Whatever He Asks (Writer for the Billionaire) Read online

  Writer for the Billionaire, #1

  Whatever He Asks

  by Thalia Frost

  Copyright: 2012.

  All rights reserved.

  Editor: Em Petrova

  Cover Artist: Sexybookcovers.com

  To all my readers. Thank you for everything.

  I wiped down the table, sighing. It was 9:30 p.m., and the bar was empty save for the drunk old guy who came in as usual on a Tuesday night.

  This job sucks and so does the economy. This is what I get for being responsible, getting a college degree and going on to grad school.

  I rolled my eyes, pushing my usual negativity from my mind. At twenty-four I felt washed up. Nearly done with an M. F. A. in writing and no permanent jobs on the horizon. Pittsburgh was getting hip again, but the jobs weren't coming along with the cool new makeover the city was experiencing.

  “Mel, you're closing,” my boss Rick bellowed.

  “Yep. I got it.”

  I'd already worked four hours at Gray Enterprises before I'd hit the bar. That was a job I liked—writing marketing materials for a huge company in the city—but it was temporary. My six months were almost up as an intern in a stuffy little cubbyhole in the basement. The job as a barmaid was probably here to stay.

  “Good. You remember, anything funny happens, press the button or call me any time. I'll be here.” I smiled as I straightened the sugar packets on a table. We served a small menu, but the kitchen had already closed for the night. Nothing funny ever had happened, but Rick Moore had a store of firearms and a few red buttons placed strategically about his place—aptly named Rick's.

  “I'll be fine. Thanks.”

  “See ya tomorrow, Mel.”

  “Yes, you will,” I whispered as the door chimed shut. Every night of the week I worked unless I had to study or get something school-related done. Eight to one. I couldn't believe we even stayed open till one.

  I glanced over at the bartender. He yawned. “Glad I've only get another hour before I can blow this joint.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Steve was an okay kid, and by that I mean a guy right out of college who could sling drinks with the best of them. Not that there was much slinging happening on this side street in Swissvale. I finished wiping down the tables, swaying to the terrible country song on the radio—one I didn't recognize. The old drunk guy played it, but it was a change from his usual.

  “I'm going to straighten up in back. I'll be done before you leave.” Before I turned to head that way, the bell on the door jingled.

  Lo and behold, a customer.

  I glanced absentmindedly to see who it was, and my jaw dropped.

  Sex in a suit came to mind as I tried to close my mouth.

  That guy doesn't belong around here. Maybe he thinks he'll pick up a woman for the night here.

  I smirked at the thought and left the room, adding a sway to my hips. After all, Mr. Tall, Nordic god was watching.

  I rushed through the cleanup, my mind still on the Viking in the bar.

  “Uh, Mel.” Steve stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his thin face screwed up in confusion.

  “What is it?'

  “There's a guy out here wants to talk with you.”

  “The old drunk guy who mumbles his name?” I'd still never caught it.

  “Uh, no. That business type.”

  My heart skittered like a mad horse. “Okay. Why?” I put down my rag and washed my hands.

  “Dunno. He just said he wished to speak with you. Just like that.” Steve shrugged.

  “All right. His wish is my command.” I smirked and sauntered out, straightening my hair as I did so.

  The standard barmaid outfit Rick insisted I wear every day made me want to crawl into a hole. Complete with royal blue laced bustier and white peasant top as well as short, matching blue ruffled skirt, it was a suit you'd only find in a sleazy joint like this one. A lot of men did like it, though. So I guess it was good for business. I tugged at the skirt, wishing it didn't ride up so high.

  He was sitting at the far end of the bar, away from the old drunk guy—near the door to the kitchen.

  My cheeks grew warm. Had he heard the conversation?

  I stopped a few feet from him, feeling awkward and exposed with my cleavage on display.

  Damn you, Rick. I don't get paid nearly enough for this.

  The business hottie's jacket was slung over the back of the bar chair, and his shirt was so white it nearly blinded me.

  Now I know what a really expensive dress shirt looks like.

  “Hello. I'm Magnus Gray.” He gave me a searing stare, his blue eyes like slow-moving glaciers, shifting shades of ice and sky. His accent said he was local but wealthy and educated. Probably one of the Scots-Irish who'd live in the area for generations. But a blond like he was a rarity. Scots-German, I'd bet money.

  “Melinda Louis.” I clenched the edge of the bar, wondering what he wanted from me.

  “You're a waitress here?” He played with his beer bottle—an expensive import, of course.

  “Yes, among other things.”

  “I see. Would you like to have a drink with me?”

  “Huh?” I'd been staring at his golden curls—waves really. One fell right over his left eye. His cheekbones were straight out of silent films and Hollywood.

  “Would you like to sit down for a while?” He smiled, and one dimple popped out.

  I thought I might faint, so I gripped the bar harder. “I'm sorry I can't since I'm working.” I tried to smile, but my cheeks were frozen.

  Snap out of it.

  “That's too bad. When do you get off?”

  His dimple and cheekbones had me thinking all sorts of naughty things about that question, and I nearly laughed. “I'm closing tonight, so it won't be for a while.”

  “Perhaps I could stick around till then.” I kept my tone casual. I wanted nothing more than to do just that, but the last thing I wanted this man to think was that I was desperate or a total floozy.

  “Great. I have a proposal for you. I'll talk to you when you're done.” He paused. “Oh, I'm done with my drink.”

  I stood there for a long moment like an idiot. Then I moved toward him and reached out for the cold bottle. My skirt brushed against him, and I almost squealed when I felt his warm hand on my thigh.

  I'm going to pass out. This sexy man has a hand on my leg, but for all I know, he could be a serial killer.

  “Till then.” He ran his hand up my leg, and our gazes locked. I had time to register that his eyes were the coldest blue I'd ever seen.

  I didn't breathe, but my pussy clenched in response.

  Then I pivoted on my high heel and walked back to the kitchen. It took me a moment to catch my breath. The heat of his hand was still imprinted on my thigh.

  What the hell was that about?

  I moved through the rest of my shift in a dream, totally unable to look in his direction. I stayed in back as much as I dared.

  “What's with you?” Steve asked as he soaped down some glasses in the sink in back.

  “Nothing.”

  “You look...worried.”

  “I'm okay.” I flashed a smile in his direction.

  He frowned. “You sure? 'Cause I got your back if you need it.”

  “Nah. I'm fine.”

  “All right.” He shrugged. “You good to close alone?”

  “Yeah, great.”

  “I'm gonna jet then. The new Halo's out today—well, yesterday now.” He grinned.

  “Have fun.” I waved.

  “I will. Call if you need me.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I'm fine. I swear.”

/>   He nodded and scooted out of the back room. The front door jingled. Steve was gone.

  The question was whether Viking Romeo was still out there waiting.

  Glancing at my watch, I tried to still the beating of my heart, but that was nearly impossible. 1:50 a.m. Closing was officially in ten minutes. Time to talk.

  I took a deep breath, straightened my dress and hair and walked to the bar casually.

  “You're still here.”

  “Of course.” Magnus Gray smiled, and I noticed there were only two bottles in front of him. He'd sat there this whole time and not gotten stone drunk. What self-control.

  I leaned against the bar, waiting for him to speak.

  “I don't want to keep you from what you have to do.” His voice ran over me like silk.

  “You're not. At this point, I only need to lock up.”

  “Then please. Sit for a moment. I have a business proposal for you.” He turned slightly to face me full on, and the effect was like that of a magnetic force.

  I felt myself drawn to him, nothing I could do about it. He was the moon, and I was the ocean, pulsing to his pull on me. I sat down heavily on the bar stool next to him, heat creeping into my cheeks at my lack of grace.

  “Okay.” I didn't know what else to say. I had no earthly idea what a man like this wanted from a woman like me.

  Well, I had an idea, but it didn't make sense other than in the form of a quick lay. And he could have found that anywhere with his looks. I was far from the most attractive or most polished woman on earth, and I was flat broke. Hardly a trophy for a billionaire, which I had an inkling he was.

  “Melinda Louis.” He spoke my name slowly, lingering over each syllable. There was something illicit in the sound, and goosebumps rose on my arms.

  “Yeah, that's my name. Don't break it.”

  He didn't smile.

  Guess he's not the joking type.

  A shiver rippled through me, and I felt exposed in my barmaid costume.

  “Melinda, I'd like you to come work for me.”

  I gaped at him and finally closed my mouth. He gauged me without flinching.

  Cool as ice, this one. That's how I know he has money.

  “Doing what?” I hated how stupid I sounded but he'd flabbergasted me.

  “Whatever I want.” He clicked his tongue in a way that sounded quite naughty.

  I held my breath, all thoughts leaving my head. I might have been an imbecile for all the brain activity going on at that moment.

  “Wow. Okay.”

  “You would, of course, have the opportunity to say no to anything that made you uncomfortable, Ms. Louis. Is it miss?” He smiled.

  “Yes.” I clasped my hands together tight, aware they were shaking. “But I don't see how I'm the person for the job.”

  “You are. I knew it before I even walked in here. I've been looking for someone like you, Linda.”

  The way he said the nickname made me hot all over. I remembered that it meant pretty.

  “Right.”

  “Really.” His bit his lip, his brows furrowing. “Of course, I'm sure you're waiting to hear about pay.”

  I nodded stupidly. That was honestly the last question I had. The whole situation was so bizarre that it defied reason.

  “I'd pay you $500,000 for a one-year contract.”

  My breath whooshed out, and I gasped for air. I knew I must look like a fish washed up on shore, breathing its last.

  “Um, I don't see how there's any honest way I'd be earning that much money.”

  Magnus grinned at me, his teeth impossibly white in the darkness. For the first time, I noticed a tiny scar on one cheek. I wanted to touch it, to know about it.

  “Sure there is. I have need of your services, of your freshness. I've seen your writing, and you're obviously a woman of many talents. I want you to work for me personally—no more time in a basement room.” His gaze raked my uniform.

  My writing and where I work? How would he know about that?

  I gulped. Something very strange was going on. Was he a stalker or a psycho who'd been following me around the city?

  “You can think about it. I'll be back tomorrow evening to get your answer.” He stood.

  “What? One day to consider it?” My voice was a squeak.

  “Yes, that's plenty of time. I promise you, I'm trustworthy. Here's my card, Linda.” Magnus handed me a slick business card and I read it, the words hardly registering, though the cover scheme and logo was one I'd have known in my sleep:

  Magnus V. Gray

  CEO

  Gray Enterprises

  The rest went blurry. No wonder he'd looked familiar. I'd seen him on company brochures I'd worked on. He was a legend among women and worth billions. The company had been in the Burgh since the late 1800s and was one of the city's most successful enterprises, and I'd been damned proud even to intern there. It had begun in railroads and coal and moved into the financial sector in the twentieth century.

  “Thanks. I'll think about it, Mr. Gray.” My voice shook.

  How does he know about me? Is it really from the work I've done at the company?

  The thought boggled the mind.

  “Call me Magnus. Please. Other questions for me? Let me walk you out.” He stood and I did as well.

  I took my time locking up and doing last-minute things, hoping my breathing would slow down. I felt like I might go into a panic attack.

  Finally, I walked over to where Magnus Gray stood at the door.

  He opened it for me, and I locked it, joining him outside in the perfect May evening.

  “One more question. What will my hours be like?” I started walking toward my car, which I'd parked along a nearby city street.

  Magnus chuckled softly. The sound didn't exactly instill confidence. “They'll be...flexible. There will be times you'll work harder than others. Some days you'll hardly work at all.”

  I stared at him, trying to decipher what his words meant.

  Will I be his personal call girl?

  “Umkay. So, what is the job description then?” I felt like a total idiot asking, but I had more questions than answers now.

  Magnus stopped when I did, beside my beat-up car. “To wait on me and do what I ask. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  I shivered at how close he was to me. I was pressed against the car, somehow. I don't know how I got into that position. Magnus lifted a hand to my face and traced my jawline with a warm finger. I gaped, doing nothing to stop him.

  “Well, then. That's as clear as mud.” I gulped for air.

  He smiled. “Think it over. Your life will change, and you're the woman I want. I'm tired of the rest who do sloppy jobs on the assignments I give them.” Magnus sighed, a pained look flitting across his face. “And of course, if you do well, the contract can be for multiple years.”

  What the hell is going on here? There's a whole story I'm just not getting.

  “Uh, okay.”

  Really intelligent-sounding answers.

  “I do have school. I'm not done with my M. F. A., and I want to complete it.”

  He spread his hands. “Of course. It's been wonderful talking with you, Ms. Louis. Think about my proposal. I'll see you tomorrow in your office.”

  My heart jumped to my throat.

  “You're...” I trailed off, at a loss for words.

  “Yes, I know where you work. I'll expect your answer by 4:45 p.m. I'll see you then.”

  I nodded, tongue-tied again.

  He watched me get into the car and start it up. When he said something, I rolled down the window. “Lock your doors. I don't like you out this late alone.”

  “You're not my boss yet,” I said sharply.

  Smiling, Magnus Gray pivoted on one heel and strode off into the night.

  * * * *

  I barely slept that night, though I knew what my answer would be as soon as I'd heard he wanted me for my writing.

  And for what else?

  I just knew the
re was more to it than that. I'd ask to see the contract when he came by my office. If it looked kosher, I'd quit my job at the bar and start my new life as a personal writer for Magnus V. Gray.

  I pinched myself one more time and drifted off to sleep just as the sun was rising.

  * * * *

  My shift at Gray Enterprises was the most nerve-racking I'd ever had. Twice, I almost spilled coffee on senior writers who asked me to get them an afternoon cup.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled to one as I pulled down the pencil skirt I had on. I'd dressed in a red silk shirt that showed a little skin, too. Not my usual outfit but today wasn't the average day for me the intern.

  “Get with it, Melinda.” She frowned.

  I scurried back to my desk, head down. 3:30 p.m. and no sign of the mysterious man who'd hired me.

  I pushed Magnus out of my mind and worked on a brochure that was due in a few days.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Louis?”

  I jumped at Magnus Gray's voice. I noticed then that the basement area where I worked had gone quiet. Heat rose in my cheeks.

  “Yes.” I plastered what I knew must be an idiot grin on my face and waited.

  “I'd like to know your answer now.” He smiled, those icy blue eyes arresting my thoughts.

  “Um, can I see a contract?” My voice shook. Whispers surrounded me.

  “Of course. Here it is. Take your time and look it over. I'll wait.”

  My breath hitched.

  He's really serious about this. A CEO who makes millions a year and is worth billions is waiting on me to review a contract.

  Laughter bubbled up in my throat from the edge of my near hysteria. I hadn't told anyone what was going on with me—not my parents and not my best friend Kiki. She was out of town right now on vacation anyway. Probably a good thing. She was too level-headed to entertain what I was thinking of doing right now.

  I read through the contract. Everything looked kosher. One year, $500,000 a year. Then I stopped at a clause about time off.

  “What's the deal with this?” I asked, jabbing my finger at the paper.

  “Oh, the job is...unique. Vacation is worked into it.” Magnus leaned against my small desk, and I caught a whiff of an expensive, very male scent.

  I scanned the document to the end. Nothing else looked off. Besides, it was only for a year. How bad could it be, working for the CEO of this company as a writer?