Rush (Billionaire Bared: Rush) (Erotic Romance) Read online

  I felt a twinge of jealousy prick my neck. Ouch, stupid heart.

  “And then what happened?” I urged for more.

  Lillian touched her nose. “He turned her down. He turned her out. And then we had to hire a new junior secretary.”

  “So it’s a bad idea to flash my vagina to the boss?” I said, and Lillian laughed wickedly. “Because that was definitely on my to-do list.”

  My relationship with Eric Gambit for the first few weeks could be characterized largely as non-existent, save for the occasion smile, glance, touch on the arm, or wave as he left the evening. I made a point of bringing him his coffee myself every day, and if our hands happened to touch when I gave him his one-cream-no-sugar, then, so be it.

  I wasn’t going to do anything crazy after all; I didn’t want to turn out like his last junior assistant. Oh God, what if the position was cursed? I made a mental note: Don’t become a cautionary tale for future employees of this office.

  Eric gambit was a very busy man; there was no doubt about that. Anytime he actually was in his office, he was buried with work. It was a wonder he didn’t have any wrinkles, his brow was so often furled at the huge pile of papers on his desk. He really was a hands-on type, as Lillian had said; he didn’t delegate anything he didn’t have to. He bared the weight of company decisions upon his own muscular, broad shoulders.

  He spent most of the day out of the building. He was always meeting people, or working at the labs. It had been whispered at the office that he spent most of his time in Europe, out of the country, brokering deals to buy other companies. Vay Technologies was expanding was the buzz around the office. We were taking over! Yay for capitalism and the Eric Gambits of the world.

  But that was okay; the less I saw of him, the less I had to think about the way he smiled or smelled, or the nice things he had said to me. The less I had to think about Eric Gambit, the better. There was no point getting wrapped up in that shit. It was a dead end, as my predecessor had proved - much to the amusement of the rest of the office.

  Other than that, things had settled into a nice groove. I was fitting in well, and to be frank, I was pretty damn good at my job.

  Things had settled down into a nice daily pattern which I would characterize as normal.

  Well, at least, things were normal – until the day I burned down my apartment.

  Okay, so I didn’t burn the entire building down – but I had left the stove on, and things caught aflame, and the fire damage was pretty severe. It didn’t spread past my individual apartment, thankfully. And also thankfully, I was at work when it happened. So there were no casualties from my stupid stove fire. Although, they should really have an auto-off function on every appliance; I wasn’t trying to slow cook my entire apartment while I was gone for work.

  Most of my things were destroyed. Luckily, my photo albums were spared. Most of my clothes were ruined from smoke damage, and almost everything else I liked was either burnt or permanently drenched in the noxious fire smog.

  Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d thought to throw all my possessions in a fire and start anew.

  I just never thought I’d actually have the guts to do it.

  But here I was, my hand forced. I’d have to reinvent myself.

  A phoenix rising from the… scratch that, too obvious.

  I must have looked frazzled the following day at work, after spending a night in an expensive hotel (why is everything so expensive in New York? Oh yes, because it’s New York) because everyone asked me what had happened.

  “Where did you say you’re staying?” Lillian asked, as I recounted the tale of the apartment fire to my co-workers (except I told them it was an electrical fire, in which I had no fault whatsoever).

  “Hotel for now. Still trying to figure out a place I can stay for the next little while, calling up a few friends from college that are still in the city.”

  The crowd around me murmured their condolences. They were probably hoping for a juicier piece of gossip, but I wasn’t going to let them have it.

  “Terribly sorry to hear about your apartment,” Eric Gambit said, standing behind me.

  I should have known he was there; I must have been lulled into a dreamlike state by his scent. It was too intoxicating for its own good; if I was driving down the highway, and smelled that, I’d surely cause a ten car pile-up.

  I turned around, and tried to smile as naturally as possible. Damn it, he was really good looking.

  “Just awful. Emma, would you follow me into my office.” He said, and briskly took off towards his office, opening the door and motioning for me to follow in after him.

  My mouth dropped open slightly and I looked to Lillian for help. Her eyes were just as wide as mine, and she shrugged. The rest of the crowd seemed to scatter; maybe they thought they’d found their piece of gossip after all.

  As I walked towards the open door (which somehow looked really uninviting all of the sudden) I thought of the junior assistant who had worked here prior to me; sitting on his desk, her legs spread open…

  “Emma, are you coming?” Mr. Gambit called out from his office; his voice charmingly unassuming.

  “Yes, Eric.” I managed, as I entered through the door.

  Chapter 4

  He motioned for me to have a seat, and handed me a glass of water. I managed to take a spy at his glass – was he drinking scotch? In the morning? Well, he’s a billionaire. He can do what he wants, right? He didn’t appear to be drunk, at least.

  “I’m very sorry to hear about your home, Emma. And I’m even sorrier to hear that you’ve had to pay for a hotel out of your own pocket.”

  Oh no, he was going to offer to pay for my hotel. He was too kind. I had to refuse.

  “Yes, well, it happens, you know. Sometimes life decides that a good fire should slap you down.” I tried to make light of the situation, and he breathed a slight laugh.

  “I have an opportunity for you, of sorts.” He started, taking a sip of his scotch. “A place for you to live, free of rent, if you should so choose.”

  “Oh. Well, that sounds… good.” I said.

  “Am I correct in assuming you take public transportation and own no vehicle of your own?”

  It’s New York City.

  “I take the bus - or a cab if I’m late.”

  That was certainly true; and I was running late more often than not, dashing from my apartment, still swinging my coat over my arms, bag bobbing back and forth as I hailed a taxi.

  “This opportunity comes complete with a personal driver. You’ll have a place to stay, and transportation to and from work each day.” He said, swirling his drink. “And they’ll be waiting on you, so don’t worry if you happen to be, ahem, running late.”

  I took a moment to process his words; what was he offering me exactly? My mind flashed to my predecessor once more, this time picturing her lazing about Eric Gambit’s bedroom, wearing nothing but his shirt, waiting for her next fuck like some kind of sex slave…

  “Eric, I… I don’t know what to say. What are you offering me exactly?” I had to be honest. Even though Eric Gambit was the most gorgeous man I’d ever met and possessed the ability to make me weak in my knees and hot between them, I had to be cautious.

  “I like to think that I take care of my own at this place,” Eric said, his hand motioning outwards towards the likely direction of the rest of my coworkers. “And when I look at you today, I see a person in need.”

  “I can take care of myself, Eric, but thank you,” I replied. I had to turn him down; imagine the office gossip if I lived in the boss’s backyard.

  “You’ll forgive me if I see a damsel in distress, and insist that she accept my help.”

  “Are you – Eric, I don’t know if I can accept. In theory, it sounds like it would be extremely helpful, and hell, it sure would be interesting to see what it’s like at your estate, but can you think of what the others would say if they found out?”

  Eric Gambit’s eyes shone as they
flicked towards the door. He set his drink down and crossed his arms in a bemused fashion.

  “Even just inviting me into your office is going to cause rumors. It’s the kiss of death in a place like this. Everyone likes me now, but if they start to think I’m getting special treatment…”

  “Staying a few nights at my pool house is no big deal, Emma. I frequently have hosted staff parties there, and it’s not uncommon that an employee might crash there for the night. Not to mention that I let Jamieson stay there for two weeks during the early stages of his separation. Just while he got himself back up onto his feet… That’s what I intended for you.”

  “Oh.”

  “But if you thought I was propositioning you in some way, then I’m sorry if I appeared to be acting inappropriately.” His eyes blinked devilishly, and a small smile appeared to form in the creases of his face. Was this some kind of game?

  “Oh.” I said again.

  “Is that all you have to say? I mean, feel free to stay for a drink, or leave to your desk, or even go tell the others that I offered you a place to stay. People will say what they will say; they always do. Or you can reconsider my offer, thank me, and then tell them I called you in here to tell you my new intricate coffee preference. Here, I’ve written it down on this piece of paper.”

  He slid a small sheet of paper over to me. I checked it quickly, fumbling it about in my hands; sure enough, it was a detailed account of his new preference in coffee cream and sugar ratios.

  “I…. Thank you, Eric.”

  I turned to walk out, my legs wobbly, and my mind racing. I heard Eric Gambit pick up his glass of scotch.

  “Wait,” I spun around to ask one final question. “My predecessor… what happened to her? Why was she fired?”

  I had to know.

  “Fired?” Eric laughed. “She received an offer from a competitor, and in response, I promoted her – she works at the LA branch now. From what I’ve heard, it was her dream to live there.”

  “She was… promoted?”

  “Let me guess,” he said, walking towards me, a smile framing his perfect set of teeth. “You were told some scandalous story taking place in this office?” He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me around towards the door.

  “You’ve been hazed. Congratulations. My driver will take you to collect whatever belongings survived the fire from your hotel. Then he’ll show you to the pool house. That’s where you’ll be staying. Don’t let the term ‘pool house’ fool you however, it’s a fully furnished, full-sized flat. It’s just crying out for someone to live there.”

  He gave me a light push towards the door. Of course the story wasn’t true. What a dolt I had been, falling for that. My mind flashed with anger for Lillian, who would surely be laughing if she knew I asked Eric directly about the office sex scandal. Damn it.

  But, wow, I liked the feeling of his hands on me as he nudged me towards the open door.

  “I won’t be there tonight, as I’ll be away on business. Most nights, actually, you’ll be totally alone. If you need something, my butler works full time in the main house, but you won’t see him unless you go inside the house looking. Help yourself to whatever.”

  “I… thanks again, Eric. This really is too much.” I said, and turned my head to smile meekly.

  “Like I said, I take care of my own. I have a feeling you’re going to like it there,” he said as he pushed me out the door with a light shove. “And no more of this one-cream-no-sugar garbage. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  I turned back, and he winked as he closed the door.

  I felt a flush creep over my entire body, starting at the wet spot between my thighs, and spreading to my hands and feet and head.

  I must have floated back to my desk, because I barely took notice of Lillian following me, asking about what just happened.

  “He wasn’t happy with his coffee order. Apparently, he said it was agitating him and costing him business.”

  “Well, that’s a little harsh. Blaming something like that on you?” Lillian leaned back and looked at the door, shaking her head. “Very harsh. Not really like him, actually.”

  “At least I wasn’t sprawled naked on his desk, though.”

  “Ahem. Yeah. At least.”

  Now the image in my mind was of me lying across Eric Gambit’s desk, wearing nothing but a necktie…

  Chapter 5

  I set my suitcase down with a clunk on the stone patio that encircled the pool house on Eric Gambit’s estate. To my left, the pool was aquiline and wrapped the front end of the patio like a semi-moat – complete with a tasteful stone waterfall, always running, always soothing. The sound of the waterfall’s gentle splashing filled my ears and I closed my eyes for a moment to let my other senses breathe. Chlorine; I smelled the chlorine. And the light scent of coconut sun tanning lotion – no wait, I was only imagining that. It seemed to go hand-in-hand with the chlorine scent. I felt the sun beating down on my skin; today was a real scorcher, and the rest of the week promised no less heat.

  I wished my bikini had made it out of the fire. This pool was to die for.

  As I took in the sights around me, the only term that came to mind was ‘Gatsby-esque’. I floundered about my words as I tried to describe it in my head, eventually deciding that ‘Breathtaking’ would have to do.

  Eric Gambit’s own mansion was the pinnacle of luxury; it looked startlingly foreign to me, a city girl, as I approached the estate. Big white walls, paved stone-white driveway, and a garage the size of any mansion I’d ever seen before. The main building looked quite a bit like some of the larger houses I’d seen while visiting my aunt in California – the sprawling boxy kinds, with big windows, that seemed to stretch to fill the entire lot they occupied.

  But Eric Gambit’s was bigger in every way; the walls were both taller and wider, the windows larger and more numerous. Actually, the biggest similarity between them was the fact that Eric’s mansion retained that cube-inspired design; the house was all straight angles and squares. I think that’s what made me draw the initial comparison.

  Beyond that, Gambit’s estate was a veritable wonderland for a girl like me. I could just imagine lounging on his patio in his backyard, tanning, with a margarita in hand. Sunglasses propped up over my forehead, eyelids tanning – because why not, I don’t want that damn sunglasses tan that I always got every year when I went to the beach. Every damn year.

  I suddenly realized that if I spent as much time tanning here as I wanted to, everyone in the office would think I’d been laying on top of my apartment building – or that I’d been fake tanning. Ah, fake tanning - in this day and age, it was becoming more and more of a crime as people became more health-conscious. Those things give you cancer, did you know? Yes, we all know.

  The pool house itself was bigger than my aunt’s manse. It wouldn’t have been out of place in a real estate magazine listing million-dollar mansions. But as magnificent as it was, it didn’t hold a candle to the main house – which was like ten mansions put together.

  I supposed one mansion would suffice to house me.

  I put the key in the white wood door that I considered to be the front door, as it faced the pool. The keyhole clicked. It worked! Somehow, I thought that as soon as I put the key in, I’d realize that this whole thing had been a joke played on me. And I would have laughed along with my coworkers as they sprung up from the bushes, because what else could I do? It was funny – Ha ha. Why else would the billionaire bachelor Eric Gambit give me the reigns to his pool house?

  But somehow, the key worked, and the door silently nudged open. As I stepped inside, I realized I had not used the front door at all – merely the pool door. I was in a change room of sorts. Woops. I waddled past the rows of towels and changing stalls (this place was designed for parties, I noted) and into the main foyer.

  Then I saw the front door, a spectacular creature of white polished wood and glass, reaching all the way to the top of the rather high ceiling of the flat. Se
ashell inspired artwork filtered through the entire floor. An interior decorator had a field day with this nautical theme. I laughed; the place was beautiful, but the seashells were oddly tacky. I made a mental note to change them. Then I snapped back to my sense – you don’t get to change anything, Emma! You are a guest, not a permanent resident.

  The flat was beautiful otherwise. Richly-dyed antique rugs at the center of each room over a hard-wood floor. Attached to the living room was a boutique-styled reading room, dimly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. There were four bedrooms - each with a walk-in closet - four bathrooms, a spacious living room and kitchen, as well as a sliding panel in the wood that could be activated to access a special theatre room, in which it seemed Eric Gambit had collected every movie ever released on film reels. Or, at least every movie I could possibly imagine.

  I took a look at the kitchen, each appliance appeared to be sparkling new and unused; the fridge was fully stocked – it was prepared for me. A bowl of fresh fruits graced the wooden kitchen table. Letting go of my suitcase, I picked up a peach. It was soft and perfectly ripened. After taking a bite and letting the juices dribble down my chin, I noticed I was starving.

  I looked at my nemesis, the stove – there was a note.

  Careful. –Eric

  Cute.

  I unpacked my things and set up shop in the bedroom that I considered to be the master bedroom. I thought it was slightly larger and more prominently located than the others, but I could be wrong. My only experience with home-owning had been my apartment. And I burned that down, so.

  Mental note: don’t burn down Eric Gambit’s pool house.

  I wondered if placing me in the pool house was some kind of subtle jab. In case of fire, jump in the pool.

  “This place is a dream,” I said to no one in particular as I sprawled out on the bed, content with my lot in life.

  The next few days were as easy as Eric had promised. The driver waited for me each day to and from work, and life around the estate was both relaxing and fun. Work was great. Things continued to go well, although Lillian repeatedly asked where I was staying.