The Billionaire and the Virgin (Billionaires and Bridesmaids #1)(34)

“That sounds wonderful, Bront?. And it sounds perfect for you.”

“The problem is that I’m doing that in between getting married.” She grimaced. “So I’m running on empty. Logan told me to hire an assistant, but I just haven’t had time. And you’re so good with people. Especially the elderly. I really need someone like you.”

“You want me to be your assistant?” Oh, wow. “But I’m just a waitress.”

“So am I,” Bront? said, grinning. “But you’re smart and dedicated and we work well together.” She gestured at the stacks of now-finished envelopes. “And I’d pay you well. It’d be a big change, but we’d get to hang out more, and, well, it’s New York. There’s always something going on there.”

“I never dreamed . . .” Marjorie murmured. New York. Wow.

“Say you’ll think about it. I need to run things past Logan, but he won’t care. He—”

“Run what past Logan?” A masculine voice broke into the conversation. Both women looked up as a man in a starchy business suit entered the Green Dining Hall, dodging the sea of tables anointed with upside-down chairs. He carried a large tray with several dishes and two drinks.

“Hey, baby,” Bront? said happily. “What are you doing here?”

“I was told that my fiancée was last seen entering an empty dining room carrying stacks of envelopes to handle during her lunch hour. And I bet that you’d forgotten to eat again.” He frowned down at her smiling face, utterly austere. “I see that I was right.”

She waved off his irritation and got up, taking the tray from his hands and lifting her face for a quick kiss, which he gave her. She set the tray on the table. “I was just talking to Marjorie about coming to New York and working as my assistant for the foundation. What do you think?”

“Whatever you want to do.” He looked over at Marjorie. “Bront? takes on too much to do. If you can do the job, I’ll pay you two hundred grand a year.”

Marjorie’s jaw dropped.

Bront? elbowed Logan in irritation. “I was going to talk to her about salary.”

“No, love, you’re going to sit and eat your lunch, and then we’re going upstairs so you can take a nap. You’re exhausted.” The look in his cool gaze became tender as he led Bront? to her chair and then sat down next to her. “It does no good to have a wedding if the bride needs a vacation from her vacation wedding.”

Bront? just shook her head, placing the lunch tray on the table. “Didn’t I tell you he was pushy, Marj?”

“I think you told me he was wonderful,” Marjorie teased.

“Well, that, too,” said the bride. And she smiled up at her fiancé as he pushed a wrapped sandwich into her hand.

***

Marjorie stayed down in the Green Dining Room for another hour, chatting with Logan and Bront? about New York, the wedding, and most of all, Bront?’s foundation. It turned out that Logan hadn’t been joking when he’d offered her the salary. It was overpaying for an assistant, he said, but he wanted Bront? to have good help, and he didn’t put a price tag on her happiness.

And Bront? had just beamed at her fiancé with contentment.

Marjorie found herself saying yes to the job, even without knowing all the details. How could she pass it up? Her job as a waitress was fun, but didn’t pay all that great. Two hundred grand a year to live in a magnificent, bustling city and work with her best friend doing something that she would love? It was a dream come true.

Someone was going to have to pinch her pretty soon, because things kept getting better and better.

She was still floating on a cloud of pure happiness when she returned to her room. The maids had come through and straightened things, the bed sheets so firmly tucked she could probably bounce a quarter off of it. And on the nightstand next to the bed, there was a box with a big red bow. Curious, she sat down on the bed and stared at the package. Who’d left her a gift?

Her phone pinged with another incoming text, and she read it.

Did the package get there yet?

Rob.

She gazed at the box with the bow and reached out for the tiny card jauntily shoved into the ruffles of the ribbon.



Wear these tonight. I hope they make you seven f*cking feet tall, because then you will be seven feet of glorious woman and I’m man enough to enjoy every inch of it.—R



Heat stained her cheeks again and she pressed the back of a hand to her skin to cool it. Gosh, he was always making her blush, wasn’t he? She pulled the lid off the box . . . and gasped at the shoes inside. Silver platform peep-toe pumps with a nearly six-inch heel. They were studded with tiny crystals all over the shoe leather, and glittered like Cinderella’s glass slipper. She picked one up wonderingly.

It was enormously tall. She’d be a giant. They were garish and impractical and sky-high.

But they were also sparkly, girly, and utterly gorgeous.

Marjorie turned one over in her hands, checking the size. Her size. How had he known . . . ? Her fingers smoothed over the Jimmy Choo stamp on the bottom of the shoe. They had to be expensive. Jimmy Choo didn’t make cheap heels. She should return the present and just send Rob a thank-you.

But then, she pictured his reaction. He’d cuss and stomp his way over to her room and make her take the shoes anyhow.