Curves For The Alpha Billionaire by Candi Kush

Author:Candi Kush [Kush, Candi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-03T16:00:00+00:00

Curves for the Alpha Billionaire

"Don't you just hate thunderstorm season?"

I blinked at the cashier. I hadn't even realized she was talking to me.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," I said. "Absolutely."

Mr. Ashfield's credit card felt thick and heavy between my fingers.

What I wanted to say was: well actually, the last two storms are pretty much the reason why I'm dating my insanely sexy boss, so...I guess I give thunderstorm season an 8/10.

My total came to over $200, and I felt a pang of guilt as I handed over the card. But Mr Ashfi - James, I corrected myself - had made it very clear that money was no object. He wanted me to have all the supplies I needed to paint again. "No strings attached," he'd said.

Yeah, right.

Maybe in his world, it wasn't customary to feel indebted to someone who gave you their credit card to buy yourself something as frivolous as art supplies. Then again, I supposed that viewing art supplies as a frivolity might have been a particular quirk of my family.

After a failed attempt at chasing my muse back in college, I'd eventually given in to my mother's wishes and gone to school for accounting. That's how I'd found myself working at James' firm, quietly crunching numbers and assuming myself to be more or less invisible to him. I was wrong, of course.

I'd been wrong about a lot of things.

When I discovered that James was somehow falsifying numbers in his own accounts, I raked him over the coals. I teased and tormented him, assuming him to be nothing more than one of those despicable white collar criminals who steal just because they can. He had seduced me, then - mind and body, acting for all the world like he actually desired me. Me. I'd given in, I'd let myself enjoy the pretending, but I never believed him. Not at first.

I still couldn't quite believe it, but here I was. Walking out of the art supply store, tucking a Black Card back into my pocket, trying to remember if the cashier had raised an eyebrow when she saw it. I thought she had, but it might have been my imagination.

James had offered to let me go from my job at his firm, to support me while I pursued my art, but I hadn't given him an answer yet. He insisted that it was a purely platonic relationship, but it felt oddly intimate. Like a commitment.

But at the same time, I never felt like I could refuse him anything. Not since I'd found out the real reason why he fudged his numbers, seen the haunted look in his eyes when he told me about how his sister had died in pain and he'd slipped experimental cancer drugs to the hospital to try and save her life.

I still felt guilty for tormenting him, even though I'd had no way of knowing the truth. But, to his credit, he wasn't pushing me too far. He hadn't brought up the whole "art patron" arrangement again;

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