Page 49 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“Time to wake up, motherfucker,” I say. Before he can even say hello.

“Hey,” he says. “Good morning.” There’s a smile in his voice. It softens something in me.

“It’s not such a good morning over here. You totally and completely got me in trouble with my boss.” I’m referring to Sasha, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“I got you in trouble?”

“You have to stop researching Hello Morning. Stop trying to contact them. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

He lowers his voice. “I was interested in contracting for your time. I’d think it would show you’re doing a good job, if a client wants more of the service you provide. That’s typically the sign of a good employee…”

“Oh please with your businessplaining.‘I’d think it would show you’re doing a good job’… Well, it’s not helpful. You had to rush in there like a bull in a china shop…did you ever give a thought to another person’s situation?”

“Tell me about your situation.”

“I’m not going to tell you about my situation. I’m going to tell you about yours.” I lie back. “You sit there in your lofty office, and you are so oblivious, it blows my mind.”

“Oblivious to what?”

“The effects of your actions! Seriously. You don’t see what you do or what’s in front of you. That’s your problem.”

It actually is his problem—in the entire way he runs his business. He’s clearly one of these idea guys you read about who can’t give up control of his company. New York is full of them.

“Tell me what’s in front of me.” His voice is soft. It’s like he actually cares.

Don’t fall for it.

“I just don’t want attention drawn to me. How do you think it looks when a wake-up-call client is suddenly coming back with extra questions and requests for more time? You need to think a little harder about how your actions affect those around you. And I meanallyour actions.”

“I didn’t…”

“Think?” I say.

There’s a strange silence.

And then he says the one thing that could surprise me. “I’m sorry.”

I can’t believe Mr. Drummond would say this. It touches me—especially being that Mason never apologized to me. It’s like we’re doing some weird role-play, and he’s being Mason, finally apologizing to me.

It stops me in my angry-tracks. “You’re sorry?”

“Is that so hard to believe? I didn’t mean to make things hard for you.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” I say.

“Tell me your name.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say. I kind of wish I could give it, though. I feel strangely close to him.

Still more silence. He’s not used to being bossed around. “Just a name.”

“You’re paying me to wake you up. Not for my name.” I slide more deeply under the covers. I feel warm and good and a little wild. “You don’t need my name for what we do.”

“What harm could a first name do?”

“I don’t know. What if it’s really unusual? Like Sassafras or something.”

He lets out a grumbly breath. He’s hot when he’s frustrated. I smile, picturing his lips. And the way he sets his hands on surfaces like he owns them.

---