Page 127 of The Rebel Billionaire

ALEX

I’m at my desk early.

Why?

Because I wanted to beat the little minx into the office.

If the guys could see me, they’d laugh. I’ve spent the past week tying myself up in knots.

I kissed my PA, or she kissed me. The truth is, it’s just semantics. What happened after our lips met was mutual and powerful.

What I’m struggling with is that I broke up with my girlfriend, who was never really my girlfriend, and I’m now having vivid and totally inappropriate sex dreams about a fucking kiss. The fact she’s my PA is bollocks now. I wouldn’t be the first CEO to fall for their PA. The fact we’re at completely different stages in our lives, not to mention the power dynamics, is a whole other argument.

Fuck!

Having left my door slightly ajar, I run a hand over the back of my neck when I hear her arrive.

My heart rate picks up.

Is she feeling better?

Was she really sick?

I was tempted to drop round for a visit but decided that was a little stalkerish. And if she wasn’t ill, what was I going to do about it?

There’s a gentle knock on my door.

“Come in,” I say, my voice gruff.

“Good morning,” Brooke says, breezing in with coffee in hand. Her lips tilt slightly as she places it on the smart coffee warmer now sitting on my desk. “Did you have a good New Year?” she asks, stepping back.

I sit up, resting my forearms on the armrests.

“I did,” I say. “Are you feeling better?”

Colour rises in her cheeks, but she holds my gaze.

“It turned out to be a twenty-four-hour thing. A good night’s sleep, and I’m as right as rain.”

I smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Is there anything you need me to do urgently? If not, I’ll start on emails.”

“Already done,” I say. “I’ve been keeping on top of everything from home. I’ve sent you a few items that need addressing.” I pull up the email I forwarded to her earlier. “Fashion week is fast approaching. I need you to coordinate with the PR team on seating arrangements for the New York show, transportation between the venues, airports and hotels, and the RSVPs for the VIC invitations. Those clients must take precedence, so send a follow up to anyone who hasn’t responded.”

“Not a problem. I’ll get onto it straight away,” she says, not even blinking.

“I’ve sent you an email detailing it all.”

“Perfect, although I think I can remember all that.”

“Great,” I say.

“Great,” she says, backing towards the door.

“Brooke,” I say as she’s about to leave.

She turns, her eyes locking on mine. I can’t miss the flash of indecision.