The Billionaire's Assistant

“This part of my life—this one part—should have nothing do to with my father, or his company, or his damn board of directors. This one part should belong to me.”

A chilling silence rang out between us. One that was broken only by the sounds of Louise bustling around in the kitchen, putting our old dishes away.

But as moving a speech as it was, as much as I believed he wanted to mean it, as much as the words cut to my core...I was Abigail fucking Wilder.

“That’s bullshit.”

His eyebrows lifted dangerously, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to the punch. His turn to lecture me had passed. It was my turn now.

“We’re talking about you fucking a beautiful girl for the next four months, and letting the press take pictures of you eating breakfast together afterwards. Face it, Nick, it’s probably exactly what you would have been doing anyway. The only difference now is, one: you’re going to have to hide the rest of the girls you’re fucking at the same time; and two: your father is actually going to approve.”

Despite the massive height difference between us, I pulled myself up as tall as I could.

“And let’s be honest here, you’re not worried about trying to secretly balance your different women—you’ve had more practice than anyone I’ve ever seen. What’s really going on here is that you don’t want your father to approve—even if you know it’s the right thing to do.”

This was why I was at the top of the PR game. This was why his family had hired me.

“But like it or not, this company is about more than just you, Nick. There are thousands of people working in dozens of different countries all around the world who rely upon the Hunter Corporation to make their living. You’re looking at one of them now. It may be all fine and good for you if this merger goes up in smoke—but it won’t be that way for the rest of us.”

My voice rose in volume as I stretched on the tips of my toes.

“So why don’t you get over yourself, pull it together, and use that insatiable libido of yours to do something good for a change!”

Okay...that last part might have been pushing it.

Whatever Nick was thinking, it was impossible to say. He simply stared at me in a state of mild shock, lips parted speechlessly, probably wishing he was wearing something with a little more gravitas than a jellyfish towel. For a split second, a flicker of what looked like genuine respect flashed through his eyes. But before he could say a word, the door crashed open.

“There you are!”

Both Nick and I jumped in our skin, like guilty school children caught holding hands, as Louise-the-Bavarian-storm-cloud burst into the room. She paused a moment, upon seeing the two of us standing so close, before her eyes narrowed in even greater judgement.

“I ask for the dry-cleaning ten minutes ago.” She whipped an accusatory finger into the air—jabbing it in between us. “If you two are finished with whatever unfug is going on in here, I do not like to ask twice!”

Unfug wasn’t good. Unfug meant mischief in German. Nick and I had learned a long time ago, that whenever Louise said unfug—it was a bad sign.

And so, the three of us dispersed. All heading in separate directions.

Louise—muttering what sounded like profanities in every language east of Poland.

Nick—muttering about being trapped in a house with vengeful women.

And me—muttering about needing to find some clothes to replace my wilted dress.

“You can wear some of mine.”

I looked up in surprise, to see Nick watching me with a surprisingly gentle expression. A hint of that signature twinkle had returned to his eyes, and in a moment, all was forgiven.

It was quick. Especially given the heat of the argument. But it wasn’t all that shocking.

The two of us had been through too much together to be derailed by a simple fight. It would take more than words in a linen closet to drive a wedge between us.

My lips curved up in a tentative smile that was graciously returned.

“Yours? You think we’re the same size, do you? Or gender?”

He flashed me a rueful grin, before heading off down the hall.

“Wear some of Gemma’s,” he called over his shoulder. “She won’t mind.”