Daddy: A Billionaire Baby Romance Page 4

  He laughed at that, as did the woman next to him as they joined me in the elevator. No one had tried a surprise party since that inopportune one during my second week, but I was still wary that they had something else up their sleeves.

  “Hey, you’re almost approaching the month mark, aren’t you?” he asked.

  I nodded, trying not to think about it. My first two weeks had gone pretty much exactly how I read it would online. But after I had gotten just a liiiiitttle bit snarky with Mr. Fitzgerald was right about when the weirdness happened.

  It started off with my routine for the day changing. It was just tiny things at first. Things that required I interact with him for longer or stick around his office. But the most I did, the more I aced whatever he asked of me, the more my chores required me to stick around.

  And I didn’t really mind it. Even if Mr. Fitzgerald was intimidating, blunt and taciturn, he certainly was eye candy. While I didn’t shirk my duties to stare at him, I certainly allowed myself to enjoy his aesthetic in my peripheral vision.

  But then that had happened.

  The shower thing.

  Or rather, after shower thing. Maybe I should call it the towel thing. But whatever its name was, I had just come back from grabbing the man some food when he had suddenly been standing in a door with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

  “I think only three other assistants have gotten that far,” the woman beside Chris said, sounding impressed. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re killing it.”

  “It’s no big deal,” I said automatically, feeling my cheeks flush as I recalled his body. He’d been quite wet still, all shiny and slicked up under his office’s lights. I hadn’t been able to help it as my eyes focused on one of those droplets of water as it navigated through his absolutely ridiculous musculature. I hadn’t meant to stare, hadn’t meant to burn the image of him into my mind, but I could recall the scene so damn accurately that I was sure my cheeks were coloring.

  “Well, I certainly think it is,” Chris said with a wide grin. “I knew you’d be a great fit.”

  Thankfully the elevator doors opened to their floors and they got out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I was not the type to get all wound up over a nice body. I appreciated, and I moved on, always having much more important things to focus about. But I couldn’t quite shake the image of him standing there, looking at me like everything was perfectly normal.

  And it would be one thing if he had made it sexual or had tried to come on to me. I had no problem marching down to HR or making a fuss if I was being harassed. But it wasn’t like that at all. It had almost been like…

  My mind struggled to describe it, not used to such situations. But the best I could think of that it was sort of like… staking a claim? I was in his space, his territory, and he was just acting as he normally would. Showing me that my presence was such a non-entity that it didn’t even matter that I saw him wrapped in only a very expensive piece of terry cloth.

  And for some reason that made me want to make him notice me.

  I was very grateful for my smudge-proof lipstick as I licked my lips nervously. Soon I was going to have to put my professional mask back in place and act like I didn’t think the man was a total almost-silver fox.

  A jerk, yeah, but definitely a fox.

  I remembered reading that he was somewhere in his forties. Old enough to be my father - if he was still alive. But instead of being a negative, I found that so much more compelling. The things he had to know, the experiences he had to have…and the thrill I could get by just one word – Daddy!

  I shook my head, banishing that line of thought. It was one thing to think that my boss was hot. It was another thing entirely to entertain anything else, fantasy or hope or what have you. I was just a twenty something underling that hardly registered as a person for him, and it would be best for me if it stayed that way.

  I nodded to myself, as if I needed the bolstering, then squared my shoulders as the elevator doors opened. Just like every other day, I strode to my desk to check if I had any outstanding tasks that Mr. Fitzgerald had thought of in the middle of the night and sent to my email. Sure enough, thee was something there, but as I opened it, I realized it wasn’t dry cleaning orders, or a fetch quest, or anything else.

  It was just a simple note telling me to see him in his office as soon as I was in.

  My whole body went cold at that. Was this it? Was I being fired? I couldn’t think of anything that I had done that would possibly give him reason to let me go. He was the one that walked in half naked on me! Surely, he couldn’t be upset that I was just there… right?

  Had I missed something? Was there some great task that had somehow slipped my mind? That seemed impossible. I had been so careful.

  Well, I guessed there wasn’t anything to do but put my chin up and take it like a champ. I was sure that even lasting almost a month would be a pretty impressive thing to put on my resume, and maybe then I could work for someone who didn’t push me to the absolute limit of what should be possible.

  But still, it felt like I was failing, and it was hard for my hands not to shake as I went into his office. I’d never really failed anything before, and the feeling felt sour in my mouth.

  “Sir?” I asked once I was in. I was proud of how steady my tone was despite the sacking I was sure I was about to experience.

  “You’re here early,” he remarked, not even raising his head from his computer.

  “I’m always here at this time,” I responded cautiously, trying not to sound like I wanted to prove myself to him. “The elevator rush slows me down too much in the morning, so I prefer to get here beforehand.”

  “I see.” He stood, beckoning me over to his drafting table. I had finished my whole receipt task that he had given me and now the table was covered with tons of paper, all of which seemed pretty important. “Well, we could use the head start anyways. I’ll make sure to adjust your paycheck for the extra hours you’ve been working then.”

  Wait, adjust my paycheck? That didn’t sound like firing talk to me. “Yes, sir.”

  He waved off my gratitude, his eyes on the table. “For the next two days you’re going to be helping out the entertainment division plan a party to celebrate our third channel. The Star Squad finally hit a million in profit for a year, and people are itching to have a real big blow out.”

  I stared at the side of him with wide eyes before reining it in. Yeah, I knew that I might be a gopher for party planning, but I never thought I’d have to have a hand in helping plan it. He had to really think I was capable if he was entrusting me to be part of the decision-making process.

  Or this was another test.

  “What do you need me to do, sir?”

  His head swiveled towards me and I swore that he was looking right through me again, seeing everything that I usually liked to keep so hidden. It just wasn’t fair that he could gaze at me like that and make me question myself. Like I had spent twenty-two years building myself up only to be taken apart brick by brick by someone who knew so much more than me.

  “Start with emailing the entertainment division and telling them you’ll be my intermediary. Then I want you to schedule a meeting with them and go over everything they have. They’ve been planning for about two weeks, so I’m sure there will be a lot to go over. If you catch anything like what happened with acquisitions, I need you to fix it.

  “I’m in meetings all day so I don’t want you calling me to check in every time you find a screw up, because I’m sure you will. Use your best judgement.”

  Okay, wow. That was no pressure. “Sir,” I murmured, almost cursing myself for the question that was about to come out of my mouth.

  “Yes?”

  “Does this party have any particular…uh, business consequences, or it is purely for morale and celebration?”

  “Clever of you to ask,” he smiled, but it wasn’t a warm grin. No, it was appraising, calculating, and it made a shiver travel up my sp
ine. “While it is mostly to reward tons of hard work, there will be business prospects there. A couple of CEOs from companies I’d like to try a joint project with, plenty of talent that we might or might not be trying to woo. If this party goes well, it could be quite a profitable thing for us.”

  I couldn’t help it, I swallowed nervously, my tongue coming out to wet my lips again. “And if it goes poorly?” My voice was barely a whisper, but if Mr. Fitzgerald thought anything of it, he didn’t say.

  “Why, are you planning on doing poorly?”

  His tone had dropped and goodness, if that didn’t do something for me that I didn’t want to think about. “No,” I said as solidly as I could muster.

  “Then that’s not a question that we have to worry about, is it?”

  I swallowed, forcing myself to remain calm. Impervious. “I suppose not,” I said before hurrying out to send the email that he had told me would get the ball rolling. I was suddenly staring down an astounding to-do list, but I was sure I was going to nail it like I nailed everything else he had told me to do.

  Oh geez, maybe I shouldn’t mentally use the word ‘nailed’ ever in conjunction with my far too attractive boss. I couldn’t help but feel like all of our interactions had changed, like there had been a sort of electricity running between them, arching through all the parts of my body that I usually tried to ignore.

  Breathing out a big sigh, I sat down at my little desk and went about this whole party planning business. All I needed to do was put my head down and chug through, just like I always did.

  I would show him that it was impossible to break me. That he could heap on as much responsibility as he wanted, but I would always, always come out on top.

  I’d gotten this far, after all. And after twenty-two years, it would be a shame to ruin my streak.

  Beverly

  While parties were supposed to be fun, and happy, and full of all sorts of good things, I was quickly finding out that party planning was the complete opposite.

  There were just so many details! The location, the parking, how close it was to public transport considering how big a city we were in and how cars weren’t the preferred method of transport. The food, the decorations, the music. Not to mention the invites and reminders and everything else it might possibly need.

  And somehow, I had reviewed all of it in two days, approving of everything by noon on Friday with only ten hours to go before the party started.

  Ugh. I wanted nothing more than to slink home and hide under my covers until Monday, but I knew I needed to go to the location and double check that everything was how it should be.

  Because of course the party had to be held off location. Because rich, media people were annoying and so were the internet famous people they recruited. Or at least that was how I felt in my tired, cranky mood.

  It wasn’t often that I let my work affect me so, but I just felt so on edge. Between my mind constantly flitting to the way Mr. Fitzgerald had looked at me when telling me about the party, and the seemingly endless list of minutiae I had to wade through, I was surprised that I hadn’t ground my teeth down into nubs.

  I debated going to Mr. Fitzgerald’s office to tell him I was leaving for the party location, but I didn’t. On one hand, he told me not to check in with him for every little thing so it just made sense not to.

  On the other hand, I was somewhat avoiding him.

  I knew it was stupid. He was my boss that I was assisting so I was going to have to interact with him eventually. But was it wrong for me to want that interaction to be after I had a full weekend to myself and a chance to breathe? I was so run ragged and worried over the party that I felt like a raw, exposed nerve and even the slightest touch would just shatter whatever façade of control that I had.

  I thought about getting on a bus, so that I could take my time and let my thoughts unwind, but I knew that would be wasting far too many minutes that I should spend on making sure everything was perfect for the party. Because it had to be perfect. Mr. Fitzgerald had made that very clear.

  So, I flagged down a taxi, sliding my work credit-card through the reader in the back. At first, I had been quite nervous about having anything work issued that required me to spend money. But after all the coffee runs, food pick ups and dry cleaning that I had to do for Mr. Fitzgerald, I had quickly realized that carrying that amount of cash was just unfeasible.

  Between the traffic, and the distance, it took me far too long to get to the place. Some sort of big, corporate space with floors one could rent out for parties and other important events. There was the signage that I had written in for and I could see the lights were on in the second-floor windows. Heaving a relieved sigh to myself, I headed up the stairs.

  The door was propped open by a chair when I reached the landing, and let myself in. Sure enough, there was a team of interns and other assistants all setting up, as well as what looked like the DJ. Quickly, I did a walkabout, and I was relieved to see that everything was just as we had planned. How often did that happen?

  I finally allowed myself a real sigh of relief and went to the large cooler that catering had brought. Just like I had requested, there were two of them, one with one containing allergen and gluten containing foods and the other free from all that. I figured nothing would crash a party like someone’s throat closing up or stomach turning itself inside out, so maybe I had been overcautious, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Hey there, Beverly, right?”

  I looked up to see one of the head assistants in the entertainment division. Clinton, I was pretty sure his name was. A nice enough guy, and so pocket sized that it was hard not to want to shove him in my purse. He was a good worker and had helped to make a lot of my task easier over the past two days.

  “That’s me,” I said, shutting one of the coolers and looking around once more. “But I prefer to be called Bev. Did you make sure that the bathrooms are fully stocked? Plenty of toilet seat covers, feminine hygiene products?”

  He nodded, grinning. “Everything’s been checked off twice and then triple checked again. You’ve all planned a good party.”

  “We’ve planned a good party,” I said matter of factly. “You were a part of it too.”

  “P’shaw,” he retorted with a wink. “I just ran around and got you coffee. Ain’t no big thing.”

  “Is that what you call it?” I asked, feeling myself relax ever so slightly. Clinton was a pleb like me. One of the few people I wouldn’t have to be as strict around. “Seemed like a big deal to me.”

  “That’s only because you had an entire team’s workload thrown on you in just forty-eight hours.”

  Now it was my time to shrug. “But hey, it worked out, right?”

  “Knock on wood. You’ve worked hard. Why don’t you head home and finally get some rest? Trust me, we’ve got you covered here. I’m sure the head honcho is gonna be real pleased with everything you’ve done.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, feeling my face flush a little. “I guess I’ll just… head out then.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  He gave me a friendly nod and I turned to go, giving everything one last look over while I did. But I didn’t even manage to get out the door before my phone rang.

  And I mean really rang. Not as in a text message or a notification, but an actual phone call. Who called people nowadays?

  I wrested my phone from my purse, not sure what to expect. Telemarketer, maybe? Did I forget a bill?

  But in wasn’t any of those. Instead it was a contact that one of the secretaries had programmed into my phone. One that had only been previously used for the occasional text message containing an order.

  Mr. Fitzgerald.

  I stared at it, letting it ring one more time before I realized that I needed to answer. Taking a breath, I tried to gather myself.

  “Yes, sir?” I asked uncertainly.

  “Ms. Viello. I checked your desk and the secretaries said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where are you?” />
  “I’m at the party location. I just wanted to check to make sure that everything was set up properly. I’m about to head home now.”

  “Head home?” he questioned, sounding cool as a cucumber while I was still trying to figure out why he was calling me when a text would have surmised. Fitzgerald wasn’t exactly one to waste time on inefficiency.

  “Yeah. I double checked everything and it’s all going well.”

  “But if you’re at home, how are you going to attend the party?”

  I swallowed, feeling my mouth going incredibly dry. “Attend the party?”

  “Of course. I need you there to take notes on everyone I talk to and what we talk about, and anything else interesting that sharp mind of yours might pick up.”

  His compliment to my brain flew right over my head as panic quickly swirled inside of me. “I, uh, wasn’t aware that I would need to be present.”

  “Of course. You planned it, it’d be a bit depressing to not get to enjoy at least a little of it.”

  I scrambled for an answer. Something to get me out of the situation I very suddenly found myself in. “I think I’d rather enjoy some sleep.”

  “Hah, won’t we all. But sleep is for the weekend.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear, and that’s a lot of extra hours.”

  Parties just weren’t my thing. I didn’t like being social, and I especially didn’t like being social with coworkers after hours. And I really, really didn’t like hanging out with coworkers after hours when there was alcohol involved. Whoever decided that work parties and getting drunk were compatible was an utter idiot.

  “I’ve already added the overtime, plus an after-hour bonus to your check. And you said you’re already at the party location, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll have one of my PAs bring you an outfit from wardrobe.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t-” I was fully aware that wardrobe was full of either custom or designer pieces that cost an entire week’s check or more.

  “Don’t worry about it. Besides, if you’re going to be working at the party, it makes sense to wear something that represents us well. I’ll see you soon, Ms. Viello.”