Page 3 of The Billionaire's Promise

“Wait,” he said, shoving back his stool and coming to his feet. “Magnolia, don’t leave.”

Against, my better judgement, I stopped and whirled to face him. “I don’t know that I want to work for you,” I said bluntly. “You’re rude and immature.”

Vance shoved his hands in his back pockets, dragging his jeans down an inch to reveal a strip of taut golden skin. I shouldn’t be tempted. I didn’t even like him. I dragged my eyes away, forcing myself to look at his face. His blue eyes were shadowed when he said, “Yeah, I am. Rude, immature, sometimes a complete asshole. I’d be a pain in the ass to work for half the time.”

“And the other half?” I asked.

“You’ll get more hands-on experience with me than an entry-level job at a bigger company. My personal shit aside, I get first look at some very interesting investment opportunities, and you’d be involved at every level. You’d get one-on-one exposure to some of the biggest players in business, not just in Atlanta but across the country. When you’re ready to move on, you’ll have connections you’d never be able to make sitting in a cubicle. All you have to do is put up with me.”

When he laid it out like that, how could I say no? Wondering if I was making a huge mistake, I held out my hand. Vance took it in his, his strong fingers closing around mine with possession. I tried to ignore the spark of heat as we touched.

“So you’ll take the job?” Vance asked, holding onto my hand when I tried to tug it free. I gave a hard yank and took a step back.

“On a trial basis,” I said in what I was starting to think of as my headmistress voice. “If you’re too much of an asshole, I’m quitting, and I want a guarantee of six months’ severance.”

“Agreed,” Vance said, grinning down at me. “But the severance is only payable if you leave because I’m an asshole.”

“Does sexual harassment count as being an asshole?” I challenged. I’d admitted to myself that I was flattered by his offer, but if he kept it up, I’d walk out.

“It would, if I were planning on harassing you. I won’t pull that shit. I’m an asshole, but I’m not a complete dick.” He ruined it by leering at me and saying, “Anyway, when we finally sleep together, it’ll be because you can’t keep your hands off me.”

“And that’s strike one. Jury’s out on whether you’re a complete dick.”

To my surprise, Vance laughed. “Cross my heart.” With two fingers, he swiped a cross over his chest. “I have a twin sister who’d kick my ass if she thought I was harassing a woman who works for me. Give me a chance. I promise the job will be worth it.”

“Fine. I’ll start tomorrow.” I turned on my heel and walked out. I’d had as much of Vance Winters as I could take for the day. His voice followed me into the hall.

“Ten A.M. Don’t be late, Magnolia.”

Like he would notice if I was. I’d bet my inheritance Vance would be passed out in bed when I showed up, with another nubile, hungover girl beside him. On the drive home, I tried to convince myself I’d done the right thing. It wasn’t easy.

The truth was, my first instinct was spot on. Vance Winters was trouble—six feet of dangerously beautiful mayhem. I should have taken one look and run in the other direction. I should have told him to take his job offer and shove it up his tight, perfect ass. But hindsight is 20/20. By the time I knew what was coming, it was already too late. For Vance, and for me.

CHAPTER TWO

MAGNOLIA

T-MINUS EIGHTEEN MONTHS

I let myself into the loft, Scout padding in behind me, not bothering to be quiet. It was 9:58 am, and if this morning was like every other, Vance would be passed out in bed. It was even odds whether he’d be alone. I headed straight for the coffee maker and got a pot going. Coffee was essential to getting Vance up in the morning.

Once I had the coffee brewing, I hit the fridge and pulled out the ingredients for my ‘morning after’ smoothie. Fruit, greens, and a few herbs to help his body detox, with some protein powder and MCT oil for energy. The first time I made it, he complained, claiming he didn’t drink kale. Now, he scowled at me if I didn’t hand him one with his coffee.

Some mornings, the buzz of the industrial strength blender was enough to rouse him. I flipped it off and poured, listening for movement. Nothing but the rustle of Scout settling into the dog bed Vance had bought him. He raised his head and glared at the blender, then at me. Like Vance, my dog was not into mornings. Deciding I wasn’t going to interrupt his sleep again, Scout let out a low grumble and set his head on his paws. The loft was silent. No movement from the bedroom, though I could see the door was open. Hmm.

It was going to be one of those mornings. I screwed the lid on his insulated cup and weighed my options. Some days, I went straight for the kill, but not today. Today, I was in too good a mood to be mean. I pulled my phone from my pocket and turned on the wireless speaker on the counter, waiting for the two devices to connect. A quiet blip, and I was in business. Seconds later, the opening bars ofWalking on Sunshineby Katrina and the Waves filled the loft. And I meanfilled it. All the way.

I saw—but didn’t hear—Scout lift his head and shoot me another glare. My poor dog. He really didn’t like mornings. This was Step Three in my wake-up plan. Step One: Coffee. That one never worked, not unless Vance was still up from the night before. Step Two: The blender. That one worked half the time, but when it did, Vance was particularly grumpy. Step Three: Music. My choice varied by the day. Today I was in a happy mood, so Katrina. Other days, he got Korn, Megadeath, or—if I was feeling evil—a boy band. Metal worked better than pop or the classics, even though it wasn't my personal favorite. Most of the time, Step Three did the trick.

I carried his smoothie across the loft and peeked in the bedroom. Damn. Two naked bodies were sprawled across the huge bed, spread out but not touching. A quick glance at her black hair told me the female body was probably Amy, a girl Vance hooked up with often but claimed not to be dating.

Vance lay on his stomach, his head pillowed on one arm, legs splayed, dark blond hair tangled around his face. I didn’t even pretend I wasn’t staring. Working for Vance had its upsides and downsides. Dealing with the aftermath of his drinking was a downside. Ogling his body? Definitely an upside.

I wasn’t interested in Vance. Not personally. Not like that. But there wasn’t any harm in appreciating the way he was put together. Muscles everywhere. Everywhere.

My eyes lingered on his legs, tanned from the sun, strong yet sleek. And his ass. Yum. Seriously yum. Don’t forget about the shoulders. Broad and thick with muscle. It wasn’t just that he worked out, which he did. Every day. Sculpting metal meant he spent a lot of time hauling around heavy equipment. His strength wasn’t just from the gym. It was functional, and it showed. Even his scars were hot. And the tattoos. Covering most of one shoulder and running down his arm, the intricate designs were stark against his golden skin, dramatic and way too sexy. I'd never been into body art, but the tattoos fit Vance, the ink as much a part of him as the scars from his work and his muscular build.

I gave myself another minute to watch him sleep, my heart hurting just a little at the sight of him so defenseless. Vance was a good boss, most of the time. He was a good guy most of the time, too. I wished he were happier.