The Billionaire and I (Part One) by Ava Claire

Author:Ava Claire [Claire, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-09-09T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Megan: You know when I said it was understandable if you wanted to cut a bitch? I was just kidding...

I glanced at Megan's text and I couldn't help but smile. Normally, that kind of clarification was unnecessary. With Rachel Laraby in the mix, all bets were off.

I hit the button for the elevator, adjusting my hold on my briefcase, gripping my large white mocha with two extra shots. I had a few more moments to make sure that I was ready. My reflection in the chrome elevator doors looked ready to kick ass and take my names. I wore a black two piece pantsuit that was tailored for my curves. My blouse was a soft blush that matched the pearls in my ears. I stood tall in my heels, not a teeter or stumble in sight. And my hair didn't need to be slicked or tucked or tamed; my bun was in tact and ready to command that room.

I tucked my phone into my bag and kept repeating the words 'you're Leila effin Whitmore', reminding myself that Rachel was the one that came crawling back, realizing that being our client was worth more than her pride.

As I admired my reflection, raising my chin a couple of inches, I realized that my pride was far from in check. I thought I was over the cat and mouse game we played, but I was clearly mistaken. Pantsuit, heels, a tight and slightly uncomfortable bun at the top of my head like I was ready to go into battle instead of take care of a client? That was what would earn me respect from Rachel, pretending like this was something completely void of creativity and spontaneity? I'd let her turn my job intoMission: Impossible, complete with the tense music playing as the elevator shuttled me to where I'd face off with the villain.

I used the last few floors to yank my hair free from my bun and shake out the locks, along with the nerves that were wreaking havoc despite the show I was putting on. I peeled off my blazer, reminding myself that I had nothing to prove to that woman. I had a job to do.

The doors slid open and my assistant, Jessa Blake, was waiting, with another cup of coffee and a tentative smile. When I took over new client campaigns and got a full team of my own, I'd had an out of body experience when Maria Delacourt asked me if I wanted to sit in on the interviews for my assistant. Once the shock dissipated, I was front row and center and I knew the minute Jessa walked into the room that she would be the perfect assistant. I may have been a little biased because she didn't exactly walk in, she kind of stumbled in, like I had right before the interview that changed my life. While there were other things we had in common besides a propensity for being clumsy as hell, like being overachievers

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