His To Indulge (Billionaire Erotic Romance)

Contents

His To Indulge

My Other Titles

Copyright

His To Indulge

By

Evelyn Rosado

The Evelyn Rosado
Newsletter

I had one rule and one rule only – keep my legs closed to
every man I worked with. But the moment Harper Conrad walked into
my life, I learned rules were meant to be broken.

I stood alone in the vast lobby of the
Chicago Hawks team facility in front of the umber, bonded-metal
elevator doors for an eternity. I spent most of the time trying to
fix my hair my reflection from the doors; the long black strands
which graced my shoulders weren’t bouncy today.

Today was my first day on
the job and I wanted to knock ‘em dead in the boardroom just as
much as I did on the sidelines as a cheerleader. The time had come
for to trade in my low-cut booty shorts for pencil skirts. My heart
drummed through my blouse.
It’s not a big
deal Danica; it’s only the beginning of the rest of your
life.

I finally mustered up the strength to push
the up arrow button and walked into the elevator doors. No turning
back now. My mouth felt like a tub of cotton balls. I pushed the
button for the twelfth floor.

The elevator doors slowly slid shut as a
flash of gray fabric and white pinstripes swooshed in at the last
second; virtually avoiding being squashed by them. The scent of oak
and sandalwood filled the tight quarters. The air became charged
with masculinity.

The gentleman straightened his suit jacket
by his lapels. He took one sweeping glance at me and opened his
mouth to speak, but paused and smirked instead. “Twelve please,” he
said. I nearly bit my tongue when I saw his face – remarkably
handsome. The rich, velvety timbre of his voice bounced off the
padded walls of the elevator. Intoxicating and - to a smaller
degree - intimidating.

“
You’re pretty fast. You
were almost a goner,” I said, clearing my throat.

“
Right, I should try out
for wide receiver,” he said. He sure had the body for it. The suit
he wore fit his frame to perfection. I’d bet money his abs were
hard as granite. “You think I’d have a shot?”

“
The team needs a lot of
help at that position.” His eyes, the color of cognac, scanning me
from my black stilettos, up to my gray eyes. “I think you’d do just
fine.” I smoothed the front of my blouse – wearing it always made
my tits pop.

“
That type of honesty is
needed in this town. Do you work for the organization?”

“
Nine years as a Hawks
cheerleader and day one as executive assistant.”

“
Really? You could spend
nine
more
years as
a cheerleader. You’re cute as a button.”

“
Well thank you.” Cute as a
button? I haven’t heard that since the third grade. But a
compliment from a man as attractive as him - I’ll take it. “I’m the
personal assistant for Harper Conrad, the new team owner. Do you
know him?

“
Well…I…”

“
I heard he’s a real jerk.
Domineering beyond belief. I’m not looking forward to
it.”

“
Interesting. What else
have you heard about him?” He stroked his chin. His pearly white
teeth were peeking through his smirk.

“
I heard most of his past
assistants quit because of his overbearing personality. The word is
he’s so controlling and bossy that one assistant created a blog
about her experience. I heard he put her through hell. What an
asshole!” I shook my head in shame.

“
That’s too bad. Most of
these rich guys have egos so enormous; they forget what it’s like
to be human.”

“
Absolutely. I’d tell him
what an asshole he is right to his face. Wouldn’t be me. I’m not a
quitter.”

“
Oh, you
wouldn’t
?” His tone was
one of astonishment. He shook his head, smiling.

“
I’m sorry.” I extended my
hand out to shake his. “I’m Danica Martin.”

“
Hello.” His strong hands
swallowed my five, tiny digits. Was he a quarterback here for a
tryout? I could feel the sensual current stinging every bit of me,
from my eyelids down to the cuticles on my toenails.

The elevator made a ding
and the doors opened. “Pleasure to meet you, Danica. I’m Harper
Conrad, your new boss.” He gave me a sly smirk and swiftly exited
the elevator. “And
you’re
late,” he said tapping his watch looking back at
me. I stood motionless, waiting for the world to open up and
swallow me to save me from my embarrassment.

I finally knew what career suicide felt
like.

***

Nine long years as head cheerleader for this
football team, but never late for a game. Never. Today just wasn’t
my day. How many times throughout the week do you swerve to hit a
deer and your front passenger tire pops in the process? I had to
call roadside assistance to come and change it. I guess the days of
a prince charming driving up to fix a damsel’s flat tire are long
gone. So much for chivalry!

I got to the desk where I would be working
and tossed my purse in the chair. I had no time to go to the ladies
room to do a once over. I hoped my hair wasn’t a mess. First
impressions are everything in this business – especially with these
hotshot billionaires. Hopefully, the coffee I bought him before I
pulled in to the facility was still hot. Jenny from the team’s
Public Relations department texted me last night saying Mr.
Conrad’s favorite roast of coffee was Jamaican Roast. And he liked
it piping hot. Hopefully, this coffee would be the olive branch
making up for my lateness.

I scurried into the doorway of Mr. Conrad’s
expansive office. He stood behind his desk looking out the huge
window overlooking the empty practice field. His ash gray pinstripe
suit tailored his towering frame to perfection.

“
Mr. Conrad, I’m so sorry
I’m late,” I said.

His mouth stayed closed shut – unmoved by my
apology. He gaze still fixated on the field.

“
Hello? Mr.
Conrad?”

Again, nothing. Was this guy deaf? He could
hear me loud and clear. What’s his deal?

“
Mr. Conrad?” I stepped
closer to him; my neck peered around him, trying to catch a glimpse
of his face. Okay, what the hell’s going on? Was he conscious or
just being an asshole?

At least thirty seconds went by, no
dice.

“
This organization has been
lackadaisical in recent years,” he said, finally breaking the
deafening silence. “Still living off the memory of the glory days.
Those days are over. There’s a culture of losing in the air here
now. It’s not something I will tolerate. Anything less than a
championship is unacceptable. And if it does not happen, drastic
changes in personnel will be made. Including you, Ms.
Martin.”

“
I’m so sorry Mr. Conrad,
it’s just…”

“
Excuses already I see.
Punctuality is of the utmost priority with me,” he said turning
around. My heart fluttered. He had the classic, masculine jaw line,
peppered with almond speckles of facial hair. His hair was light
brown and sported a neat Caesar cut. But his skin - a rich, deep
shade of olive - shimmered from the ray of muted sunshine beaming
through his office window. I imagined his body drowning into
mine.

“
May I have a seat?” My
hand became fleshy from holding the cup of coffee so long. I softly
placed the cup down on his desk, hoping it didn’t make a
sound.

I bent my knees to sit. “Please…keep
standing,” he said. He sat down in his chair and leaned back. He
looked towards the bookshelf on the wall at the picture of Arthur
Burkewood, the Hawks former owner who sold the team to him. “You’re
only here as a favor from Arthur. I have the upmost respect for
that man. He told me you’d be best for the job. So far it remains
to be seen.”

He took two whiffs of the coffee; the steam
swirled above the cup. His face frowned and a deep, vertical crease
formed between his eyelids. He looked sexier angry. I envisioned
him stealing me away and holding my arms down on the bed and
skewering my pussy with his manhood.

“
Dark roasted Jamaican
hazelnut,” he said. He abruptly grabbed the cup, held it over the
trash can, paused then released it from his clutches. It made a
loud metallic thump. Droplets of black liquid splashed on the
floor. I came to work late and then I get the wrong coffee.
Termination had to be my fate. “Ms. Martin, if you’re going to try
and impress me and deflect the fact you came late, at least get the
correct flavor - Italian dark roast. Now get back to your
desk.”

“
But Mr.
Conrad…I…”

“
Get out.
Now
.”

I franticly turned away and scampered out of
his office.

“
And Ms. Martin,” I froze
dead in my tracks. “Don’t even
fathom
being late tomorrow. I run
a
tight
ship.
Tardiness is grounds for dismissal.”

“
Okay Mr. Conrad. I’m
sor…”

“
Forgive me…did I say you
could speak? Leave.” He flicked two fingers towards the door at
me.

As I walked back to my
desk, I could feel his gaze burning a hole into my blouse. The
fingernail on my index finger had to be jagged down to the flesh
from how much I picked it. How could he speak to me like that? Just
how
tight
would he
run things? Mr. Conrad scared me shitless, but on the other side of
the coin his stern demeanor was insanely attractive. How could
someone be so terrifying, yet so gorgeous? He would love to
hate-fuck
him – right on
top of his desk.

I hadn’t been at the
facility one hour and I already thought of quitting. I guess the
rumors about him were true. What a fucking jerk. No one had spoken
to me like that since…well...actually no one had ever spoken to me
like that before. Did I need the money
that
bad? One look at the balance in
my bank account and that question would be answered.
Just tough it out Danica.
I’ve been with the Hawks since I was eighteen. I couldn’t
throw it all away with a drop of a hat. Besides, who’s going to
hire a nearly thirty, retired cheerleader whose only skills are
slinging pom-poms and prancing around in low cut booty
shorts?

The rest of the morning was dead – as it
always was in the offseason. I could see Mr. Conrad eyeballing me
through his office every twenty minutes or so. It sent a shiver to
my bones. If I had seen him in a bar, with those brown eyes, I
would definitely be up to take him home that night. A girl can
dream, right? Eww. Wait. First, he’s my boss and second, I would
never date anyone who spoke to me like that. But damn, was he
handsome. Slit your writs handsome.

I sat back in my chair. 11:52 AM. I had one
hour and eight minutes before Mr. Conrad’s meeting with the Hawks
front office staff. I shuddered at the thought. I blew out a hot,
breath of frustration upwards. My bangs flew off my forehand.

By the time the clock struck twelve
forty-five, my teeth were chattering.

***

Disaster wouldn’t be a fitting description
for the meeting with the team executives and head coaches – state
of emergency would be more like it. In the boardroom sat nine men,
but it felt like an entire football stadium of eyes were on me -
and they were all Mr. Conrad’s. His brown eyes perforated through
me like lasers, scorching my soul to the marrow. Despite, Mr.
Conrad’s presence, I couldn’t understand my nervousness; I had
known all of the guys in here for years. They always treated me
like a little sister.

My knees were wobbling so much during the
meeting I spilled a tray water on Maxwell Emerson, the Hawks team
president. Luckily, he didn’t mind. In fact, he made a joke
relating my blunder to his ex wife. It settled the room and made me
feel a bit better. Mr. Conrad, on the other hand, didn’t see
anything humorous about my folly. The look he gave me could scare
away a small pack of wild hogs. For the remainder of the meeting, I
sat on the edge of a chair, nestled in the corner – thinking of
which companies I should submit job applications to in the
morning.

Despite Mr. Conrad’s draconian reputation
preceding him, He quelled a lot of the staff’s anxiety about his
acquisition of the team from Arthur Burkewood. He was magnetizing
and beguiling; making them smile and laugh one moment and had them
buzzing about new ideas for the team the next. Everyone in the
organization walked on pins and needles since he bought the team.
Most of us thought cleaning house and heads rolling left and right
would be first on his agenda. Would he uproot the team to his
hometown of Las Vegas as rumored? He put all the innuendo to rest
after the meeting. We could breathe a bit easier about our
employment – at least for now.