Page 33 of The Billionaire's Assistant

“Thank you,” he said, his voice so soft I could barely hear him.

“Don’t answer the door if anyone knocks and lock it when you leave. The space is all yours. If anybody sees you leaving and asks, I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well.”

“How often do you let sick employees rest on your couch?”

I smiled at him. “Never.”

16

BEN

I’d slipped out of Miles’s office about half an hour after he left for the meeting. I hurried out of the building, hoping I wouldn’t run into anyone who wanted to talk. Luck was with me, and a few moments later I was on the train—much less crowded than usual—headed home. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I’d sucked off my boss in his office. I was a fucking cliché, and tonight I had to face Mrs. Weeks knowing what I was up to with a man she treated like a son.

I’d taken the liberty of showering in Miles’s executive washroom, and I’d had to borrow a pair of his pants. From now on, I was going to have to keep an extra suit at work.

I changed again as soon as I got to my apartment. I was terrified of spilling something on Miles’s pants, having Felix snag them, or ruining them in some other way. At least I could take them back to work and send them out with his regular dry cleaning. I wasn’t going to risk them with the normal-people dry cleaner I used.

Or the one I used to use to before Miles insisted I send my things out with the other executives’ clothes. At least I wasn’t the only one given that privilege.

Diane was still commenting on how amazing it was that he’d had suits made for me. Most of the others who worked in the C-suite were speculating about the nature of our relationship. For all I knew, rumors about us were flying throughout the headquarters building. I could only imagine how much everyone must love gossiping about Miles.

I put on running shorts and a T-shirt. The window unit in my studio couldn’t keep up with the heat, and I had no intention of getting dressed for tonight until I had to. I flopped down on the couch and Felix jumped up beside me, demanding to be petted.

What exactly did a person wear to an elderly society woman’s knitting circle?

My first instinct was to text Miles. Why I thought he would even know the answer I wasn’t sure, but I was certain he would. Would he be annoyed to be interrupted in a meeting by a text like that? I sent the text off before I could second-guess myself. If he was going to pull me into his office and render me incapable of working for the rest of the day, he could answer a simple question for me.

In less than a minute, he responded.Nice jeans or other casual pants and a button down.

I smiled, then my heart nearly stopped when another text came through. It was a heart emoji. What the hell did that mean?

Did he love that I turned to him for fashion advice? Did he love that I was going to Mrs. Weeks knitting circle? Or did he….

No, I wasn’t going to go there. He was fond of me. He was attracted to me. I’d even go so far as to say, he respected my work, but more…. No way.

When the driver Mrs. Weeks had sent, dropped me off at her Upper West Side brownstone, my hands were shaking. I had a bag with a knitting project, one I hadn’t touched in a long time. She’d said she would be happy to give me a reminder lesson, but I hated that I wouldn’t be up to speed.

I expected a butler or some other employee to answer the door, but Mrs. Weeks answered it herself. She was wearing a linen dress that I assumed was one of the most casual things she owned. I felt like I matched her style perfectly, thanks to Miles.

She took my hands and rose on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

She led me to a room she called the lounge. I was certain it would have been called the drawing room in a historical novel. I was expecting all the other attendees to be older women, but I was wrong. Robert, the man who’d sat next to me at the gala, was there along with a few older women, and one woman who looked around my age. I wanted to know how Mrs. Weeks knew all these people and how she’d pulled them together.

The doorbell rang as she was making introductions. Robert took over for her. When she returned, the man following her was Miles’s friend and attorney, Ford Wainwright.

“Ford, do you already know Benjamin?”

“Of course.” He smiled at me, and I fought the urge to blush. What had Miles told him about me?

“Good.” She tapped an intercom button and asked for refreshments to be brought in. A few moments later, a woman in a basic gray dress brought in a tray with pots of what I assumed were tea and coffee, as well a large plate of cookies.”

“Will there be anything else?”

“No, that’s all for now.”

The woman inclined her head and left. Was I seriously here in a house where my hostess had domestic servants? How was it Mrs. Weeks seemed so down to earth?

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