Free BILLIONAIRE (Part 6) by Juliette Jones Page B

over a couple of emails.”
    “I’m
not petulant ,” I said.  Petulantly, yes.  For good reason.  “I’m
supposed to be your assistant, remember?  Or have you changed your mind about
that?”  I knew I was overreacting: I was almost hyper-aware of my jealousy, or
whatever this was.  Maybe because I’d given up almost every facet of my
pre-Alexander life at the drop of a hat for him, as soon as he’d snapped his
fingers.  I’d been ridiculously willing to step into his world and leave all my
baggage behind.
    Alexander
got to keep his baggage.  He got to run his company and live in his apartment
and have dinner with his brother and his employees.  He didn’t have to give
anything up because all the good stuff was his.  His company, job, apartment,
money.  His hotels and jets and chefs and doormen.
    All
I had was him.
    Nevermind
that all I wanted was him, but the scales felt decidedly uneven.  Not
only that but a creeping suspicion that he no longer wanted me to work for him
was becoming more and more obvious with each passing day.  And he still hadn’t
answered my question.  His attention was once again diverted to his damn
computer screen.
    “Alexander?”
    “Hmm?” 
Typing.
    “I’m
going to take a shower and get dressed,” I said, in full challenge mode.  “Then
we’ll go to your office and you can start teaching me how to help you run your
empire.”
    He
typed a few more words.  Then he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers
together behind his head.  It was several seconds before he spoke, but when he
did, his dark eyes stared into mine.  “I’ve been thinking.”
    “Oh?” 
I knew exactly what he’d been thinking about.  If I hadn’t been so incensed, I
might have acknowledged a flicker of pleasure at my ability to read his mind
and predict his thoughts.  Our searingly intimate time together had given us a
familiarity that was unusual.  But I was glaring at him when I replied.  “About
what?”
    He
cagily avoided the central topic.  “There’s a private gym and a Jacuzzi on the
twenty-fifth floor.  Great views.”
    “I
don’t do gyms.  I do yoga.”
    This
information seemed to distract him for a few seconds.  “Then sit in the hot
tub.  I’m sure we can locate a personal yogi for you at some point during the
week.  As long as there’s no tantric activity involved.”
    His
light joke was wasted in my current state of mine.  “I don’t feel like sitting
in a hot tub.”
    “Of
course you do.  Everybody does.   Go and pamper yourself for a few hours.  This
won’t take too long.  Then I’ll take you out to dinner, wherever you want to
go.”
    “I’ll
tell you what,” I began, pulling on the short skirt I’d worn the day before.  I
buttoned the middle two buttons of his shirt and tied the front into a knot to
create a half-shirt that revealed the pale skin of my stomach.  “I might go and
get some fresh air.  Since you’re working.  We can meet back here later on.  Or
we can meet at the restaurant.  Tell me which one and I’ll see you there at …
how’s seven?  Or would eight be better?”  I pulled on my new, killer Balenciaga
boots.  I still couldn’t believe how beautiful and comfortable they were.  Pure
wearable art.  I wanted another pair.  Or two.  Not because I was feeling
particularly materialistic but because I wanted to spend time with Alexander,
as we had the first time he’d taken me shopping, lavishing me with his
full-blown, magical attention.  “I’ve always wanted to go to Nobu,” I added,
gaining momentum, smoothing and fluffing my hair into place.  “Do you think you
could get us in there on such short notice?  With all your mogulish,
billionaire connections?”
    I
was surprising even myself with my light yet surly bitchiness.  This would rile
him.  He hated the thought of me venturing out into the streets without him.  I
wasn’t sure why, but in all the time I’d known him, he’d been insistent