Russian Billionaire's Virgin Assistant

“Becca. Not everyone’s lucky enough to win the single dorm lottery. Besides, she’s my best friend.”

“You still live in the dorms?” This was preposterous. “Why?”

It was becoming something of an addiction watching Ruth wage war inside herself, fighting to keep from crumbling from embarrassment while sticking up for herself. It made her even more beautiful than usual. Irresistible.

“It’s affordable,” she said, lifting her chin. “Not all of us can afford penthouses in the middle of San Francisco. And I like living on campus. It helps me focus on my studies.”

“And what will you do after graduation?” The tailor’s assistant moved on with her measurements, placing the tape right against my crotch. God help me, it was too easy to picture Ruth on her knees in front of me, looking up at me with hazy desire in her eyes. My cock jumped, and I swallowed hard.

“I’ll figure that out when it’s time,” she said, studying the wall just behind me like there was something interesting there. I could see right through her. She was fighting not to watch this portion of the measurements. “What will I be doing at the dinner?”

I grinned. “Taking notes.” It had scarcely been a week, but I already knew all the right buttons to push. She was that transparent. Ruth was so eager to be of use that it was almost too easy to infuriate her.

“I can help you,” she said, tossing her notebook on the side table and facing me with both hands on her curvy hips. “If you just give me a chance instead of using me as a secretary.”

I let my eyes rove over her, wishing it could be my hands instead. “Don’t let my secretary hear you,” I said. “She’ll be offended.”

“I’m just trying to say that I’m not interning as your secretary. I’m interning with the CEO of this company.”

I barked a laugh. “You think you can do what I do?”

“I want to learn. To see if I can.” She wrinkled her nose. “From what I’ve seen this past week, you seem to be taking it pretty easy.”

Perhaps I had been too easy on her. I was going to have to get much more serious.

“Get the contact information from my tailor,” I instructed her curtly, stepping away from the assistant and pulling on my pants. I watched Ruth’s throat bob carefully as I buckled the belt. Interesting. “Give them your measurements. Your dress will be ready at five. My car will pick you up for the dinner at seven. Do you need me to send a hairdresser and makeup artist to your … dorm?”

She sniffed. “I can do my own hair and makeup, thanks.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

Ruth refused to make eye contact. “I’ll have Becca help me,” she mumbled.

“Formal, not fancy,” I reminded her, fighting a smile. “I don’t want you in stage makeup. Be tasteful.”

She stormed out of the office, only barely remembering to get the card from the tailor’s assistant, and I chalked another point to my tally against Ruth Miracle. She wasn’t going to last here, so I wanted to make sure to enjoy every single moment while I could.

——-

There had been too much to do at the office. I hadn’t anticipated how toying with Ruth would make all the rest of my responsibilities and work stack up. I had my suit delivered to the office, pulled it on while drinking a tumbler of vodka, and ran an electric shaver over my cheeks and chin.

I found myself actually looking forward to the dinner tonight — if only to use it as an opportunity to torture Ruth a little more. I thought about all the ways I could humiliate her in front of the clients I was looking forward to signing a contract with tonight, treating myself to just a bit more vodka. Just enough to take the edge off.

The driver pulled up to Ruth’s desolate dorm building — a soulless pile of bricks topped with listless shingles and studded with cheap window fans. This wouldn’t be her home for long. I wouldn’t tolerate it.

But the woman who slid in to the seat across from me wasn’t the Ruth who had stormed out of my office. This one was draped in golden satin, gracefully skimming her collarbones in a high neckline that made her breasts unattainable and infinitely more desirable. She crossed her legs and yelped as she flashed me much more thigh than either of us had expected, the slit running up the dress gaping for a moment. Fuck. Maybe it was the vodka — or my unintended extended celibacy — but I could already anticipate what that soft skin would feel like gripped in my hand. How little work I would have to do to take precisely what I wanted for her. I was going to have to give my tailor a raise. The color of that dress almost perfectly matched Ruth's hair, which had been gathered up to cascade partially down the back of her head in luminous curls. She was wearing more makeup than she usually did at work, and if her roommate had helped her out to look like this, then I had no complaints with that situation. She glowed like some kind of goddess.

“Ready?” Ruth asked, blushing at the way I must have been staring at her. “Promise I won’t get anything on this dress.”

“I also hope you don’t spill food down your front and embarrass me,” I said coolly, offering her a drink. “But what you do with it is up to you. It’s yours.”

She waved away the bottle of vodka. “What do you mean, it’s mine? I thought it was a rental.”

“Do you think I rent any of my clothes?” I laughed at her. “Come on. Have a drink.”

“I don’t drink on the job,” she said stiffly. “And I can’t accept this dress. I, um, saw the price tag.”

“We’re not going to argue about this,” I said. “The dress is yours. It was tailored for you. You wouldn’t be able to return it even if you wanted to. Custom made.”