The Irresistible Billionaire

Chapter 11

"Sorry for being an asshole — your boss, John Bailey Miles, CEO of the Miles Shipping Corporation." That was what was written on the card attached to the bouquet.

I would've felt bad if it wasn’t for his whole name and title being written below it. I would've felt worse if it were handwritten, but it was printed like a calling card—except it didn’t even have his number.

But… he bought me roses. "White" roses.

Is the jerk finally trying to graduate from being who he is? I don't think so. He must've just Googled what flowers mean or told one of his "peasants" to do all this for him.

"At least he apologized," I muttered nasally and slipped the card into my journal. "But he apologized in the most asshole way." I rolled my eyes and tried to focus on my dull workday.

I do the same thing every day, and I've already got the gist of it. But today, aside from what Johnny left unattended, I was also blessed with more stress when he locked himself in his office. And yes, it frustrates the heck out of me.

What’s he doing in there?

It’s hard to believe he’s working. Knowing that ass, he’d rather masturbate than deal with those papers.

His business survives because of his mother and, well… his “associates.”

“He’s a w***e,” I mumbled. But an undeniably delicious, luscious, and everything-cious w***e.

I unknowingly bit my lower lip, recalling what we shared. He was so rough, fast, and hard that my poor pee-pee felt like it had been destroyed.

“He doesn’t even think about it. He doesn’t care,” I groaned, wanting to call Tamara and tell her that her plan didn’t work.

I lost my dignity for nothing—well, not "nothing". I just had mind-blowing s*x with my boss.

"Oh my God, I’m a whore..."

The phone rang.

Putting on a sour face, I reached for the phone and lazily picked it up.

“Miles Shipping Corporation,” I greeted apathetically, trying to sound at least "semi" inviting. “How can I help you?”

“Tell your son of a b***h boss that he can die in hell for making me wait and rot in that hotel! How dare he not show up?! And I had to pay for the night! Does he even know how much it cost?!”

I had to pull the phone away from my ear—her mouth was practically glued to the mic and it came out like a screeching TV on static.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I cleared my throat and brought the phone back to my ear.

“Do you have a name, ma’am?” I asked.

“Do I have a name? b***h, do I? It’s Mariana 'f*****g' James!” she screamed, making me wince. “And you, worthless worm, tell motherfucking Johnny to go f**k himself, go f**k his own hands, and f**k him for ditching me!” she added before slamming the call.

It’s nothing new for me to get calls from his women. I’ve endured so much yelling, message deliveries, and worse that I can’t believe I’ve survived.

But this was the "first" time Johnny ditched a woman.

Why?

Humming dismissively, I stood up and headed to Johnny’s office door, but before I could knock, it opened, revealing his still sulky face glaring at me.

“About damn time you took your ass off that chair. Don’t you have something to say to me?” he snapped—literally. I felt his blessed spit sprinkle on my face.

“Yes. Actually,” I said, wiping my face with my knuckles.

Arching a brow, he tilted his head, ready to listen.

“A woman called, sir. She said her name was 'Mariana f*****g James.' She said you can die in hell for making her rot in the hotel, and for making her pay for it. She also said, and I quote, ‘go f**k yourself, with your hands, and f**k you.’”

And that’s how you deliver a message.

“Should I call her back, or...?”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he muttered and suddenly pulled me by the wrist into his office. “But I like hearing sinful words come out of your mouth. It turns me on.”

“I’m sorry?” I winced, snatching my arm back. “Excuse me, sir, but I think you’re making a huge mistake. I’m Cassidy North—your secretary. Not one of your dogs batting lashes and wagging tails at you.”

“I actually want to see you on a leash and play fetch. How about a frisbee in that mouth?” he said like he was drunk on emotions, slowly stepping closer.

With every step he took forward, I took one back.

“I was upset, Cass. Don’t you get that?” he said with so much disappointment. “You were supposed to pamper me, but you were ignoring me. Isolating me, when you should be here, 'with' me, consoling me.”

He took a huge step, and I stumbled, dancing like a drunk ballerina.

Fast as lightning, he caught me by the waist—ever the Superman to the rescue. But not the kind that saves lives—more like one step closer to my death.

I don’t have a death wish… which is why I pushed him away.

“Sir, with all due respect, I do papers. Not you.”

“I’d like to see you do the latter—with pleasure.” A creeping smirk formed on his naturally pink lips, his eyes full of challenge, stripping me naked without even trying.

“Your lewd words might work with other women. Don’t make me one of them, please.”

“But I like my women begging,” he said, cornering me by the edge of his desk, hands flat on the surface, caging me in.

A lump formed in my throat, blocking my words from coming out.

Oh, s**t.

Why is he doing this to me?

I thought he only liked pretty girls. What am I to him anyway? I’m far from being a trophy. Or... does he plan something else?

“Breathe, Cassidy. Breathe…” he whispered, lifting a hand to caress my cheek.

I shivered under his touch, slowly being driven by desire.

No, no, no.

I can’t give in. Not when I’m his secretary. Not when I’m not the lady masquerade.

“Why are you so different from the others, huh?” he said, more to himself than to me. “You’re so hard to get. So f*****g hard.” He leaned in until our noses almost touched.

His hand slid from my cheek down my throat, his thumb stroking my neck as he stared like he was studying my reaction.

“I think I’m losing my mind, Cass. You’re like a boring riddle I want to leave unanswered, but I just... can’t stop trying to solve it. Do you know what I’m feeling?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but only air came out—until his hand wrapped around my neck. Not to choke me in a bad way, but in the kind of way that made my brain melt with pleasure.

He pulled me close, and before I could process it, his lips crashed against mine.

Every thought flew out of my head, replaced by the heat of his kiss.

Unlike the kiss we shared the other night, this one was... passionate. Gentle. Nurturing. Healthy.

It made my legs part for him.

The heat in my body rose. I wanted to tear off my clothes just to cool down.

Then his hand started traveling down, lower and lower, until he began unbuttoning my shirt—and that’s when I regained my senses.

I shoved him away, gasping, and stepped back like the room was on fire.

Fumbling to fix my buttons, I wiped my lips with the back of my hand. “Oh my gosh…”

Johnny sighed behind me. “That was just a kiss and you’re acting like I put a finger inside you.”

I spun around and shot him a glare.

His eyes were still serious—but now lust lingered, leftover and obvious.

“Come on, Cass. I know you liked it too,” he said, so confidently I almost agreed.

I took a breath and straightened my clothes. “You know what? If I didn’t have a debt to repay Auntie Tamara, I would’ve walked out of this building the moment I walked in.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned his hips against the desk again, arms supporting his weight, legs crossed.

Why does he hit every pose like he’s a goddamn magazine model?

“Debt? Baby, you can leave anytime you want. It was your choice to stay here,” he said, right on cue. “Because you’re in love with me.”

And that’s when I scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“You love me. You act like you don’t care, but the plot twist is—you’re worried. Maybe even jealous of all those women I’ve had,” he said, gesturing like he was proposing to save the earth with his sperm. “But if that’s the case, baby, just say the word—and I’ll 'try' to avoid f*****g them.”

“Do you prefer making out with men now?” I scoffed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miles, but you can do whatever you want with your life. Just exclude me from it. I beg you.”

“What are you gonna do, then? You’re already in it.” He raised two fingers and thrusted it in the air. “Deep.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I like your lips.” He rubbed his thumb across his own like he was remembering how I tasted. “It felt like I’ve tasted them before. Maybe I devoured them. Maybe because you taste like peaches. I had someone the other other night who tasted the same as you."

I froze.

“But maybe I was just tripping,” he added, straightening up. “I liked your peace offering, by the way. The kiss was great. You’re forgiven.”

“What?”

“It’s either you want to get to work—or you want more than just a kiss.” He glanced down at his… jumbo hotdog. “Shall we dance?”

I walked up to him, my heels clicking like a countdown to regret, and leaned close enough for him to think I might actually fall for the bait.

“Mr. Miles,” I whispered sweetly. “I’m already doing two full-time jobs—handling your chaos and resisting you. Unless you’re hiring for a third position called ‘personal lap dancer,’ I’m staying employed strictly by paperwork.”

Then I turned, rutting towards the door.

Let him deal with his boner. Alone.