The Billionaire's Assistant

“Oh...of course, dear. Whatever you like.”

She took a tentative step away, but seemed incredibly uncomfortable not to be ‘hands-on helping’ in some way or ano

ther. Nick sensed her plight and provided a gracious request.

“But we might like a little champagne...?”

Her face lit up with an indulgent smile, and she pinched his cheek in a way that implied the two of them shared a great many secrets. He returned the smile as best he could, then turned away the second she was gone—rubbing gently at his reddened skin.

“I wish she would stop doing that,” he muttered. “It’s getting to be worse every time.”

I grinned, pleased that at least something in his perfect world was out of sync.

“She’s an old lady—what do you expect? It’s adorable.”

He flashed me look, lowering his hand quickly as Ruby made her way back.

“It’s only adorable because she’s not doing it to you.”

We fell silent at once and looked up with matching smiles—thanking her for the champagne at least three times before she finally left. After she had done so, Nick clinked his glass against mine, eyes twinkling over the rim.

“To my apology.”

I clinked back.

“Whatever it may be.”

He downed his in three gulps, and urged me to do the same. I set down my empty glass with my head spinning. I had missed dinner last night—thanks to him, and hadn’t gotten breakfast either—thanks to his father and Louise. One glass of champagne was my new limit.

“So what are we doing here?” I glanced around the store, taking in the general splendor as the wheels in my PR driven mind started automatically turning.

If I could just get him excited about the idea of doting on someone new (one of Nick’s favorite things in the entire world was ‘doting’), then maybe he would be less resistant to the idea of me procuring an actress, or a model, or an heiress to attract his attention.

Maybe I could convince him to buy some of these earrings—

“We’re here for you.”

I turned around in surprise to see him staring at me, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression gentling his face. I didn’t understand. Was this my big apology?

“For me?” I repeated, very much as a question this time. “What does that...what do you mean, we’re here for me?”

Another rather strange expression flitted across his face, as his mouth twitched up in a crooked smile. “That dress I ruined, it was Dior. I know, because I found the wet tags stuck in my pocket this morning. That couldn’t have been...that was quite the dress to have spoiled.”

A flush of sudden embarrassment reddened my cheeks.

That couldn’t have been...easy for you to buy. That’s what he was going to say.

He was right, of course. But I didn’t want to hear him say it. I was mortified already that he’d sobered enough to realize why I’d left on the tags.

“Nick,” I shook my head quickly, heading for the door, “you don’t have to—”

“Please.” He caught my wrist, pulling me gently back. “Let me.”

“No,” I said firmly. “That’s not the kind of relationship we have. That’s not what this—”

“What?” he interrupted. “Working with me means that you have to budget in for collateral fountain damage?” He shook his head, pulling me farther into the store. “No. I broke it, now you have to let me fix it.”

I started to shake my head again, but he cut me off.