Beg For It: A Billionaire Boss Romance by Alexis Winter

Author:Alexis Winter [Winter, Alexis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Brontë

“Good night, Mr. Archer.”

I smile sweetly and wave as the elevator door closes between us. I won’t lie, getting him so turned on he was seconds from losing it was more fun than I expected, but walking away without allowing him to deliver on his threats will make for a long, lonely night.

I wanted to. I wanted to beg him to take me, but something about the delayed gratification of knowing that he’ll be thinking of nothing but me all night makes me feel powerful.

My Uber is already waiting for me when I exit his building. It’s only a ten-minute ride to my neighborhood but it’s a little too dark and late for me to be walking home alone in the city.

“Thank you. Have a good night.”

I shut the car door and dig through my pocket for my key ring, finding them and letting myself into my building. I check my mail, then walk through the lobby toward the elevator as I sort through a few mailers and my bank statement.

“Brontë?”

I snap my head up when I hear my name and spin around to see Chantelle over by the front desk in the lobby.

“Hey, Chantelle, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” I panic, suddenly worried something has happened to my father or my brothers.

“No, no, everything is okay.” She smiles and walks over to me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” I punch the elevator call button and the doors open immediately, taking us up to my floor.

“Do you want some tea or wine?” I shut the door behind us and place my folder on the counter, pointing toward my small kitchen.

My apartment isn’t large. It’s a small one-bedroom, one-bath, but it’s plenty of space for just me. I even lucked out and got an in-unit washer and dryer.

“No, I won’t keep you long. In fact, I’ll just get straight to the point.”

I walk to the fridge to grab myself a bottle of water as she perches her purse on my countertop, her fingers wrapping around the bamboo handle.

“I don’t think what you’re doing with Beckham is a good idea.”

I freeze, my hand outstretched halfway to the water bottle. I tell myself not to whip my head around in shock; it’ll only give me away. Instead, I clear my throat and reach for the bottle, closing the fridge behind me as I unscrew the cap and take a long, welcome drink of the cool water.

“What do you mean?” I attempt to play coy but I can already tell she can see through it, just like she saw through my sad attempts to act unbothered around him at her house.

“Brontë,” she says, her shoulders dropping just as I let out a sigh.

“It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not?” She crooks a suspicious, yet perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.

“Well, I mean, it is but it’s just—we’ve only fo—”

“Ah—” She holds up her hand. “I do not need or want to hear details.

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