Holidays with the Billionaire

Chapter 2

Adlee

––––––––

O f course, that budget wasn’t good enough, and I had to literally walk back and forth three times for Gabe to itemize it more—when all Mr. Laskin had to do was reply to Gabe’s email and ask for himself.

I have my own list of crap to get done before the end of the day. Breakroom supply inventory, office supplies inventory, and then get the sheets drawn up to get signed off on for approval so I can purchase said items. The company we order from delivers, but I prefer to go out and pick the items up myself, just to get the hell out of here and shop with someone else’s money. Maybe throw in a few things for myself.

The breakroom stock didn’t take very long, as it was the usual stuff—coffee, creamer, condiments, napkins, plasticware, and paper plates. Anything else people want, they have to bring in themselves. I check the freezer to ensure the ice trays were filled, noticing they’re both cracked, and then leave the breakroom with my notepad in hand.

The office supply stockroom takes longer. I created a spreadsheet of what supplies we normally keep on hand and how much of each. We are pretty low on those things as well. I sure hope they give Lea this task when she starts her job. This was Mr. Fox’s secretary’s job before she retired last month, and I stupidly offered to take it over in the hopes I’d get selected. Looks like that backfired. Oh well, at least I get to get out of here for a little bit.

I’m almost done when someone enters the stockroom. I turn around and my breath freezes when I see the big boss Kelton Fox enter. He smells like a very expensive cologne, something woodsy and spicy, and I want to lick him. His icy blue eyes match my frigid mood, but he manages a chin dip that I suppose is a greeting. He turns and reaches for a package of sticky notes and a lined yellow legal pad. I stare at his back, where his wide shoulders taper down to a V beneath his fitted white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to the elbows, showing off tanned, muscular forearms. He definitely works out. His ass is firm as hell and I love the way his slacks show off how nice it looks against his trim waist. He turns suddenly and my gaze is glued to a very nice package.

He clears his throat as he catches me meat-gazing and I feel heat flood my cheeks. I stare up into his impossible blue eyes, a light-brown eyebrow raised in question.

“Mr. Fox,” is all I can get out before I whip around and rummage through the boxes of pens on the shelf and pretend to inventory them, even though I already know I have six boxes and need fourteen more.

I refuse to turn around until I hear him exiting, and could swear a low chuckle floats from him as he leaves.

Crap.

How am I ever going to look him in the face again?

Once inventory is done, I leave and head to my desk to type up the purchase form, my face probably still flushed with mortification at getting caught lusting over the luscious body of the CEO. Damn, that man is fine .

After it’s typed up, I print it out and head over to Laskin’s office. I knock on my boss’s doorframe, dreading having to deal with him, but I have no choice.

“What?” he calls out.

I paste a smile on my face and walk to his desk, placing the purchase request on it. “I need to get supplies. Could you sign, please?”

He glares at me, then shoves his reading glasses on before picking up the sheet and scrutinizing it. This is a tedious request that Accounting should be able to sign it for me, but Laskin is such a micromanager that he wants to see everything.

“What’s this shit?” he asks, pointing to the line item with the two $0.99 plastic ice cube trays.

“The trays in the freezer are cracked. We need to replace them. If we had a fridge with an icemaker, this wouldn’t—”

“Whatever,” he interrupts, and I bite my lip.

He takes what feels like forever to analyze the rest of the list before scribbling his signature on it.

“Thanks,” I say, walking out and shutting his door just to piss him off. He of course yells at me to leave it open, and I, of course, ignore him.

I head to my desk to grab my purse.

“Where ya goin’?” Gabe asks, shoving a piece of gum in his mouth as he leans on my cubicle.

I wave the purchase order. “To get supplies. I need to get outta here.”

“He actually signed off on it, huh?” Gabe chuckles.

I roll my eyes. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He snorts. “Have fun.”

“I plan to,” I mutter, heading out of the office and to my car.

A fter I’m done shopping , I shut off the engine to my little car, parking next to the elevators so I can load these supplies in and take them up to the fifteenth floor where Fox Investments sits. The garage’s security guard, Luke, sees me struggling with the boxes and rushes over to help.

“Here, let me,” he says, smiling at me with that boyish charm he always hits me with. He’s cute but not my type, yet I let him flirt with me because I have no life. Also, he can’t be more than twenty-one, and too young for me. I’m almost twenty-nine, for God’s sake.

“Thanks, Luke,” I say sincerely as he helps me load the boxes into the elevator.

“Anytime, Adlee,” he replies with his boyish smile.

“I’ll be right back to move my car.” I gesture to my little Subaru that I parked sort of illegally in the yellow zone.

“Oh, no problem. I’ll keep an eye on it for ya.”

I grin at him as the elevator doors close.

Once I reach the fifteenth floor, I sort of kick the boxes out of the elevator before the doors close on me. Thankfully, Gabe is coming out of the breakroom, which is near the elevators, and sees me. He grabs two boxes, and I grab two and bring them into the breakroom.

“Help me unload or go move my car. Those are your choices,” I say.

“Unload,” he responds. “That parking garage is a hot mess. Wish I was an exec so I could park near the elevators,” he continues sarcastically.

“I’m surprised the execs don’t have personal drivers,” I mumble, setting my purse down and grabbing my keys. “Be right back.”

After I move my car, I take the elevator back up and help Gabe unpack supplies from the boxes into the breakroom, and then he helps me with the stockroom. I’m tempted to tell him what happened here earlier with Mr. Fox, but I refrain. I’d never hear the damn end of it.

I shove my purse into my desk drawer, groaning internally that I hadn’t planned my trip very well. I still have another hour of work, when I could have postponed my trip and left an hour early and just unpacked this shit on Monday. I pull out my cell phone and check messages, clearing emails. A whiff of expensive cologne hits me and I shove my phone into the top drawer of my desk, as if checking my phone is against the rules. Technically, we can have them here, but most of the execs bitch if we’re on them for too long. Which is understandable, I guess.

Mr. Fox walks by on his way to Mr. Laskin’s office, and I again appreciate his backside. He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me whatsoever, but that’s okay. I prefer to ogle the man from afar where he can’t see me being a perv.

I pull up the purchase request on my computer and begin modifying it to match the actual cost of what I bought today, and when I’m almost done, Mr. Fox comes walking toward me. Our eyes meet and I offer him a pleasant smile, hoping I don’t look too flirtatious, and he doesn’t smile back, but again dips his chin ever so slightly. A chin with a cleft in it that I want to lick. Why are those so sexy? Probably because the rest of his jawline is sharp and sexy as well.

I’ll admit to having googled the CEO god when I first got the job here—scratch that—when I first met him after my first week here. He apparently played for the National Hockey League straight out of college, and I found it odd he was now the CEO of a major investment firm until I learned he’d inherited the company from his dad. Probably pressured to take over so the old man could retire, but that’s my personal assumption.

I do have to wonder what has him so closed off, though. He’s hot as hell, probably has his pick of any woman. Certainly would never be someone like me, not that I would risk it. I need this job and can’t risk getting fired for flirting with the big man. Even if I do want to take him for a test drive after what I saw from my meat-gazing earlier.

After I revise the purchase request, I bring it to dickhead boss, he scrutinizes it, and finally signs it. I scan it and send it off to Accounting and am overjoyed that it’s time to go home.