Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance Read Free

ago, he was draped over my chair like a leopard dreaming about its next meal – now he pounced.
    He leaned over the reception desk, his arms braced straight as doom on either side, his hands splayed wide on the gleaming glass-and-chrome surface of the desktop. He loomed over me with every inch of his towering body, his blazing eyes pinned me in place like the claws of a cat spearing into a mouse, and the suicidal courage I’d summoned a moment before decided to take a hike and leave me to my fate.
    I stared back at him, my mouth hanging open while vague thoughts of unemployment wandered through my brain.
    “You see, Ms. Daniels, unless you’re supplementing your Killane Corporate Holdings paycheck by rolling hobos or playing saxophone in the park in your spare time, the money in your pocket comes directly out of my pocket. Therefore, those were my doughnuts. In point of strictest fact, everything in this lobby is mine.”
    Without warning and without looking, he lifted his right leg and kicked back at my chair, sending it slamming into the wall behind him.
    “That chair is mine. This desk is mine. The elevators are mine, the hideous plants we seem to have scattered everywhere are mine, and there’s an 1880 oil painting by Van Gogh around here somewhere which has been mine ever since I paid seventy million dollars for it last year.”
    He leaned forward until his eyes were only inches away from mine.
    “More to the point, your luscious ass is mine.”
    He nodded at the flock of executives waiting for him nearby. “Those gibbons in suits over there are mine. Every scurrying ant of a wage slave in this extravagant building is mine, and –”
    Whoa, wait up – the tall, gorgeous billionaire thought my ass was luscious? Did I wander into an alternate universe this morning?
    Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the executive types staring at my allegedly luscious rear and then turning to raise an eyebrow at the guy standing next to him, who responded with an indifferent shrug. Apparently, those two gibbons did not share Mr. Killane’s high opinion of my ass.
    “ – and is your attention wandering, Ms. Daniels?”
    My deadly boss now stood two steps back from my desk. His arms were crossed, his head was cocked to one side, and he looked every bit of his imposing six feet and five inches. His voice dripped with acid, his body language vibrated with contained anger, and if the look in his blue-violet eyes could kill, I’d be bleeding out on the floor with a dozen knives sticking out of me.
    “Even your modest pay grade should be enough to compel you to pay attention to me when I’m talking to you – Mr. Covington, just what sort of salary am I paying her, anyway?”
    He whipped his head around to stare at the herd of suits hovering a few feet away. They backed away a step like a single frightened animal, leaving the unfortunate Mr. Covington to stand alone.
    “Sir, main reception is not a salaried position – it’s paid at a straight wage of … $14 an hour, I believe?”
    I chimed in, “More like $13.25 an hour, Mr. Killane, and no benefits.”
    “Really? I don’t see how a church mouse could live on that kind of money, not in this city – if you were going to remain employed here, I’d have to do something about that, but as matters stand … oh, and Mr. Covington?”
    The suits took another step back, and the fidgeting Mr. Covington looked as if he’d rather be standing on the surface of the sun than under the withering glare of Devon Killane.
    “Yes, sir?”
    “In future, Mr. Covington, I expect accurate information from you. Is that clear?”
    “Absolutely, sir.”
    Mr. Covington shrank back into the herd. At the same moment, another of the executives stepped forward, sliding her eyes from Mr. Killane to the elevators and back again. I noticed she held the handle of her briefcase so tightly that her knuckles were white.
    “Sir, whenever you’re ready to wrap this up, we have the negotiation