Page 2 of Wham, Bam, Marry Me, Ma’am (The Billings Brothers Trilogy #1)

Rachel

"Oh no!" I wobble slightly on bare feet as the elevator ascends. "No, no, no. Damn it." Lowering my oversized tote to the floor, I dig through it frantically.

Please let me somehow have picked up Hermione's bag with a magical pocket hiding a pair of women's dress shoes.

Glancing up to the elevator's rapidly rising numbers, I groan, shoving the socks and sneakers I've already removed into my bag in frustration.

I tap my bare foot on the cold tile of the elevator, praying I'm the first one in to work today.

Our company takes up three floors of the Aster-Bruce building downtown.

My desk is on the executive floor, where, in addition to managing schedules and organizing travel, I am invited to the leadership meetings and handle all event planning, big or small, for the entire company.

While I only assist the CFO, Weston Billings, and CMO, Barrett Billings, when they are in the office, I'm the lead assistant to the CEO, Vaughn Billings.

Billings Corp.'s mission is eco-conscious research and design.

We are responsible for packaging, supplies, and technology with the goal of extending life, for the planet and people.

In the five months I've worked at Billings Corp.

, I've fallen in love with my job. I've never worked for a company so passionate about their mission, and it has changed my life to contribute to society while still getting paid. And I get paid well for what I do.

The elevator doors open and I step out at the c-suite floor, moving quickly down the hall and past the large offices.

I relax a little when I see Barrett and West's office doors still closed.

Not here yet. Both men typically utilize an open-door policy while in the office.

I eye the closed mahogany door closest to my desk.

Mr. Billings is most certainly in. The entire office is on a first name basis with everyone, including the executives, but try as I might, I can't call the grumpy Mr. Billings by his first name.

At least, not when I'm at work.

At home in the middle of the night, Vaughn easily escapes past my lips, usually on a moan.

My cheeks heat from that image. Did I forget to mention my boss is a stone-cold fox?

He's the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

He's all business. Grumbly and confident.

His hands look like he could give a spanking and then find a way to soothe the pain.

Down, girl , I reprimand my horny libido. Some of us have work to do today.

I sink into my desk chair and open the bottom drawer where I've stashed a back-up pair of shoes for work. Except, they're missing. I groan. I loaned them to Stacey in accounting a few weeks ago when she left hers in her daughter’s diaper bag at daycare.

Damn it!

I wiggle my computer mouse and send a quick message to Stacey to ask if she has my shoes at her desk. My breath catches, and my heart flutters when I find an email from Mr. Billings.

FROM: Vaughn S. Billings vsbillings@ billingscorp.com TO: Rachel D. Diver rddiver@billings corp.com Tues, 11/5 6:15AM

Subject: Today's Meeting

Rachel,

Note - I've invited Clinton Mitchell to attend today's meeting, in addition to the Ludlow, Price, although, I wouldn't be surprised if he sleeps at his desk.

Or maybe he doesn't sleep at all. Like a robot, or a sexy shark.

Do sharks sleep?

I wonder if he even owns a bed. An image of Vaughn tangled up in bedsheets has me curling my bare toes into the plush carpet. I shake my head and try to banish the sexy thoughts about my boss.

Glancing at his closed door again, I debate whether sneakers or bare feet look more professional while I wait for Stacey's response. Deciding the floor will be empty for at least another twenty minutes, I pad barefoot down the hall to the small kitchenette to make coffee.

Since I've been employed here, Vaughn Billings has said few non-work-related words to me. I don't blame him. He didn't want to hire me. Told me so in the interview, but I like to think I've made him regret that decision.

I would guess previous assistants might call Mr. Billings a micro-manager, but I recognize his need for control as a way to manage his anxieties.

Double and triple-checking every detail is not a reflection on his perception of my abilities.

On the contrary, I would not still have my job if he didn't see me as efficient and capable.

I recognize that his need for total control is a way to stop his obsessive thoughts, and I am happy to provide reassurance, because the truth is, I'm good at my job.

And a part of me likes to imagine what else he might like to control with me. Thank god he can't read my thoughts. He'd send me to HR in two seconds.

It's quiet as I fill the coffee pot with water. I open the sleek cupboard in search of the tin of fancy coffee the Billings brothers all prefer. I've become addicted to it since I started working here as well.

"Good lord. Who put it up there?" I mutter.

Lifting up on my tiptoes, I stretch for the high shelf. I groan as my fingertips graze the underside of the tin, pushing it farther out of reach. Damn it.

Of course, I chose to wear my pencil skirt today. I'm average height and curvy, two things working against me when agility is what's between me and my first cup of coffee.

Undeterred, I tug the fitted skirt up my thighs as far as it can go and boost up slightly, trying to get myself onto the counter enough to scoot the tin toward me.

I'm grunting from the effort, getting my fingertips under the edge of the tin as I pull it closer.

My knee is now on the counter as I straddle it at an odd angle, but I'm so close.

Almost...almost, I let out a little whimper, and then a throat clears behind me. I drop back to the floor with a scream.

"Mr. Billings," I gasp, tugging my skirt down my legs.

"Did I startle you?" His deep voice rumbles into the small space, causing my core to clench. I have to bite my lip in an attempt to hold back a girlish giggle.

"No," I finally say and then laugh at my ridiculous lie. "Yes," I amend, gazing at him a moment too long before turning back to the counter. I clear my throat, flustered. "I'll bring you coffee when it's ready."

I glance up at the high shelf again, waiting for him to leave before I shimmy my way back up on the counter.

And then, he's behind me. His spicy, soothing scent fills the space, making me lightheaded.

The same scent permeates his office every time I bring him paperwork, but it's stronger, and, oh, so much more delicious up close.

I try to calm my beating heart with a quiet deep breath, but it comes out as a small moan.

His weight presses into me slightly, and my chest heaves.

The front of his body shifts me forward against the counter, and I plant my hands to steady myself.

I turn my head to the side, and his lips whisper against my cheek as his arm reaches up.

I close my eyes, silently begging him to graze my cheek again.

My neck, my ear, hell, I'd settle for my hair at this point.

But I only hear the clatter of the coffee tin, as he places it on the counter next to me.

Mr. Billings takes a large step back, and his body heat disappears.

Which is for the best. My cheeks could light a furnace right now, so the less heat heading my way the better.

I stare at the coffee tin, embarrassed by my reaction to him and hoping he didn't notice. "Thank you," I whisper.

He clears his throat. "Just a reminder that this morning's meeting is hybrid."

Reaching for the tin, I manage to say, "Yes, sir."

I'm relieved that my voice sounds normal, but I don't turn around, afraid he'll see my desire for him written across my face. "Everything will be ready as you like it."

"Good girl."

I turn quickly, coffee scattering from the tin in my haste, but he's already gone.

Did he just... good girl me? Letting out a sharp breath, I shake my head, laughing at myself.

My friend Scarlett says I need to stop reading billionaire romances, especially when I'm working for a sexy one myself, and for once, I might agree with her. Wait until I tell her I moaned when he reached the coffee for me. I cringe from the memory, and yet the dull throbbing between my legs hasn’t lessened.

After becoming an expert in smutty romance over the past five years, I would have told you that my real-life kinks are pretty tame.

But the thought of Mr. Billings calling me a good girl, and I'm ready to drop to my knees and show him how good I can be.

Shaking my head again, I realize I must have misheard.

Good job ? Good going? Good one?

Back at my desk, an email comes through from Stacey apologizing because she wore my back-up shoes home the other day and hasn't brought them back.

She offers to switch with me today. Assuring her that's unnecessary, I slip into my sneakers.

After practically throwing myself at my boss this morning, my footwear is the least of my worries.

Good girl, good job.

Tom-a-toh, Tom-ah-toh.