Marrying My Billionaire Boss Read online

  Marrying My Billionaire Boss

  Nadia Lee

  Other Titles by Nadia Lee

  Stealing the Bride

  ——

  The Sins Trilogy

  Book 1: Sins

  Book 2: Secrets

  Book 3: Mercy

  ——

  The Billionaire’s Claim Duet

  Book 1: Obsession

  Book 2: Redemption

  ——

  Sweet Darlings Inc. Series

  Book 1: That Man Next Door

  Book 2: That Sexy Stranger

  Book 3: That Wild Player

  ——

  Billionaires’ Brides of Convenience Series

  Book 1: A Hollywood Deal

  Book 2: A Hollywood Bride

  Book 3: An Improper Deal

  Book 4: An Improper Bride

  Book 5: An Improper Ever After

  Book 6: An Unlikely Deal

  Book 7: An Unlikely Bride

  Book 8: A Final Deal

  ——

  The Pryce Family Series

  Book 1: The Billionaire’s Counterfeit Girlfriend

  Book 2: The Billionaire’s Holiday Obsession

  Book 3: The Billionaire’s Secret Wife

  Book 4: The Billionaire’s Forgotten Fiancée

  Book 5: The Billionaire’s Forbidden Desire

  Book 6: The Billionaire’s Holiday Bride

  ——

  Seduced by the Billionaire Series

  Book 1: The Billionaire’s Revenge

  Book 2: The Billionaire’s Pursuit

  Book 3: The Billionaire’s Baby

  Book 3.5: The Billionaire’s Crush

  Book 4: The Billionaire’s Scandal

  Book 5: The Billionaire’s Secret

  ——

  If you want to receive notices about my latest books, please join my VIP List at www.nadialee.net/vip!

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Titles by Nadia Lee

  About Nadia Lee

  Copyright

  To Diane.

  Chapter One

  Nate

  I hear the cuckoo clock in the living room go off seven times, and my whole body starts to tighten, like a dog that just knows it’s playtime.

  The security monitor beeps on my phone, causing my heart to skip a beat. That’ll be Evie, walking into my Malibu home. Since she started as my assistant nine months ago, she’s never missed a day of work or been late even once. I exit the bathroom, nothing but a towel around my hips as she comes into my bedroom.

  She’s tied her wavy golden hair loosely today, and I love the reddish color of her lipstick because her mouth looks so delectably delicious in that shade. Her pink dress flatters the soft swell of her breasts and the beautiful lines of her waist and hips. There isn’t even a hint of anything inappropriate or flirty about the outfit—alas. I’m parading around practically naked in front of her, but her gorgeous cornflower-blue eyes never stray below my chin.

  A lesser man would be crushed.

  But I’m Nate Fucking Sterling. And dammit, I know I look good. Women fawn over me. They think they’re so subtle, but they always cop a feel. Or at least a look.

  Not Evie though. She’s immune. Don’t know why. She’s not blind, or a lesbian. I haven’t done anything to repulse her as far as I can tell. I’ve been working my ass off in the gym to gain more muscle around my biceps and chest and put more definition on my abs. But even with everything on full display, I don’t think she’s noticed.

  “Good morning,” she says, walking into my gigantic closet.

  “Morning.” I sit down at the edge of my bed to watch. Just because she doesn’t check me out doesn’t mean I can’t check her out. Her ass looks amazing in that dress. Actually, her ass looks amazing in anything. It would look amazing in a potato sack four sizes too large.

  “You have a visit at the Sterling Medical Center this morning on your way to the office, so how about something conservative?” She picks out a charcoal bespoke suit and a slim silver-blue tie, along with a pair of polished loafers.

  “Yes, that’ll do nicely.” She has great taste. I wouldn’t let her pick my outfits otherwise, no matter how hot she was.

  “Glad you approve, Mr. Sterling.”

  Mr. Sterling. We’ve been working together closely for the best part of a year, and she still refuses to call me Nate. So I started to call her Ms. Parker, just to show her how silly it is to be so formal. Which turned out to be a huge tactical error, because she seems to actually enjoy being called Ms. Parker.

  Okay, so she’s from the Midwest. It’s probably more traditional than here in L.A., but people there must call each other by their first names. Why else would you give them to your kids?

  And she calls other people by their first names, even around the office. It’s just me who gets the Mister treatment. Do I look like I have a giant pole up my ass? I know I was born to money, but I try not to be a stuck-up douchewad. And based on how people treat me, I thought I was doing pretty well…until now.

  But it’s too late to ask for an explanation without sounding weird. I’ve gone through a hundred different scenarios I could use to broach the topic, and they all sound stupid.

  “I’ll get your breakfast started while you get dressed,” she says, walking out.

  My bedroom feels empty and sort of sad without her in it. But apparently prepping my breakfast is also her job, even though I didn’t ask her to do it.

  Honestly, I don’t need this much help in the morning. None of my assistants ever did this before. But when I first interviewed Evie, she acted like she’d do anything to work for me, and I decided to test her. Mainly because I’d had a string of shitty assistants who acted like they’d do anything required for the job, but then couldn’t even locate a paper bag to find their way out of.

  So now her job includes coordinating my outfits in the morning and getting me breakfast.

  When I’m done putting on the clothes she picked out, I go downstairs. The open floor plan
gives it an airy feel, with glass walls facing the Pacific and its waves. And there’s one of those contemporary waterfalls in the sunken living room. But the most spectacular thing is Evie, standing in my ultra-modern kitchen, bright light around her like an angel’s halo. I even hear a faint strain of heavenly chorus.

  She looks at me over her shoulder, a small smile on her lips. Air sticks hard in my throat, and my brain goes blank, mesmerized by her mere presence.

  “I made you your favorite—a kale and protein smoothie with fresh berries.”

  The moment’s shattered as she offers up a tall glass of frosted purple-green concoction from hell. But I’m a gentleman, so I give her a grateful smile as I take the vile shit. “Mmm, berries!”

  I’d rather die in my eighties with carcinogenically grilled dead cow floating in my veins than live to be a robust hundred with this antioxidant goo keeping me young and wrinkle-free. But she honestly believes I love this crap—it’s a long story—so I down it with a huge grin that hurts my face even as the shake violates my palate like Atilla the Hun violated Europe. This should show her my appreciation—and ensure she returns to my place every morning.

  And if I walk around topless long enough, maybe she’ll notice I’m not just her boss, but a man, too.

  Maybe you should accidentally drop your towel tomorrow morning. She’ll definitely notice that.

  Oh, please. That’s so clichéd. I don’t do clichés.

  Because parading around in a towel isn’t a cliché.

  Doesn’t count. That was an accident. I got up late one morning, and she came into the room just as I stepped out of bathroom. Maybe I should buy a transparent towel. Surely something like that is available somewhere on this vast planet.

  While I’m guzzling down the supposedly life-recharging breakfast of champion rabbits, Evie rattles the day’s agenda off her tablet. A meeting to be rearranged at the other party’s request.

  “Some people have no respect for my time or schedule,” I say, mildly annoyed because it’s the second time they’ve asked to reschedule.

  “Or maybe they know you can afford to be flexible.”

  “Still kind of presumptuous. You didn’t say yes, did you?”

  “Not yet.”

  That’s my girl. Always clear on where to draw the line. “Good. I hate it when people act like I enjoy being flexible or changing my mind. Once I make up my mind, I don’t change.”

  “Of course not, Mr. Sterling.”

  When I’m finished with the veggie desecration, she hands me my coffee. Finally. I take as big of a gulp as possible to erase the lingering taste of kale. I should convince my brother Justin to buy up every kale farm on the planet, burn the shit to the ground and salt the soil.

  Carrying the travel mug, I start to go out to the car that’ll be waiting.

  “Other way,” Evie says.

  “What?”

  “Miguel’s not here today,”

  “He’s not?”

  “You gave him the week off.”

  Oh, that’s right. His wife’s about to pop their second baby out any day now, and I gave him a paid week off. Pregnant women apparently become needier and/or crazier around this time, according to Justin, who has a kid and should know. Plus Miguel is a great guy, and he deserves time off.

  “Okay. Thanks for the reminder.”

  I turn and head to the garage, Evie following closely, her heels clacking quietly. As soon as I open the door, the lights come on. I step inside and peruse my collection. It’s hard to decide what to drive out of the ten cars I have. I steal a glance at Evie. Instead of admiring the various examples of world-class mechanical engineering, she’s staring at something on her tablet.

  Well then. I choose the Bugatti. This gleaming black-and-red babe is a beaut. Very impressive, too. It better be, for a cool nineteen million. I’ve only taken it out for a spin twice, and not with anybody else. Evie should be flattered.

  I open the door for her. “Get in, Ms. Parker.”

  She blinks as though startled. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling, but I’m afraid I spaced out a bit.”

  “You did?” This is very unusual.

  Red stains her cheeks. It’s really cute. “Yeah, I brought my car here.”

  Right, because Miguel didn’t drive her. But she followed me into the garage because our routine is sharing a ride to the office. So. Disrupted morning routines can fluster even the unflappable Ms. Parker, huh?

  And this explains why she didn’t care what car I’m taking, because she thought she wasn’t going to be in it. Well, she’s about to be surprised. “Get in anyway. I’ll have that taken care of.”

  She considers for a second, then nods. “All right. Thank you.”

  I smile with satisfaction. Who can resist a ride in this stunning marvel of European manufacturing? No one, that’s who. The Bugatti was an inspired pick.

  She moves past me and slides in. I inhale the lingering scent of her citrus shampoo and lavender lotion, then walk around, climb in behind the wheel and start the car. The engine roars impressively. I steal another glance, but she’s tapping on her tablet, her eyes glued to the screen. Meanwhile, all I can smell is her in the car. The pulse in her neck is fluttering—and maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I can feel it more viscerally than the vibration of the engine, as though her throat’s pressed against mine.

  I shift, wondering why my pants feel so tight. Maybe I’ve been squatting too much.

  We hit the road. It’s not as satisfying in the morning because of traffic. But still, the Bugatti’s damn nice, although from Evie’s lack of reaction, we could be in one of those Ubers that Court likes so much. Just what the hell is on that tablet? The winning number to the next Powerball jackpot? We’re in a damn Bugatti, not the boring Bentley that Miguel brings to pick us up in the morning. She should look up. Maybe check me out discreetly.

  “So how was your date last night?” I ask casually, although I’m certain it sucked, based on the fact that she looks so fresh. No signs of fatigue or tiredness, which wouldn’t be the case if I had a date with her. We would positively wreck the bed. And the kitchen. And the bathroo—

  “It was all right.” She’s still tapping away. “The food was nice, and it ended on an interesting note.”

  Interesting good or interesting bad? Hard to tell from her neutral tone. And with a woman, it could mean anything. “Planning a second date on your tablet there?”

  She gives me a frown like I asked her if she’s on her period. “No. I’m going over your agenda for the week and making some adjustments. I also told Elizabeth you’d be more than happy to be auctioned off to raise some money for her new project.”

  “Okay.” Good. If she’s not planning a second date, the dude was probably lame. And I do want to help Elizabeth out. She’s a good friend and very big on helping people less fortunate than her, which means practically everyone on the planet. And this project to financially support families of children going through chemo is a big deal and something I believe in.

  “Also there’s an email from the Ethel Sterling Children’s Memorial Hospital. They want to know if you can fund-raise for the preventative medicine department’s latest initiative.”

  “Again? How did they spend the money we raised last time?” I ask.

  There was a problem with some creative accounting at the hospital. My great-uncle Barron went apoplectic and told me to fix it. So I did. Five people were terminated and charged with embezzlement. And since then I’ve had everything audited bimonthly. The hospital bears Barron’s late wife’s name. No scandal there is too small to overlook, and nobody—absolutely nobody—steals from the children the hospital was built to serve and gets away with it. If Barron had had it his way, those five would’ve been drawn and quartered in a public square.

  “Productively,” Evie says after a moment. “Your auditors confirmed the numbers submitted by the committee.”

  “Okay. Then I guess we can give them some more.”

  On the horiz
on, I see the familiar six-story building—the Sterling Medical Center. It was also built and is funded by my family’s foundation. We’re big believers in accessible health care, and it’s fucked up that in our country, one minor illness can toss a middle-class family into a pit of financial hell.

  “You know that it doesn’t help to do announced inspection visits if you’re trying to find dirt, right?” Evie says as I park.

  I nod.

  “So why do you have one scheduled for next month?”

  “Because I’m going to do an unannounced one next week.” I grin. “They’ll never see it coming.”

  Evie laughs. The sound is lovely and makes me happy. She’s so pretty when she laughs, and all I can think about is kissing her. Except that’s totally, one hundred percent inappropriate, because she’s never once given me the slightest hint that she’s interested, and I can’t afford to lose an assistant this good over a kiss that won’t go anywhere.

  If she were some other, shallower woman, my ego might be dented a little. But it isn’t even that. I wonder if I need to be a better person for her to like me. She hasn’t shown any indication she’s impressed with my money or my connections or my influence. But the problem with being a better person is that I don’t know how. I am what I am, and I’m afraid I met her too late to change.

  “Should we get going, Mr. Sterling?” she asks.

  “I suppose we should, Ms. Parker.”

  We walk into the clinic together. It isn’t luxurious, but it isn’t spartan, either. Pleasant is how I’d describe it—pale plastic seats, clean linoleum floor, pale green walls, classical music on low volume and countless posters promoting ways to stay healthy on a budget. Everything is designed to be easy to clean and disinfect and, most important, to soothe. Just because it serves people who can’t pay doesn’t mean it’s going to look cheap and pathetic.

  The director is already in the lobby. Robbie Choi, in his early forties, gone prematurely gray. I put him in charge after half a year or so because I didn’t have the time to manage it myself anymore. I wish he’d go back to whatever’s more urgent—I’m sure he has a lot on his agenda—because I don’t need him to babysit me as I look around. But I know he won’t. I’ve already received reports, and my auditors are in the middle of checking the finances. Everything appears proper as far as the paperwork goes. I just need to see things for myself.