someone rattled the door handle. It startled me.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door handle rattled—again. It startled me—again.

Ace remained all cool.

Knock. Knock.

“I need to make a copy!” a voice drawled from the other side of the door.

“Coming,” Ace replied loudly, like he was calmness personified. He tore himself away from me, winked at me, and went to unlock it.

“The lock must have slipped.” He stepped out as the intern who had been waiting to come in entered.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Windsor,” the intern said apologetically, getting out of Ace’s way. “Sorry, Mr. Windsor. Have a nice day, Mr. Windsor.”

I waited until I could no longer hear Ace’s footsteps and followed suit, all papers clutched firmly in hand, making my way back down to the archive room where I’d left my paperwork. The chair at the center of it rolled backward in my rushed attempt to sit down.

I pulled the crumpled piece of paper I’d recklessly stolen—borrowed—from the copy room’s trash can from my stack of copies, the very same piece of paper I worried would be the evidence I needed to incriminate Ace (who had just about kissed me) in all kinds of nefarious dealings with Edmund Ecclestone. With shaky hands, I finished straightening out the page for all the text to become readable.

Here goes nothing. Hastily, my eyes scanned through the rest of the information on the paper. It was a letter from a company called DC Developments. They wanted Ace to help them design high-end lofts in the Short Hills area, and they were definitelynotEcclestone Construction. Oh, thank goodness! I exhaled. Okay. Good. This was good. Not great, but good. Of course, this didn’t conclusively prove that Ace wasn’t working with Ecclestone Construction. It was enough to make me twirl on my office chair in happiness.

I let my mind dwell on our encounter for a moment and then shook my head, hoping to gain more clarity of thought. “Focus,” I muttered under my breath, stopping the chair. “Don’t let yourself fall in love. You’ve got a job to do.”

A sense of regret, and worse, shameful guilt welled up in my chest. I’d lied to my boss and then crossed a line with him (again), all in the hope of keeping a useless piece of paper in my possession.

I wasn’t the greatest detective, but I told myself that Miss Marple had setbacks too.

30

ACE

The previous day’s happenings were still fresh in my mind when I left my car and glanced at my watch. I had an early meeting with investors on the 7th floor, and I resented the fact that I felt unable to completely focus on it. I’d always been a man of numbers, a lover of graphs and statistics, and it had taken me longer than usual to prepare for this presentation. Instead of creating a slideshow in my usual efficient manner, I’d spent half the night trying to remember the taste and feeling of Stella’s body. Now, I was almost late.

The fact I couldn’t control myself around her both thrilled me and left me feeling frustrated at my own indiscretions. I knew it was a losing battle. No amount of moral agonizing was going to erase what I felt for Stella Copeland.

Ring-ring.

“I’m almost there,” I informed Mrs. Mills, who had called to inform me that all the gentlemen were waiting for me.

“You better hurry! They don’t look happy.”

I ended the call. They would be after I was done with them.

The hallway leading up to the elevator was bustling with life as my employees streamed in for the morning. “Good morning, Mr. Windsor,” sounded from all around me as everyone weaved through the crowd to make it to their offices. There was enjoyment for me in seeing the office at its busiest and I pushed through the throng of people, nodding, greeting, my laptop bag firmly tucked under my arm.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and a number of people and I stepped inside of it in unison. We crammed into it like sardines. I made it a point to chat with everybody. We discussed the weather and a recent football match. I realized it was out of character for me, but a little small talk, as Tilly had mentioned, wouldn’t hurt me. To be honest, I hoped it would take my mind off the one person invading my thoughts and distracting me to no end.

When the elevator doors slid open on the 4th floor, it revealed a single waiting figure.

“Good morning, Mr. Windsor, good morning, everyone,” Stella half-sang as she stepped into the elevator, several folders in hand. Her hourglass figure, wearing her sunflower dress, brought in a sweet smell of mandarin and sugar that enveloped the elevator.

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