The Billionaire's Dirty Little Secret II

The Missing Earring

The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was an intoxicating blend of crisp mint, expensive cedarwood, and the unmistakable, heady scent of pure male musk.

I groaned, my head throbbing in a steady rhythm that matched the erratic beating of my heart. As I dragged my heavy eyelids open, the blinding morning sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite nearly blinded me. This wasn't my cramped, messy apartment. This was a room that screamed old money and careless luxury.

Then, I felt it—the heavy, warm arm draped securely over my bare waist, anchoring me to a firm, scorching-hot body.

Every muscle in my body seized. The memories of last night crashed over me like a tidal wave. The dimly lit VIP lounge, the excessive amount of tequila I shouldn't have drank, the dark, magnetic eyes of a stranger that seemed to strip me bare from across the room. I remembered the desperate, breathless kisses in the elevator, the way his large hands had gripped my hips, and the rough, demanding sound of his voice whispering dark promises against my skin.

Oh my god. What have I done?

I held my breath and slowly, agonizingly, turned my head to look over my shoulder.

The man sleeping beside me was, quite frankly, a masterpiece carved by the gods. Even in sleep, his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, his dark hair tousled in a way that made my fingers itch to run through it again. Broad shoulders, a sculpted chest, and an aura of absolute dominance that radiated even in the quiet of the morning.

He shifted slightly, his grip on my waist tightening. A low, sleepy rumble vibrated from his chest.

Panic, icy and absolute, spiked through my veins. I was Jennifer Morris, a struggling twenty-three-year-old junior jewelry designer who lived paycheck to paycheck. I didn't do one-night stands. I certainly didn't do one-night stands in five-star hotel penthouses with men who looked like they owned half the city. If my boss found out I had been out drinking and making reckless mistakes on a Tuesday night instead of working on the new collection sketches, I'd be fired before lunch.

Moving with the stealth of a terrified mouse, I carefully lifted his heavy, muscular arm off my waist. I winced as the sheets rustled, holding my breath until I was sure he was still deeply asleep.

I slipped out of the massive king-sized bed, wincing at the dull ache between my thighs—a stark reminder of just how wild the night had been. My clothes were scattered across the plush carpet like a trail of evidence. I scrambled to collect them, throwing on my crumpled black dress, my stockings, and my heels.

I rushed to the vanity mirror in the lavish marble bathroom to fix my disastrous hair. That's when I noticed it.

My left earlobe was bare. The vintage pearl drop earring—a family heirloom and my good luck charm—was missing.

Frantic, I dropped to my knees, scanning the floor, lifting the edges of the thick duvet, checking under the nightstand. Nothing.

Where is it?

I glanced back at the bed. The missing earring had to be tangled in the sheets somewhere near him. But as the man let out a deep sigh and shifted again, rolling onto his back and exposing an eight-pack that made my mouth water, my survival instincts kicked in.

I couldn't risk waking him up. The humiliation of the "morning after" conversation was more than I could bear.

"Keep the earring," I whispered to the empty room, grabbing my purse and fleeing the penthouse as fast as my legs could carry me.

Two hours later, I was sprinting through the sleek glass doors of Aurora Designs, clutching a lukewarm coffee and a folder full of half-finished sketches. My hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and I was dressed in my usual conservative, oversized beige blazer that hid every curve of my body.

"You're late, Morris."

The sharp, nasal voice cut through the air before I even reached my desk. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath to brace myself before turning around.

Blair Pierce, my direct supervisor and the bane of my existence, stood there, tapping a manicured fingernail against her tablet. She was dressed in a skintight scarlet designer dress that probably cost more than my annual rent. Her perfect blowout bounced as she glared at me.

"I'm sorry, Blair. The subway was delayed," I lied smoothly, forcing a polite smile.

Blair scoffed, looking me up and down with obvious disdain. "Save the excuses. I need those drafts for the 'Eternal Promise' collection by noon. And make sure they actually look like they belong in a high-end catalog this time, not a pawn shop window."

"I'll have them ready," I muttered, gripping my folder tighter.

"You'd better," Blair sneered, leaning closer. "Because the new CEO is arriving this afternoon. The board ousted the old management yesterday, and the new big boss is coming to clean house. Everyone is on the chopping block, Jennifer. Especially junior designers who can't meet deadlines."

My stomach dropped. "A new CEO?"

"Yes," Blair preened, her eyes gleaming with ambition. "He's flying in straight from corporate headquarters. Rumor has it he's young, ruthless, and highly demanding. A billionaire prodigy. I intend to make a very... lasting impression on him today. So don't mess this up for me."

With a final haughty glare, she spun on her stiletto heel and marched away.

I collapsed into my office chair, rubbing my temples. A new CEO. Layoffs. Blair breathing down my neck to steal my designs for her own portfolio, as usual. As if my day couldn't get any worse, my body still ached from the mysterious stranger from last night, and my ear felt naked without my lucky pearl.

I buried myself in work, trying to drown out my anxiety. But the hours flew by in a blur, and before I knew it, the intercom buzzed, announcing the mandatory all-staff meeting in the main auditorium.

The auditorium was packed with over two hundred employees, a sea of nervous whispers and tense faces. I found a seat in the back row, hoping to remain entirely invisible. I pulled out my notebook, fully intending to doodle my way through another boring corporate speech.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the front of the room swung open. The room fell into dead, suffocating silence.

A group of executives walked in, but they were little more than background noise to the man leading them.

He was dressed in a bespoke, razor-sharp charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist to perfection. His dark hair was immaculately styled, a stark contrast to the messy, sex-tousled look from this morning. His expression was cold, impenetrable, and radiating an aura of absolute authority that commanded the entire room.

My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the wooden desk.

I stopped breathing. My heart slammed against my ribs so violently I thought it might crack them.

No. No, no, no. This is a nightmare.

It was him. The man from the hotel. The man I had straddled, kissed, and screamed for mere hours ago.

He walked up to the podium, his movements predatory and sleek. He adjusted the microphone, his dark, dangerous eyes sweeping over the crowd of terrified employees.

"Good afternoon," his deep, gravelly voice echoed through the speakers, sending a familiar, terrifying shiver straight down my spine. "I am Harvey Bass. And as of today, I own Aurora Designs."

I slouched down in my seat, desperately trying to hide behind the tall guy sitting in front of me. Please don't see me. Please don't see me.

"I expect excellence. I expect loyalty," Harvey continued, his gaze drifting lazily across the room as if he was hunting for prey. "And I despise people who run away from their responsibilities."

His eyes stopped scanning. They locked onto the back row. Straight onto me.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a slow, dark, utterly wicked smirk. He knew exactly who I was.

He rested his elbow on the podium and casually reached into the pocket of his tailored suit pants. The crowd watched, breathless, as the intimidating billionaire CEO slowly pulled his hand out.

He held it up to the light, letting the microphone catch the subtle sound of the metal chain. Dangling from his long, elegant fingers was a single, vintage pearl drop earring.

My earring.

"I look forward to getting to know... every single one of you," Harvey murmured smoothly, his dark eyes never leaving mine as his thumb stroked the smooth surface of my pearl. "Very, very intimately."

Dirty Little Secrets

The moment the staff meeting was dismissed, I practically sprinted to the nearest women's restroom, locked myself in a handicap stall, and aggressively dry-heaved over the toilet.

My hands were shaking so violently I could barely grip the edges of the porcelain sink when I finally stood up to splash cold water on my face. I stared at my pale, terrified reflection in the mirror.

Harvey Bass.

The man I had given my virginity to—the man whose back I had scratched up in a fit of wild passion—was the ruthless billionaire who now held my entire career in the palm of his hand.

"Deny everything," I whispered to my reflection, my voice trembling. "Play dumb. Total amnesia. You've never seen him before in your life. The earring is a coincidence. Lots of people have vintage pearl earrings."

It was a flimsy, pathetic plan, but it was the only one I had. If word got out that a lowly junior designer had slept with the CEO before he even took office, I wouldn't just be fired; I'd be blacklisted from the jewelry design industry forever. Blair would make sure of it.

I took a deep breath, smoothed down my frumpy beige blazer, and marched back to the design department.

I barely had time to sit down before my desk phone rang. It was practically shrieking. I picked it up, my palm sweating against the plastic.

"Jennifer Morris?" the crisp, professional voice of the executive assistant echoed through the line. "Mr. Bass would like to see you in his office. Immediately."

My heart stopped. "Me? Are... are you sure he didn't mean Blair Pierce? The Design Director?"

"He specifically asked for Jennifer Morris. Top floor. Don't keep him waiting."

The line went dead.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt like a slow descent into a grave. When the silver doors slid open, I was greeted by the imposing mahogany double doors of the CEO's suite. I swallowed hard, raised a trembling fist, and knocked.

"Enter," a deep, velvet voice commanded.

I pushed the door open. The executive suite was massive, with panoramic windows overlooking the city skyline. Harvey Bass was sitting behind a sleek, black marble desk. He had discarded his suit jacket, and his crisp white dress shirt was rolled up at the forearms, revealing the thick, muscular forearms I had desperately clung to the night before.

He didn't look up from the paperwork he was signing. "Close the door, Miss Morris. And lock it."

I froze. "I... I don't think locking the door is necessary, Mr. Bass. I'm just here to—"

His dark eyes snapped up, pinning me in place. The sheer intensity of his gaze made my knees weak. "Lock it."

Trembling, I reached behind me and turned the heavy brass deadbolt. The loud click echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.

I took a few tentative steps forward, clutching my hands tightly in front of my stomach. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Harvey slowly set his luxury fountain pen down. He leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers as his eyes dragged slowly, deliberately, over my conservative outfit. His lips curled into a mocking smirk.

"You clean up well, Jennifer," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Though I have to admit, I prefer the black lace lingerie you were wearing last night. Or better yet... nothing at all."

My face burned hot enough to rival the sun, but I dug my fingernails into my palms and forced a blank, confused expression onto my face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bass," I said, my voice remarkably steady. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I believe you have me confused with someone else."

Harvey didn't blink. He just stared at me for a long, agonizing moment before he stood up. He was terrifyingly tall. He walked around the desk, stalking toward me with the slow, calculated grace of a predator cornering a rabbit.

"Confused with someone else?" he repeated softly, stopping just inches away from me. The heat radiating off his body enveloped me, bringing with it that intoxicating scent of mint and cedarwood.

"Yes, sir," I lied, keeping my eyes fixed stubbornly on his silk tie. "I spent last night at home. Working on design drafts."

"Is that so?" Harvey's hand suddenly shot out, his long fingers wrapping around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard chest. I gasped, my hands flying up to rest against his solid muscles to keep from falling.

"Mr. Bass!" I hissed, looking around the office wildly. "You can't do this!"

"I own the building, Jennifer. I can do whatever I want," he whispered, dipping his head until his lips were brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck. I shivered involuntarily. "And you're a terrible liar."

"I don't know you!" I protested weakly, trying to push him away. He was immovable.

"You didn't know me when you let me take you against the wall of the VIP lounge elevator, either," he rasped, his breath hot against my collarbone.

"Stop," I breathed, my face flushing scarlet.

"You didn't know me when you wrapped those long legs around my waist," Harvey continued, his hand sliding slowly down my back, gripping the curve of my hip with a possessive strength that made my core ache. "Or when you begged me to go deeper. You were practically sobbing my name, Jennifer. 'Please, Harvey. Don't stop.'"

Hearing him repeat my dirty, desperate pleas from the night before in the middle of a corporate office made a wicked, shameful thrill shoot straight between my thighs.

"That wasn't me," I whimpered, my eyes fluttering shut as his nose nuzzled the spot just below my ear.

"Wasn't it?" Harvey chuckled, a dark, vibrating sound. "Then I suppose it wasn't you who has that tiny, faded birthmark right on the inside of your left thigh? The one I tasted for a solid twenty minutes?"

My eyes snapped open, mortification flooding my veins. He had me. There was no denying it anymore. The amnesia act was dead and buried.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, my voice cracking. "You're the CEO. You could have any supermodel in the city. I'm just a junior designer. Please, if anyone finds out, my career is over. Just let me go, and we can pretend this never happened."

Harvey's expression darkened instantly. His grip on my waist tightened to the point of pain. He backed me up until my hips hit the edge of his marble desk. He caged me in, placing a hand on the desk on either side of my body.

"We are not pretending anything didn't happen," he growled, his eyes blazing with a fierce, terrifying possessiveness. "You ran from my bed, Jennifer. No one runs from me. You are mine. And I'm going to make sure you remember exactly who you belong to."

He reached up, his thumb roughly tracing my lower lip. My breath hitched. He leaned in, his gaze fixed on my mouth, the air between us crackling with unbearable sexual tension. I could feel his hard arousal pressing against my stomach through our clothes.

He was going to kiss me. And heaven help me, I wanted him to.

His lips were a millimeter away from mine when a sharp, authoritative knock echoed on the office door.

We both froze.

"Mr. Bass?" a sickly-sweet, high-pitched voice called out from the hallway. "It's Blair Pierce. The Design Director. I brought those design portfolios you requested. And I took the liberty of bringing you an espresso."

It was Blair.

Panic seized my chest. If Blair walked in and saw me pinned against the CEO's desk with her boss fully aroused, she would destroy me before the hour was up.

Under the Table

"Mr. Bass?" Blair called out again, rattling the brass doorknob. "The door seems to be locked."

I shoved Harvey backward with a sudden burst of panicked strength. "Let me go!" I mouthed frantically, pointing wildly at the heavy mahogany door.

Harvey sighed, a low, frustrated sound of pure masculine annoyance. He stepped back, his eyes dark with unfulfilled promise. He smoothed down his perfectly pressed shirt, completely unfazed by the interruption.

"Sit in that chair," he ordered quietly, pointing to the leather guest chair positioned to the left of his desk. "Pull out a notepad. Act like an assistant."

I didn't argue. I scrambled into the chair, desperately smoothing down my wrinkled blazer and fixing my messy hair. I grabbed a pen and flipped open a blank notebook, my hands still shaking violently.

Harvey walked over to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open with a cold, irritated expression.

Blair stood in the doorway, striking a pose that aggressively pushed out her chest. She was carrying a stack of leather-bound portfolios in one hand and a steaming cup of espresso in the other.

"Mr. Bass," Blair purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. "I apologize for the interruption, but I know how much corporate values efficiency. I wanted to personally deliver the seasonal design pitches for the upcoming 'Eternal Promise' collection."

Harvey didn't smile. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. "Put them on the conference table."

Blair swaggered into the room, her hips swaying deliberately with every step of her stilettos. She placed the coffee and portfolios on the long glass conference table in the corner of the suite. She turned around with a victorious smile, ready to claim Harvey's undivided attention—until her eyes landed on me.

Her smile immediately curdled into a scowl. "Jennifer? What on earth are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be in the basement sorting through gemstone inventory?"

"I—" I stuttered, my face still flushed red.

"Miss Morris is here at my request," Harvey interrupted, his voice dropping to a glacial, intimidating tone that made Blair flinch. He walked past her and took a seat at the head of the conference table. "She is taking notes for this meeting. Have a seat, Miss Pierce."

Blair's jaw tightened in annoyance, but she quickly masked it with a dazzling smile, taking the seat to Harvey's immediate right. I quietly moved over to the seat on his left, keeping my head down and my pen poised over the paper.

"Of course, Mr. Bass," Blair cooed, leaning over the table to open the first portfolio. The plunging neckline of her scarlet dress gaped dangerously wide, putting her cleavage on full display right under his nose.

"As the Design Director, I’ve overseen the creative direction for this quarter," Blair began, tracing a manicured fingernail over a sketch of a diamond necklace. I instantly recognized the design—it was an early concept I had drafted months ago, one she had rejected as "unmarketable" before miraculously reviving it under her own name. My blood boiled, but I bit my tongue.

Harvey leaned back in his chair, his face an impenetrable mask of absolute boredom. He didn't even glance at Blair's cleavage. His dark eyes stared blankly at the portfolio.

"As you can see, my vision is all about bold, aggressive luxury," Blair continued, leaning closer to Harvey, "I like to take... control of my projects. A very hands-on approach." She let her hand casually drop from the portfolio, her fingers lightly brushing against Harvey's muscular forearm.

I gripped my pen so hard my knuckles turned white.

Harvey didn't flinch, nor did he acknowledge her touch. He simply kept staring ahead.

But suddenly, beneath the long, dark modesty tablecloth that draped over our legs, I felt something brush against my ankle.

I froze.

It was a man's hard leather dress shoe. It tapped lightly against my right ankle, testing the waters. I sucked in a sharp breath, keeping my eyes glued to my notebook. He wouldn't. Not right here. Not with Blair sitting two feet away.

I was wrong.

The shoe slowly, deliberately glided up my calf. The heat of Harvey's leg radiated through the thin fabric of my stockings.

I risked a glance at him. Above the table, Harvey looked like the epitome of a ruthless, untouchable corporate titan. His jaw was clenched tight, his expression stony and completely professional as he listened to Blair ramble on about profit margins.

But below the table, the devil was at work.

His large foot nudged my right knee, applying a firm, insistent pressure until I had no choice but to part my legs slightly.

My breath hitched audibly.

"Is there a problem, Jennifer?" Blair snapped, glaring at me. "Are my concepts too complex for you to keep up with the notes?"

"N-no," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "Just... clearing my throat."

Harvey didn't even blink. He slowly turned his head to look at Blair. "Continue, Miss Pierce. I'm fascinated."

Encouraged by his words, Blair practically beamed, flipping to the next page. "Well, if you look at the curvature of this band—"

Beneath the table, Harvey's shoe slid past my knee and began a slow, torturous ascent up my inner thigh.

A jolt of pure electricity shot straight to my core. I squeezed my eyes shut, my entire body going rigid. The contrast between his cold, indifferent demeanor above the table and the scandalous, dirty invasion happening beneath it was driving me insane.

His shoe pressed firmly against the sensitive flesh of my upper thigh, teasing dangerously close to my center. I bit my lower lip hard to keep from moaning. My hands were trembling so badly I couldn't write a single word on the notepad.

I tried to subtly shift my chair to the left, trying to escape his reach.

Harvey effortlessly followed. He hooked his ankle around the leg of my chair and yanked it closer to him with a quiet scrape against the carpet.

Blair paused. "Did you hear something?"

"Just the building settling," Harvey replied smoothly, his voice devoid of any emotion. He turned his dark gaze toward me, his eyes hooded and gleaming with a wicked, predatory hunger.

Beneath the table, he turned his foot, pressing the hard leather toe of his shoe directly against the junction of my thighs. He applied a deliberate, crushing pressure right against my aching core.

A whimper tore from my throat. My body jerked violently in the chair.

My arm flailed out, slamming into my crystal water glass.

Crash!

The glass shattered against the edge of the conference table, sending ice water splashing all over Blair's leather portfolios and soaking the edge of my blazer.

"You clumsy idiot!" Blair shrieked, jumping up from her chair and frantically trying to wipe the water off the sketches. "Look what you've done! You ruined the presentation!"

I sat there, gasping for air, my chest heaving as my heart pounded out of control. I couldn't form a single word of apology. I was too overwhelmed by the lingering, burning heat between my legs.

Harvey casually picked up a napkin and dabbed at a stray drop of water on his wrist. He looked directly at me, a dark, wicked smirk finally breaking through his stony facade.

"Careful, Miss Morris," he murmured, his deep voice dripping with dark amusement.