The Hawthorne Brothers: A Complete Billionaire Romance Collection Read online

  My eyebrows arch. "Why, what happened to Roseanne?"

  "She asked me if she could retire when I stepped down, and I thought it was only right. I was going to suggest it to her, actually. She was my assistant for so many years. Now, Stella will be yours. Sounds good?"

  I feel like slapping my forehead. Now that everything makes sense, I feel even more embarrassed. Instead, I straighten my shoulders as I turn to Stella with a smile.

  "Perfect," I tell her. "And I hope you'll forgive me for the misunderstanding earlier."

  Stella shakes her head. "No worries, sir."

  "I look forward to working with you. I'm sure we can make a great team and learn a lot from each other."

  She smiles back. "Thank you."

  It's a hesitant yet warm smile that brings out more of the golden flecks in her eyes. It lights up her entire face.

  Fuck. Now that I know I can't sleep with her, I feel like doing it even more, even if it's just to see how her eyes look when glossed over with lust, just to see what kind of smile she can show me when we're done.

  "Well, I'll leave her in your hands." My father pats my back before walking away.

  I notice Stella's eyes following his back like she's wishing he hadn't left us alone. Again, she fidgets with her sleeve.

  "Would you like a drink?" I ask her.

  Maybe a drink will help her loosen up.

  "No, thank you," Stella answers. "I still have work to do after this."

  "What work?" I ask curiously.

  "Stuff to read. Files to organize. I also have to unpack my stuff. I've just moved in from Seattle."

  "Really? Well, I think you'll love it here in Chicago."

  Stella nods. "I do like it already."

  "What do you love to eat?" I ask her.

  She touches the nape of her neck. "I like Asian food just like you. Thai. Vietnamese."

  "Good. I'll give you a list of my favorite restaurants."

  "Um, I actually have it already. Cindy, your old assistant, gave it to me."

  Of course she did. I suddenly wonder why Dad didn't just promote Cindy. She must be pissed. Or not. She was always complaining about not having enough time to go out on dates when she thought I wasn't listening. Maybe Mark will give her that.

  "What did she say about me?" I ask Stella.

  She shrugs. "A lot of things."

  None of which she wants to tell me. That's fine.

  "Any questions?"

  "A dozen," she answers. "None that I can think of right now."

  I nod. "Well, you can ask me anything."

  "Okay."

  But I get the feeling she's not going to. She's more reserved than Cindy, maybe because she's younger. I'm going to take a look at her resume later, but I already have a feeling she's at least seven years younger than I am. Or maybe it's because she's new. Or maybe that's just her personality. She doesn't strike me as someone who likes parties or adventures. Not that those are requirements for an executive assistant.

  I'm sure she's very capable. I'm just not sure if she's ready for this job. For that matter, I'm not even sure if I'm ready for my job. I know I'm going to be under a lot of stress, some of which I'll end up taking out on her. If she's scared of me now, she might run away then. If she looks daunted now, she might be overwhelmed then.

  Can Stella last? Or is she going to scram the first time things go to hell? Because I'm pretty sure they will.

  ~

  "Fuck!"

  I pack all my frustration into that single obscenity and unleash it as I swipe my arm across my section of the conference table. Sheets of paper go flying across the room. Not content, I bang my fists on the glass. My shoulders heave as I try to catch my breath.

  That son of a bitch! Does he think that just because my father is no longer the CEO he can just do as he pleases?

  As the door to the room opens, I lift my head. A man, someone from the cleaning staff judging by his gray shirt, peeks in. He sees the mess on the floor and gasps. His jaw is still gaping when his gaze clashes with mine.

  "What are you looking at?" I snap at him.

  He scratches the back of his head as he looks away. "I'm sorry, sir. I..."

  "Didn't anyone teach you to knock?"

  "Yes, sir. I just - I didn't mean to come in, sir. I was just passing by and I heard a noise so I thought - "

  "Get out!"

  He scrambles out the door, leaving it open. I sink into my chair and let out a sigh. As my temper simmers away, I can feel exhaustion setting in.

  I really should tell Stella to cut down the number of my meetings and appointments. I know I've only just started out as CEO and I have a heap of expectations to live up to, but at this rate I'm going to get burned out before I accomplish anything.

  A few seconds later, she enters the room. Her eyes meet mine briefly but she doesn't utter a word. She just kneels on the carpet and starts picking up the sheets of paper.

  I watch her, wondering what thoughts are bouncing inside that head of hers. I got a chance to read her file, so I know a bit more about her now. She's ten years younger than I am, she has no siblings, and her first job was at a library. Even so, I still feel like I don't know her.

  I tap my fingers on the table. "Shouldn't you have left by now?"

  "I had some things I needed to finish," Stella answers without looking up.

  Right. She's just as busy as I am, maybe more. These past few days, she always seems to be on the phone or typing away on her laptop, sometimes both at the same time. And yet I've never seen her frantic or frazzled. Her desk is always neat. Every strand of her hair remains in place. Her shoulders are always straight. I've even caught her smiling several times. And here I thought she'd be gone by now, or at least have broken down in tears a few times.

  I hate to say it, but she's doing better at her new job than I am at mine.

  "How do you do it?" I ask her. "Do so much without complaining?"

  "Complaining isn't going to make things easier, is it?" she says. "Same as yelling at people who didn't do anything wrong."

  She heard that?

  "He entered the room without knocking. You know that's not allowed."

  "The red light was off," she points out. That indicates there's no meeting in session. "Also, Jim was just concerned. That noise really was loud."

  "Jim?"

  Stella looks up. "I've memorized the names of most of the employees on this floor. I think it's important to know who you're working with, even those who clean the toilets and empty out the trash."

  I can't say I've bothered. In fact, Stella is the only employee on this floor I can name.

  I lean forward and rest my arms on the table. "You think I'm a horrible boss, don't you?"

  "No," she answers. "But I think you're losing sight of what's important. You're the leader of this company now. You're busy trying to earn the praises of a few people who don't care about this company while you should be earning the respect of the people who do care about this company. Your people."

  "What do you want me to do? Give everyone a raise? A monthly vacation? Go to every floor to greet everyone every morning?"

  "Just try not to look like you're in a bad mood all the time. And don't yell."

  I constantly seem to be in a bad mood? I wasn't aware of that.

  "And don't be afraid to make small talk, even if it's just in the elevator or in the hallway. Even just a few sentences."

  "So you think I should be nicer?" I ask.

  "I think you shouldn't be too serious," Stella replies. "Maybe if you didn't put so much pressure on yourself, you wouldn't feel the need to, um, decompress so often."

  Wow. I didn't realize she had such interesting ideas.

  "And don't let pricks like Cripshaw get to you," she adds. "You know more about business than he does, so if he doesn't want to push through with the deal he signed with your father, that's his loss. Tell him that."

  I grin. That's an idea I can definitely get on board with.

&nb
sp; Stella's incredible. Just by pointing out a few things, she's made me feel better. I'm not exasperated anymore. Or exhausted. I get out of my chair and help her pick up the rest of the papers.

  "So, have you settled into your new apartment?" I ask her.

  She looks puzzled by the change in topic.

  "Small talk," I explain. "You said I should do it. I thought I'd start with you."

  "Oh."

  She tries to stand so I help her to her feet before handing her the other papers. She hugs them to her chest.

  "I haven't unpacked everything, actually," she says. "And I still need a few more things, but yeah, it's starting to feel like home."

  "How are you finding Chicago?"

  "Drier," she answers with a chuckle.

  I grin.

  Stella falls silent, pursing her lips. I realize she's back to being shy again. Hopefully, as time passes, she'll be less so.

  "Go home and get some rest," I tell her. "We still have one more day to go before we call it a week."

  "Yes, sir." She turns around.

  "Oh, and maybe make it a maximum of three meetings a day starting next week," I suggest. "Like you said. Less pressure."

  Stella nods. "Okay."

  "Good night."

  "Good night."

  She gives me a final smile over her shoulder before walking off. I find myself smiling, too, as I cross my arms over my chest.

  And aching. I've never had a woman tell me what I should do like Stella just did. And it's hot. I just want to drag her back here, push her down on top of this table, let her tell me everything she wants me to do with her, do it, and then bury myself inside her until I've got nothing left.

  But no.

  As amazing as Stella is, she is my assistant, my employee. Maybe my most valuable employee at the moment. I can't mess with that. I can't break the rules and jeopardize both our careers.

  It's tempting, but I can't. So I'll just wrap this desire in a pretty parcel and throw it inside a pit in the back of my mind where I hope it will eventually get buried and disintegrate into nothing.

  I'm the boss and Stella is my trusted employee. That's all there is between us.

  That's all there ever will be.

  Chapter One

  Stella

  Two years later

  "No!" I scream after I turn the page of the book I'm reading to find the next one blank except for the words To be continued...

  For a moment, I just stare at the paper with eyes and mouth wide, part of me hoping that more words will magically appear like the details of a Polaroid picture exposed to light and air. When they don't, I accept my defeat with a sigh. I close the book and hug it to my chest as I sink into the heap of pillows on my bed.

  I can't believe the author ended the book just like that, with the revelation of a shocking secret that I never saw coming and which now changes everything. I don't even know how the main characters are going to end up together now, and I'll be heartbroken if they don't. It's just so mean. And yet, I have to admit it's also pure genius. It's just like when you're watching a movie and you hate the villain but then you're also in awe of the actor because he played his role so well and made you hate him so much. This way, I'm definitely buying the next book when it comes out. In fact, I can't wait to devour it.

  When is it coming out? I go online on my laptop to check. Next year? I have to wait that long? Now, this is just torture.

  I allow myself to simmer in my frustration for a minute. If I had someone to talk to about this book, I'd probably feel better faster, but I don't. It's sad, really. The only thing sadder than finishing a book is not having anyone to discuss it with. That's why book clubs were invented. But what can I do? I left my few friends back in Seattle and I haven't made any new ones. Well, there are some people from the company that I have lunch with, but I haven't had the chance to hang out with them after work. More accurately, I haven't had the time. I usually have to stay at the office until late at night. Even when I don't, I'm on the phone or the computer or by Ethan's side nearly every minute of the day, trying to keep track of everything without losing my own sanity and composure. By the time I get home, I'm so exhausted I go straight to bed. Except Friday nights like tonight. Knowing I have two days to rest gives me an extra boost of energy so I can stay up and read a book. Too bad I finished this one before ten.

  As I place the book on the nightstand, my eyes fall on the family photo in the red frame - my dad, my mom and me after I just played a fairy in a school play. Happy days.

  I pick up the frame and put it on my lap.

  I miss them. Growing up, I knew that I would lose them at a young age since they were already old when they had me. My mom was thirty-seven, my father forty-two. They knew it, too, so they did their best to prepare me, to make sure I could stand on my own two feet when it happened. I could. I did. But I wasn't ready.

  I wish they were still around. I wish I could hear my dad's laughter again even though I'll never forget the sound of it. He loved to make jokes and was always the first to laugh at them. I wish I could have more of my mother's cooking. She loved to make pastry - pies, pasta, dumplings. She would bring them to my room whenever I had to stay up late studying or when she knew I'd had a bad day. More than anything, I just wish they were still here so I could talk to them, so that I could tell them all about work and hear their words of advice and encouragement, or just talk to them about anything and not feel so alone like I do on nights like this.

  I know I'm alone, and most of the time, I'm fine. But there's something about the silence and the shadows of the night that turns my solitude into a sharp knife that stabs me in the gut.

  I put the frame back on the nightstand with a lump in my throat. Then I see the leather-bound journal. My journal.

  I've kept one since I was a kid. I don't write in it every day, usually just when I have ideas I want to reflect on, experiences I want to remember, thoughts I need to process or emotions I just need to get into words so I can make sense of them and take control of them. Like now.

  I pick up the journal, slide the strap off and find a blank page. Then I take the pen from my drawer and start to write.

  Nights like this, it's hard to breathe through the air of loneliness that fills my dark room. It's almost like fog or smoke.

  Nights like this, I wish I was anywhere else but my apartment. Maybe in a Greek seaside town, or Paris, or a charming Scottish village.

  Nights like this, I wish I had someone. Someone to wrap their arms around me and tell me everything will be alright.

  I wish I had someone I could call my own. A child. A son or a daughter to carry in my arms and press against my heart, whose forehead I can kiss, whose tiny fingers I can wrap around one of mine. I'm not sure I'll make a good mother, but I know I'm going to love the little person who comes out of my body like I've never loved before. Together, we'll conquer the world.

  And maybe a man of my own, too. A lover to keep me company in my bed. A good man who will keep the shadows at bay until morning, who will touch me in all the magical ways a woman wants to be touched. He'll pin my hands above my head and demand my surrender with his mouth, claiming my lips and worshiping my breasts. With his fingers, he will make me melt, pressing the secret button that transforms my excitement into ecstasy.

  I stop writing as heat flows from my fingertips to my toes, turning into an ache as it fills my breasts and then an inch as it settles between my legs. I can't ignore it.

  I put my pen and my journal down. Then I close my eyes and lie back.

  I lift the hem of my oversize shirt all the way to my armpits. I trap it between my teeth before pushing the waistband of my underwear down to my knees.

  I raise my knees and slip my hand between my legs. My fingers search for my nub and find it in seconds. As I stroke it, I touch my breast with my other hand. I pinch the nipple gently, then start to rub it.

  My hands in place, I let my imagination wander. I've never had sex before. Never had time f
or romance except for the one I had in high school which, thankfully, didn't get physical, because that guy was a jerk. So I simply conjure the sex acts from the memories of the books I've read, pretending I'm the heroine. I think about the book I just read, about that scene in the orchard. I pretend I'm lying on top of my cloak on the grass, the hero above me with his ebony eyes gazing into mine.

  He's supposed to have red hair like every member of his family and a scar on his cheek, and yet I can't seem to picture his face. I can feel my desire ebbing away.

  No. Think of a man. Any man. Any man with piercing eyes and a facial structure any artist would love to capture. A man with a perfectly fit body wrapped in a suit, who exudes testosterone and power.

  Suddenly, Ethan comes to mind. His coal black eyes. His raven hair. His jawline that never gets covered in hair and looks especially defined when you look at him from the side or when he's thinking and his hands are tucked beneath his chin. His thin lips that barely smile but bring out the adorable lines at the corners of his eyes when they do.

  He kisses me with those lips. I place my hands on his cheeks and pull his face down. He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head as his tongue subdues mine. His fingers tease my nipple and my nub at the same time and moans leave my throat, only to be muffled by his skillful mouth.

  That mouth descends on my breast and heat spreads across my back. His hand moves faster, strumming me like a guitarist working magic on his strings. I'm soaking wet. My breath comes in gasps. My hips rise off the bed and my toes curl into the mattress.

  The wave of pleasure comes. It sends me shaking all over and knocks the breath from my lungs. I throw my head back and let out a cry as I savor the height of that wave. After it passes, I drop my hips and straighten my legs. I take a moment to catch my breath before pulling my clothes back into place. Then I rest my hands on my chest as I stare at the ceiling.

  As my mind clears, dismay and remorse welcome me back to reality.

  What the hell, Stella? Masturbating to your boss? Not cool.

  I slap my forehead. I know I was feeling lonely, but that's no excuse for doing what I just did. Ethan is my boss. Sure, he may well be the hottest boss in the world, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't find him attractive. I've actually had a crush on him for the past two years, since the moment I saw his picture on the company website right after I was hired. And when we first met by the pool at his father's house? My knees got so weak I nearly fell into the water.