My Ex-Boyfriend's Billionaire Daddy by Ella Brooke

Author:Ella Brooke
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-05-27T04:00:00+00:00

The Morning After

Cassidy

My eyes open slowly, stubbornly. I don’t exactly remember dreaming, but I feel relaxed and floaty like I’ve had a really good one. Lying on my stomach, I can see pale sunlight stream across the carpet, cut into slivers by the window blinds. My white and pink room comes into focus, looking the same as always, except . . .

There’s a pile of my clothes on the floor, as though cast off in haste. Panic ignites at the base of my spine and roars upward like wildfire as memory kicks in. I roll over, to find only emptiness and a lonely, lingering whiff of ultra-sexy cologne.

Brent’s cologne. My boss’s cologne. My ex-boyfriend’s dad’s cologne!

Something like terror grips my stomach, but it’s not terror. It’s a mix of so many emotions I can’t peel them apart to identify individually. Relief, regret, annoyance, shame, but also pleasure, satisfaction, excitement. I slept with Brent Baxter. On the surface I’m horrified, but deep down I know I wouldn’t have done any differently under the circumstances. I was utterly seduced, and dammit, I wanted it to happen. Aside from the moral implications, I can’t lie. He gave me the fuck of the century and I loved every minute of it.

But that was last night. Things have an annoying way of looking different in the cold light of day. I have no idea how he feels; the fact he isn’t here, that he slipped out in the night like a cat—or if I were to use an opera metaphor, like Don Juan, certainly sings volumes. I’ve seen the opera Don Giovanni, aka Don Juan, and The Libertine. Wealthy, handsome, charming, sinister; a true scoundrel who made a career out of seducing young women.

Ugh! With a sick feeling in my stomach, I remind myself I wasn’t the original target, merely a substitute for who he really wanted to take to the opera. Maybe I wasn’t far off in thinking he does this all the time. Is Brent Baxter a player, a serial seducer? Of course he is, you simp! He’s a gorgeous, billionaire widower; women must be falling at his feet non-stop.

Now I’m doubting the entire situation. Was the job offer a complete ruse? An elaborate plot to lure me into his web of sexual conquests? I don’t want to believe that. He’s been nothing but generous, supportive, and professional with me in the short time I’ve been working at Baxter Securities. And besides, he must have understood how Ryan might feel, moving in on his ex-girlfriend, his very-recently-ex-girlfriend. He wouldn’t do that on purpose. Was it just an accident, then? A lapse of judgment in a heated, sexually charged moment? Or does he, in some crazy way, actually care for me?

I groan into my pillow. Whatever else it might be, it’s an ethical nightmare. Thank God it’s Saturday, and at least I won’t have to face him until Monday. How can I keep working for him under these circumstances? The boss fucking his personal assistant.

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