The Billionaire Boss Next Door(69)

His lips are warm and soft as he presses them to my cheek.

“Goodnight, Greer.”

“Goodnight, Trent.”

I move just enough that he can squeeze inside his door, and I stand there in the hallway long after he’s gone.

I feel justified in my decision, and my mind says it’s the right one.

My body disagrees.

If only it were simple.





Trent



My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see a text from Cap.



Cap: What the fuck happened with Susie Gimble the other night? She called me on a tirade, saying you stood her up.



Me: Something important came up.



Cap: So, you just didn’t go?



Me: No, I went. I was there. But, like I said, something important came up.



Cap: If you tell me it was because of your fucking job, I will personally come down to New Orleans and murder you.



Me: I had to go see about a girl.



Cap: You fuck. You know Good Will Hunting makes me emotional.



Normally, I’d use this opportunity to rile his apparent sensitive ass a bit, but I’m in the middle of something that deserves all of my time and attention. And more than that, something that I want to give all of my time and attention to.

I don’t make a habit out of taking women on dates to lighting and fixture stores. The atmosphere isn’t exactly romantic, and they don’t let you drink wine while you shop.

But now that Greer has made it clear that dating is out of the picture, I’ve had to find ways to date her in secret.

And by “in secret,” I mean without her knowing.

I know; it’s complicated.

Still, it means I get to spend time with her—quality time I don’t get when we’re at work with everyone else—and she gets to be comfortable enough to feel secure in both her job and herself.

Really, it’s a win for everyone. Especially for me.

“Trent,” she calls now, from up on top of a ladder, head inside of a chandelier. “Are you even listening to me?”

The answer is no. No, I was not. Actually, I was enjoying the view that is Greer’s mile-long legs and perfectly round ass.

But she doesn’t need to know that.

“Yes.”

“Well then, what do you think of this one?” she asks, her voice echoing inside of the chandelier. “It would be in the elevator lobby area of every floor. I think it goes with the marble inlay we decided to do.”

On a real date, I’d probably just tell her I like whatever she likes. But since this is technically a work outing, I have to think like the boss. And not, like, a naughty porn type of boss either. A regular, this is an employee type of boss.

“What’s the price?”

She pulls her head out of the light, cranes her neck to look directly at me, and makes big puppy-dog eyes.

I brace for the blow.

“Two thousand.”

“Two thousand times twelve floors is twenty-four thousand. On elevator lobby lights.”

I’m skeptical, and she can tell. She doesn’t hesitate to start rationalizing. Something, I’ve learned, she’s really good at when she wants to get her way.

“Yeah, but they set the tone. The rest of the floors have boring old recessed lights and sconces. This is your main expense on lighting. You know, except for the main reception chandelier, but let’s not even focus on that now.”

“How far outside of budget does it put us?”

“It doesn’t,” she shouts with glee, climbing down from the ladder slowly. I pay particularly close attention to her thighs as her skirt rides up a little. “It’s outside of the lighting budget, specifically, but we came in under budget on the bathroom tiling. So, really, it’s like it’s all even Steven.”

“How much under budget were we on the tiling?” I muse.

She frowns, caught. “Okay, so it was only twelve dollars under budget, but I bet we can come under on the furniture budget too. I have some really great contacts who will give us excellent discount pricing.”

“What are the chances of you leaving this store without these lights?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

“None. You should give in now.”

I sigh and look back to the light she’s picked out. It’s timeless and classy and needs to be in the Vanderturn New Orleans.

“Fine,” I say, wagging a finger to put on a big show about giving in. “But don’t say I never gave you anything.”

She jumps up and down twice, and then, finally, when the excitement is too much, bounds forward to wrap her arms around me in a hug. I inhale directly from her hair.

It smells like lavender and citrus.

When she ends the hug and steps back, putting her professional face back on and moving on to the next line item, I use a little knowledge to balm the sting of the loss.

Knowledge, you see, that I told her the budget was half of what it was, meaning we really did come in below budget and I got a hug from the woman I now fantasize about endlessly.

It might make me a spineless prick, but these are desperate times. When I’m trying to play this many roles all at once, I have to be creative.

“So, what else do we need to look at?” I ask as she wanders the store, her eyes little sparkling saucers of wonder.