Page 2 of The Billionaire's Promise

“Some of it,” I said, glad to be back on familiar ground. “I know you’re a sculptor, working primarily in metal. Large pieces, mainly, a combination of your own inspiration and commissions. You also act as an investor on occasion, mostly for small tech companies, though last year, you branched out and went in with your cousins on a nightclub.”

“You do your research,” he said. I sipped my coffee without responding. He went on, “I want help managing my life. I have a lot going on between my work and the investing and other things. I need someone who can keep track of mundane shit like my dry cleaning and dentist appointments, but who can also stay on top of my investments—vet proposals, keep an eye on the books, that kind of thing. You’d have to be flexible. Every day is different around here.”

It sounded intriguing. I wanted to use my degree, but I couldn’t see myself in an office, even though that had been my plan while I’d been in college. I opened my mouth to ask more about the details when a toilet flushed on the other side of the loft. I sat up straighter. I’d thought we were alone. Vance slouched over his coffee and muttered, “Sorry about this.”

A door shut, and a woman appeared, her micro mini and strappy top straight from a club. So was her big hair and smoky eye makeup. I’m sure she’d been stunning the night before. With smeared mascara under her bloodshot eyes and badly in need of a comb, she wasn’t that appealing. I knew her type. When she stumbled on her spike heels on the way to Vance, I looked away. She ignored me, didn’t even bother to ask who I was or why I was there, her focus all on Vance.

She slipped her arms around his torso from behind, leaning forward to nip his earlobe, saying, “Vance, baby, come back to bed.” She eyed me with vacant disdain. “Get rid of her. Or bring her with you. Whatever, it’s cool with me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hand slide into Vance’s lap. I swallowed and stood. I wasn’t a prude, but this was just weird and uncomfortable. I had no interest in being the third wheel in another woman’s awkward morning after.

As if he had a lot of practice—and I imagined he did—Vance twisted from her embrace and stood, turning the woman to face me.

“Not now. I have a full day. Ms. Henry will show you out.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, caught between annoyance and reluctant amusement. Vance had balls, I’d give him that. Taking in his expectant look, I understood. My job description would include managing his morning-afters. Ugh. If rumor was half accurate, this happened a lot. I thought about walking out. I didn’t need this. I didn’t much like his one-night stand, but I didn’t want to humiliate her either.

My irritation let me see through the mask of Vance’s beauty to the red lines dulling his eyes, the faint circles beneath. He was as hungover as she was. Vance had the looks and talent of a god, but he was really just like every other party boy I knew. Thinking over my options, I got to my feet and took the confused woman’s arm in a gentle grip, steering her to the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at Vance, almost losing her balance in her high heels, and I got the feeling she was going to plead her case. I shook my head, nudging her through the door.

“Do you need me to call you a ride?” I asked gently. She snatched her arm from my hand and stalked to the stairs. Guess not. Locking the door behind her, I turned back to finish my interview.

“Thanks,” Vance said from across the kitchen. He refilled his coffee and held out the pot. I shook my head. We had more to talk about before I decided if I was staying for a second cup.

“Does that happen often?” I asked, again in a crisp tone. I realized I sounded exactly like my boarding school headmistress, minus the posh English accent.

Vance shrugged. “Often enough,” he said with unashamed honesty. “Why? Interested in taking her place?” His electric blue gaze caressed my body with indolent interest. “I don’t usually mix business and the bedroom, but I could make an exception for you.” He raised one eyebrow as if daring me. For a second, I thought about slapping him.

“Are you kidding?”

He shrugged. “Not really, but I’m getting the idea sex isn’t in your job description.”

“Sex is absolutely not part of my job description.” I was both offended and flattered. Yes, flattered. I know, I know. I should have given him a good smack and walked out. My only excuse is that no man who looked like Vance had ever hit on me. Granted, Vance’s standards weren’t that high, but still, the sex-deprived woman in me appreciated the offer. There was no way I’d ever sleep with him, but it was nice to be asked.

“I figured you’d say that.” Vance shrugged again, amusement glinting in his red-rimmed eyes. “It was worth a try. Now that we’ve gotten my obligatory pass out of the way, here’s how I see this working. You’ll show up by ten every day, evict any guests, make me breakfast, and get my lazy ass out of bed. Once I get rolling, we’ll go over business, then I’ll head down to my studio and you’ll do whatever you've got on for the day.”

“So you need a combination babysitter, errand girl, and business manager,” I said, disarmed by his upfront explanation.

“Something like that,” he admitted. “Interested?” He named a salary that wasn’t outrageous, but it was more than generous. I was tempted. It wasn’t a long-term plan, but it would get me out of the house and force me to move forward with my life. I couldn’t keep going as I was.

“Can I bring my dog?” I asked. I’d gotten Scout a month after my grandmother had died, and I didn’t want to leave him alone at home all day.

“What kind of dog?

“A mutt. A boxer-corgi mix.” At the look on his face, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was impossible to describe Scout unless you could see his absurd cuteness for yourself. He had the face, ears, and long, low body of a corgi, with the stance and fur of a boxer. He wasn’t the brightest dog, but he was all love. We were a perfect fit. He’d needed a home, and I’d needed someone to hold on to.

Vance took my phone and flipped through the pictures of Scout, smiling down at my adorable dog. He stopped on a picture and held my phone up. On it was a shot I’d taken of Brayden, backing up as Scout went for his bagel. Brayden didn’t like dogs, and Scout returned his lack of affection.

“Who’s this?” Vance asked. “He looks familiar.”

“My boyfriend, Brayden.” I took my phone back, turning off the screen and sliding it in my pocket.

“Brayden Michaels?” Vance asked, an incredulous look on his face.

“You know him? How?”

“School. I was in the same class as his older brother. Brayden’s a twat.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I stood. Brayden wasn’t perfect, but he was mine, and I wasn’t going to listen to this dissipated playboy put him down. Picking up my keys and my purse, I said, “This isn’t going to work, Mr. Winters. I’ll see myself out.”