I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (2 page)

Milo wasn’t a freak, anyway. He was just gay.

“That’s true. However, you can’t drop Sarah at this moment. The Skylark penthouses, or shells, are already two months behind your planned schedule, and they
need
to be completed and crossed off the list. You’ve got a lot of food crowding your already laden table, so you need to clear some of these small dishes before the big ones start falling off and smashing into pieces.

“Taking a chance on a different designer — who you’d be putting a helluva strain and pressure on, by the way — to get these penthouses ready on time, might not be the smartest idea right now. You can always dump Sarah
after
this project.”

That
was the answer he never offered to people who inquired about his freak of an assistant. Milo wasn’t a mere assistant. Milo kept things leveled, pointing out the obvious to him when he was being blind and irrational.

Being the boss didn’t deter Milo from telling him point blank when he thought he was sticking his head too far up his ass. Milo knew his shit better than those sniffy punks in sharp charcoal suits.

So, there you have it, he hired a weird, gay assistant because he kicked ass … or licked it … or sticked it … or all the above.

“You’re right, Milo. But as you know, these apartments are unfairly overpriced. They’re all sold out because pompous buyers are expecting something above what’s already out there. This,” Trevillo said, turning around his laptop to face Milo, “is average. The same ole’ shit that’s been in Sarah’s last three projects, with just a slight difference.

“You know what kind of customers I have. Customers who never question price because they know The Dean’s Realty
always
delivers. If each new building doesn’t transcend in creativity, notices will be made that I’m a fucking dickwad with my prices. Which I am, of course. But, who gives a shit about the price tag as long as they’re happy with the product? Sarah’s not gonna work.”

Milo glanced at the computer screen and shrugged. “So what’re you going to do, then? Want me to send out notification emails to the buyers, informing them completion dates are being pushed back a few months? It’s construction. I’m pretty sure they’ll understand that shit happens sometimes.”

“Shit happens. But not with me. I’ve got a rep to maintain.” Trevillo rubbed his forehead in thought. “Who do I have that can deliver this project on time with a commendable design?”

Milo raised a censorious brow, “All your designers are not just good, but
great
at what they do, or else they wouldn’t be working for you. You’re the one who chose to put Sarah above everyone else because she brought in praises for the Lions penthouses she designed a few years back. That doesn’t mean she’s better than anyone else. It’s just the hype
you
gave her.”

Trevillo shot him a disgusted look. “Are you my goddamn assistant or my consultant? You’ve got too much to say, dude.”

Milo smirked. “And you listen. Because you know whenever I open my mouth, it’s not hog shit spraying out.”

Trevillo waved him off. “So? Who do we have?”

“The design department of The Dean’s Realty has 110 interior designers. So the answer to that is ‘you have a lot’. The real question is ‘who’s not working on a project at the moment?’.”

Trevillo glared across his desk with a look that told his assistant if he didn’t cut the excessive chatting, he was going to knock his ass out. Cold.

Milo burst out laughing and held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Lemme check.”

He flipped open his MacBook and tapped a few keys, while Trevillo opened a drawer on his desk and retrieved his stress ball. He wanted out of this damn office.

“Okay, so everyone’s contracted, but a handful will be available soon. Lisa Monroe will be free from the Barley project in four weeks. Katy Lesley will be free from an addition at Crissida Cove in two weeks, and Krissan Kingston will be free from the Jamz nightclub project in two days.”

“Whoever’s closest to being available, Milo. Christ.”

“That would be Krissan Kingston, but she specializes in commercial venues, nightclubs, etcetera. Would be better to wait on Katy Lesley.”

“No one without versatility would be hired in my company, Milo. Unless you’re telling me I need to fire the manager of the design department for hiring inept workers?” he asked sternly. “She must’ve worked on some residential projects before. Pull up her profile. Check.”

Milo tapped around on his MacBook again then shrugged and slid it across the desk to him. “This is her work on Willow Land from two years ago. That’s the last house project she did.”

Trevillo leaned forward and clicked through the designs. There wasn’t anything awe-inspiring. But then, that was two years ago. If he remembered clearly, people were more than happy with the Willow Land town homes. “Where’s the flaw?”

Milo rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Mr. Nelson, all your designers are worthy. It’s you who favored Sarah above everyone.”

“This Krissan person it is, then. She’ll just need a little pressure and brow-beating to understand the importance of being assigned to projects like Skylark.”

Trevillo didn’t think putting pressure on any interior designer of his was even necessary. Once someone was called to his office to be
directly
hired by him, common sense should tell them that their best was required. Being contracted for a high-end TDR project meant one expectation: success. His penthouses were bought by people with status. Somebodies. And that was all his designers needed to understand when handed their marching orders.

“Well, she’s been turning down contracts for residential work. Like I said, she’s only doing commercial venues.”

“She works for me. If I want her to design my damn apartments, she’s going to design them or get sacked.”

“Technically, you’re her boss’s boss’s boss.”

“Which spells: BOSS.”

“She — ”

“Too much fucking lip, Milo! Go. Now. Find out if she’s in today, and have Mike send her up.”

Milo got up and brought his hand to his forehead in a salute gesture. “Yessir.” He swaggered toward the door with his anti-male gait and said, “I bet you have no idea what Krissan Kingston even looks like,” then hurried out the door before he could respond.

Aside from his main team, Trevillo didn’t see the need to give a squat about knowing his workers. He was rarely ever in one place for too long, anyway.

He came in to the office only on Mondays and Wednesdays for meetings and major issues, because frankly, he hated being in an office. Everything else was left for his trusted team to sort out. Papers and numbers bored him.

Trevillo was a physical man. He preferred to see what words and numbers translated into. Therefore, the bulk of his time was spent on his work sites. Traveling, viewing, purchasing, making deals in unconventional, staying-out-of-offices and sleep-inducing-meetings kinds of ways.

That’s what made him
him
. He did things his own way, on his own terms. Society could create whatever rules it wanted. Just don’t expect Trevillo Nelson to follow them. Sitting in an office sifting through emails and sending proxies to do the physical work didn’t pan out for him. Offices made him feel caged. So he stayed out of them. Just as he did with relationships with the opposite sex.

Ten minutes later, Milo returned to his office with a petite little thing in tow. “Miss Krissan Kingston as you requested, sir,” he announced with mock formality, which was rather inharmonious with his Mohawk-hair and tight-jeans. “You can do this, Krissy K,” he whispered to the tiny figure beside him.

“Do what?” she asked.

But Milo turned and left without a word.

Confusion etched on her face, she looked to Trevillo. “A pleasant good afternoon, Mr. Nelson. It’s quite an, um, honor to be in your presence. May I ask what this is about? Did I do something wrong? Was there a complaint about me or something?”

Trevillo didn’t answer right away, because he was waiting on his brain to explain to him why the fuck he was all but paralyzed in his seat. Why he was staring without so much as blinking at this ethereal girl standing in his office.

This girl, who was like a falling feather from an angel’s wing. She seemed too delicate and unreal to be a complete angel. No, she was a pluck of a feather from an angel’s wing — an imperfect angel, that is. A sacrosanct white feather floating on the wind.

As aforementioned, Trevillo was a man who didn’t care for younger women. Tried his damnedest to avoid them and their hearts and chocolates and love poems bullshit at all costs. If a woman was any younger than his own age, bedding them was out of the question. Neither did he sleep with single, available women – any age. The ‘I want more’ talk, he wasn’t up for it.

Of course, he got hard for younger women; he was a
man,
after all. But he’d never before seen a young woman who struck him speechless. Not only was this woman young, she was petite and looked delicate in every possible way a woman could be.

Trevillo estimated her height without heels to be around five feet one or so. Though she was slender, her breasts were full, and her hips curved out tauntingly, leaving her waist looking sinfully slim. He figured he could easily span her with one arm and still leave room.

Her light blonde hair was cut low on her head, but with thick sharp bangs sweeping across her forehead. With her hair that low, he was able to appreciate her long, slim neck — a neck he was imagining himself trailing his tongue all over …

Her lips were a deep cherry-red, and he couldn’t tell if she was wearing that glossy crap women put on their lips, or if they were natural. An exotic blue, her eyes seemed unreal — a strong meet between cerulean and sapphire blue, so bright, they were her most prominent feature.

For a normal work day, Trevillo thought she was overdressed, as her small frame was clothed in a short red skirt, a gray silk blouse, and a pair of skin-tight black boots meeting the hem of her skirt. She was adorned with large, gold hoop earrings and some showy gold crap on her wrists. Fake accessories, for sure. She couldn’t afford such large pieces of gold. He deduced she was one of those girls who liked to play dress-up.

Unable to help it, his eyes drifted to her fingers to check if she wore her nails long or clipped, and his unruly dick hardened when he saw they were fairly long and painted blood-red.

‘Sas Christ
, who the heck was this girl?

“Mr. Nelson?” she called, in a soft, whispery voice, like lace sliding against silk.

Just like her eyes, her voice was unusual, sensual, like nothing he’d heard before. Apart from her attire, she looked young, innocent, fragile. Her age couldn’t even be guessed; she could easily pass for an eighteen year old.

“How long have you been working for me?” he asked in an unintentionally gruff voice.

Her perfectly plucked brows knitted in a frown, which told him she was wondering what kind of question was that. Probably thinking he should know these things, but he wasn’t God. Kudos to any businessman out there who knew all their workers’ resumes by heart.

“Five years. Right out of college, I interned in DD for a year until Mike Levi offered me a position.”

“How old are you?”

She gave him a leery look. He knew the age question was a forbidden question in the workplace, let alone for most women, but he needed to know.

“Twenty-five,” she answered, quickly adding, “I turn twenty-six in three months.”

“Cancer or Leo?” he whispered.

Why the hell did he just ask that? And why did it come out as a whisper?! The fuck?

The angel’s feather took a small step backwards, watching him warily as if she expected him to pounce on her at any minute. “Leo. Um, I’m just going to be honest with you: I’m hella nervous right now. Getting called to your office is like getting called to the Principal’s office in high school. It’s never good news.”

Trevillo almost smiled. She was nervous. And she was cute. A downright sexy combination that had his snake head rearing up in its cage.

“Relax, Miss Kingston. You’re not endangered. You were summoned here to be informed of your new contract. That is, the Skylark project.”

Taking another step backwards, her eyes widened.

Damn those eyes.

“What? No!” Instantly, her hand flew to her mouth at her outburst, and then she said in more polite manner, “I mean, I can’t.”

Arching a brow at her audacity, he figured it was time to snap out of his school-boy lusting. “May I ask what sane person tries to turn down a contract for a high-end project coming directly from
me
?”

“Aside from the fact that I’m currently contracted on a nightclub, I-I don’t specialize in residential projects. Let alone tower lofts and penthouses.”

Staring back at her, Trevillo realized she was genuinely frightened by the idea of working on a project this big. Which was both unfathomable and unacceptable. A designer is a designer. Whether it’s a club, house, store, office … designers
design
.

“Miss Kingston, if we have given you a position here at The Dean’s Realty after your internship, then it’s because you fit the criteria of everything we look for in our designers. We don’t hire inept idiots or cowards. Also, if
I
have called you to my office to speak to you in person — which is a rarefied action — then it’s because I’ve seen your work and believe that you can suit my needs. Are you a coward, Miss Kingston? Are you inept?”

“No, but I — ”

“Your current contract is up in two days. On Friday, you will be taken to Skylark’s work site so you can view what you will be working with. If you prefer a virtual tour of the building emailed to you instead, no problem. Seven days is all I’m giving you to create your designs. I need three different options to choose from. Please bear in mind the type of project that Skylark is. The best requires nothing but the best.”

She took a step forward this time, her hands clasped under her chin. “Please, Mr. Nelson, I ca — ”

“Do you remember when I said you weren’t endangered, Miss Kingston? It was only but a minute ago.”