Society Playboys: Playboy Assistant Part 2

"Antonia." Her mother's voice was weak and broken from the pain she undoubtedly had been in. Chemotherapy wasn't for the weak. Her mother had always been strong.

"Hi, Mom. How are you?"

"They say I'm dying."

Toni's chest ached like someone punched her. "Don't say that."

"The question is, how are you? Have you completely destroyed RI yet?"

Toni laughed only because she knew her mother really meant it. "It's not even been month yet, Mom. RI is still standing."

"Did you hire the Pallis kid like I told you to?"

"I did. But, I'm just not sure it's a good idea. I don't think he ... respects my authority." How else could she describe it? Not that she had any intentions of telling her mother what happened near the beverage cart. Nope. Neither parents would ever know about that.

"He's your age and a man. Men don't like reporting to women. It's a fact. But I had to take over RI when your father died. Remember?"

She nodded, a lump lodged in her throat. "Mm-hm."

"You'll be fine. Just have him do busy work. Organize your social calendar. Things like that. The execs will keep the business together. And if you really get in a bind, you know to call me. I owe Victor this favor. It won't be for long."

"Exactly how long? I just don't know how long I can take it." She bit her bottom lip, imaging Fabian sitting in her guest chair, practically busting out of it with his size. His size... Oh G.o.d. First thing's first, she needed to stop imagining him-or his size-in any capacity if this arrangement had any chance of going over without a hitch. Besides, she despised womanizers.

"You just hired the kid. What the h.e.l.l could have possibly gone wrong already?" Her mother coughed several times, making Toni's trouble with the young Pallis seem so trivial.

"Please, Mom, get some rest. Don't worry about it. I'll be okay."

"Yes, I think I will get some rest. This chemo isn't quite what I thought. I don't think anyone could have prepared me for this ordeal."

"Mom, please take it easy."

She coughed again. "Sometimes life gives you the thing you never thought you'd need. And takes away the thing you thought you'd always have."

Toni thought of Stephan Bradley. Heir to the Bradley fortune. Her ex-fiance who dumped her for another woman almost a year to the date. Her gaze s.h.i.+fted to the computer screen calendar. Yes, she would be getting married next weekend had it all worked out. Anger took over, as it had every time she thought of all the years she wasted on him. "You're right, Mom. Nothing is ever guaranteed."

Chapter Three.

G.o.ddess in a red dress. That was all Fabian could think about, even with Camille walking around his apartment in her white lacey thong. Her tan skin contrasted the scant white material in the best way. But it didn't matter. All he could think about was how Toni would look in that thong. Fabian reclined on his oversized couch, watching Camille as she slipped off her bra, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s springing out to tempt him.

"Not in the mood, Cam," he said, tilting his head to see past her as she paraded in front of him. She attempted to straddle him-that was her move. And he normally liked it.

Camille pouted, hands resting on top of her hip bones. "Why?" He hated when she whined.

She pressed her chest against his face. With both hands, he took a hold of her hips and moved her to the side. "Not now, Camille."

"Fine." She crossed her arms over her bare chest, a frown formed on her usually pretty face. "You've been acting weird all day. What's going on with you?"

He focused on the television, and though he didn't know what he was watching he feigned interest. His skin p.r.i.c.kled the longer Camille stood before him. "I have to be in the office early tomorrow. You should leave now."

She grew frantic. "What do you mean?" He'd never asked her to leave before. Actually, they would have been on their second round of s.e.x had he not been forced to work for Robuchon Investments. More specifically, for Antonia Robuchon.

"Camille, you're not my girlfriend. You know I'm not looking for anything serious." He didn't look at her and was met with her silence. That was the part he hated the most, reminding women he wasn't on the relations.h.i.+p market when they started to get too close.

"So the last four months meant nothing to you?" As fast as they were off, her clothes appeared back on her body.

He sighed, dipping his head a moment before he met her angry blue stare. "Camille, it hasn't meant nothing. We've had fun, right?"

"And that's all you wanted. Fun?"

He watched as she grabbed her purse. "I told you I didn't want a serious thing."

"Well..." She smoothed down her micro dress. "Have fun not having a serious thing!" Pivoting on her heels, she traveled across the wide living room to the front door of his sixth-floor condo. With one last look shooting arrows into him, she yanked open the door and slammed it. The vibrations traveled over the floor to his feet planted on the hardwood. He groaned.

Left with nothing but the television noise, he squeezed his eyes shut. s.h.i.+t. He leaned back further into the couch cus.h.i.+ons, burrowing in them. Not long after he found a comfortable spot, his pocket vibrated. Groaning, he reached in his jeans back pocket and pulled out the phone.

SweetTina: Want some company?

He sighed. How had he kept all these women straight? And separate? He reread the question, answering with one simple word.

Fabian: Nope.

Sweet Tina. She really was sweet. And she didn't care that he had other women. Tina might have had a boyfriend, but Fabian wasn't sure and didn't care. Actually, that worked best for him. It had, anyway. For some reason, he imagined Toni sitting in that large executive chair staring at him with judgment in her eyes. He'd actually started to feel shame about all the women he had on rotation.

SweetTina: Too bad. You know where I am if you change your mind, handsome.

He didn't respond. Instead, he tossed the phone across the room, partially wanting it to break, but was glad when it landed on the square ottoman pressed against the opposite wall. d.a.m.n his dad for making him work for Antonia Robuchon. She wasn't someone he could casually call for some Netflix and chill. His c.o.c.ky side wanted to try, but another part of him knew that wouldn't go over well.

"You're being stupid, Pallis." Why the h.e.l.l would he want her? She was his boss and probably didn't like him much anyway. It was completely ridiculous. Still ... he wanted her to like him. In some way. In a way that let him know she didn't think he was a complete jerk.

Standing, he tossed the throw pillow back on the couch. He just needed some rest. Tomorrow he'd start his a.s.sistant gig officially, and he wanted to be fresh. He wanted to prove he could be responsible and not the womanizing indulgent p.r.i.c.k his father-and maybe everyone else-thought he was. He frowned at the thought, Toni's judgmental stare still in his mind.

Toni sat at the ma.s.sive desk where her mother had sat for ten years, and her father had sat for many years before that. She never thought she'd find herself sitting in that desk. It was almost midnight and she still hadn't left Robuchon Investments. She'd been compiling data on a startup medical company seeking capital for a clinical study. The executives had tossed out the proposal, deeming it too risky. But after Toni had researched the technology, she thought it was worth another look. Though the executives had reminded her of her very temporary place at RI, she started to dismiss their dismissal and believe she had something to offer, which she'd never thought she would in a professional capacity. And more than that, she actually wanted to offer something. Now that she was single with no husband in sight, she needed to get on her own feet, though she knew her mother wouldn't take too kindly to her decision. If she could ever muster the nerve to tell her.

After she'd written the last paragraph of her proposal, she put the folder aside and stared at her computer. Images of her father circled the screen. Her mother kept those old pictures from before his untimely death, a heart attack that shocked everyone. Up next on the screen was her father in a canoe on Lake Travis. Next, he was in the backyard of their River Oaks mansion manning the grill because he liked to do "regular people" things even though he was brought up in old money wealth most people could only dream of. Her father was the complete opposite of her mother. She was uppity. Demanding. Wanted to be treated like royalty. And she always had been.

Her gaze fell to the taskbar at the bottom of the screen. The email she'd received from Victor Pallis, Fabian's father, was minimized hours ago when she received it. With a deep sigh, she navigated the mouse arrow over the email icon and double-clicked. The email filled the entire width and height of the screen.

To: Toni Robuchon ([email protected]) From: Victor Pallis () Date: Tuesday, July 12 RE: Fabian Antonia-I was rather surprised to hear that you hired my son, instead of Helene. I hope she is well. However, I trust the agreement I had with your mother is still valid.

The purpose of this mock employment is two-fold. I need Fabian to straighten up in his personal life. And last, I need Fabian to prove to me that he is responsible. He must show me he is capable in business before I will make him a partner at Pallis Engineering. I'm sure you understand the importance as your mother does, hence our agreement. I ask that you not go easy on Fabian. He is used to getting his way with women, I must warn you. This must be a strictly professional relations.h.i.+p between you two. I'm sure you can behave in such a manner.

Every week I require a full report on his behavior. Your mother has agreed to this, and I expect you to communicate with me regularly. Should you have any questions about this arrangement, please speak to your mother. Otherwise, I expect the first report in the beginning of next week.

Sincerely, Victor Pallis President, Managing Partner Pallis Engineering She read the email again, and again. She read it until she practically memorized it. He is used to getting his way with women, I must warn you. She snorted. No doubt there. Especially after what happened in her office with the near kiss. She imagined him. His handsome-as-sin face. His gorgeous green eyes. His body that was the epitome of what a man should be. Over six-feet-tall and thick in every way. She closed her eyes, feeling the rush of sensation course through her body. She hated how he made her feel. All ready and wanting a man. But that only reminded her of her ex-fiance. With that, her anger grew and she wondered exactly how much Fabian was used to getting his way with women.

Leaning toward the keyboard, she typed in "Fabian Pallis" in the search engine box. Why am I doing this? She should have learned her lesson when she stalked him after his interview. At first, she looked away as the results churned out in rapid speed, her heart pounding.

A quick lick to both lips and she s.h.i.+fted her gaze to take in the search results. First, her attention went to the many photos under the images tab. As if an otherworldly force moved her fingers, she grabbed the mouse and clicked to display the tile of images. There were hundreds of them. Some she'd already seen. Others she didn't. Pictures of him on a yacht, with bikini-clad girls, of course, popped up. On the next page of images, he was at various clubs, surrounded by a mult.i.tude of more scantily clad women. Why did she hate what she saw so much? He was no one to her. Never would be. He was a playboy. The proof was staring her in the face. Another photo caught her eye. It was him dressed in graduation robes and honor sashes from Harvard. Magna c.u.m laude. She stared at that one longer than the others. He couldn't possibly be an idiot with that kind of honor from an Ivy League school.

Toni held her breath as she clicked on the arrow to navigate to the next page of images. Nothing but women of all types posed with him. Some looked a bit cozy, and some looked possessive. Toni's gaze fell on a picture in which he was sandwiched between two buxom blondes, and he held their waists in a way that she knew he knew them. She frowned. Did he know all those women? There were hundreds of them. Oh, G.o.d.

After studying a few more photos, she clicked on the web tab. The first line of the search engine read Houston Chronicle Society, Are Fabian Pallis, 26, and Camille Carano, 23, an item? Toni s.h.i.+fted her stare to the accompanying thumbnail image. The image was from a month ago. Fabian embraced a tall, gorgeous-probably a model-woman's shoulders. Her tan, splayed fingers were a bit too low on his stomach. Toni's gaze zeroed in on that part.

On the next line of the search engine, another Houston Chronicle Society page headline displayed Houston playboy graduates Harvard Business School, returns home to take over family bioengineering firm. That was a year and a half ago.

There were many more pages to read, but she just couldn't bring herself to continue. Everything she'd heard about him was true. The proof was staring her in the face. He was indeed the womanizing playboy everyone said. And this Camille Carano was a ... girlfriend? One of many girlfriends? She s.h.i.+fted in her chair, the questions not sitting well with her. And why for the love of G.o.d could she not forget the incident in her office earlier? Ugh. How long would Fabian have to be her fake a.s.sistant?

Her gaze lifted to the screen again. This time, she searched for the clock on the right hand of the taskbar. Time to go home. Tomorrow her playboy a.s.sistant, who had a mult.i.tude of girlfriends, would start officially, and probably make her life h.e.l.l, the c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d. She clenched her jaw when her ex-fiance, Stephan, infiltrated her mind again. Speaking of playboy c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.ds... She balled her fists with the thought. Oh, she would be hard on Fabian all right. d.a.m.n how gorgeous he was. He would finally know what it was like to not get his way.

Chapter Four.

Fabian walked into the Robuchon Investments offices like he owned the place. He walked into every place that way, but today he was feeling especially confident. Secretly, he wanted to impress Toni. His pulse raced at his throat. The Tom Ford bow tie might have been too snug, though. He'd tugged at it every few minutes since he'd left his condo. With two fingers between the s.h.i.+rt and tie, he yanked until he didn't feel like he was choking. In the process, he didn't see Davina approach until she was practically in his face, smiling with her artificially plumped lips pulling her s.h.i.+ny face. Her bosom bounced with her movements.

"Mr. Pallis, h.e.l.lo again," she greeted with a hand stretched out. A cascade of light brown curls fell over one shoulder.

He took her hand, noticing its warmth as they shook hands for probably too long. "Mr. Pallis is my b.a.s.t.a.r.d father. You can call me Fabian. I'm not formal." He laughed to make her comfortable about his backhanded comment, though his father was very much a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Fabian." Her scent circled his nose. Cotton candy or something sweet. Something she bought at Victoria's Secret, he was certain. She flattened her palms against her wide hips, wiping them. "I was asked to show you around the office."

Fabian smiled. Not his Pallis side-smile, but still she blushed. "I've seen the office, sweetheart."

She giggled, putting a perfectly manicured hand to her lips. "More specifically, the breakroom, the supply room, and your office."

His eyebrow quirked up. "You mean I don't have to live in a gla.s.s cube?" He scanned the equally s.p.a.ced gla.s.s wall compartments filled with employees down the long s.p.a.ce.

"Miss Robuchon wants you in the small office adjacent to hers. It was a small filing room used by Mrs. Robuchon, her mother." She frowned. "Are you not pleased?"

"Not pleased? I'm f.u.c.king ecstatic!" Too much, Pallis. "I mean, yeah, whatever, that's fine." She smiled, containing a laugh. She pivoted, insinuating he follow her, but he stopped. "Where is Mrs. Robuchon anyhow?" Odd that she hadn't been around.

Davina turned back, her expression blank. "Mrs. Robuchon has been on leave for a personal matter. Toni is stepping in temporarily. That is what we've been told, at any rate."

"Toni?" He didn't know why he asked that.

"I mean Miss Robuchon. She wants us to address her that way. But, most of us refer to her as Toni when she's not around. Some of us have known her since Mr. Robuchon would bring her into work years ago." Her eyes widened. "Don't tell her that though."

"Your secret is safe with me." He winked, prompting another blush from her pale face before she once again turned and he followed her down the hall.

Both the breakroom and the supply closet were riveting, if riveting meant boring. He had no interest in the different type of pen tips or lined notepads. Davina left him in the supply room a few minutes and returned with a cup of coffee in her grip.

"This is for Miss Robuchon. She likes exactly three-fourths cup of French roast coffee, one-fourth cup organic skim milk and three packets of raw cane sugar." She held out the cup as if everything she said wasn't completely ridiculous.

"Umm, what?" Fabian felt confused, the skin creasing between his eyes.

"She's very specific. But, she'll make you do it over until it's right." Spoken like a person who'd experienced Miss Robuchon's coffee wrath.

He took the cup, staring down into the light brown liquid. She's got to be s.h.i.+tting me. "I'm supposed to make this for her every morning?"

Davina's gaze fell to the coffee cup in his hands. "She takes it every morning at eight-fifteen. Exactly eight-fifteen."

The first problem, making coffee was not in his skill set. How would Miss Robuchon handle the deficiency? "Does she now?" He lifted the cup to his lips, and not a single hesitation went through his mind as he took a long sip. Davina gasped as the warm liquid went down his throat. "A bit cold and sweet for my taste."

"Is that right?" The silky voice came from the doorway. Toni stood, arms crossed over her tiny body dressed in a tight navy dress from shoulder to knee. Even though her feet were tucked into high nude stiletto heels, she didn't seem to fill the door s.p.a.ce much at all. He would be surprised if she was five feet two inches without heels. "Well, it isn't for you, Mr. Pallis. It's for me. It is my taste. And you will make it for me exactly as I instruct every morning."

He stared into her dark eyes. Gorgeous or not, he had to put his foot down. "I'm not making your coffee in the morning. Do I look like a barista?"

"You're wearing a bowtie. So ... yes." Her painted red lips pressed together. For the briefest moment, he thought she might laugh. She didn't.

"Would you like me to take it off?" He challenged her with his stare.

Without looking at Davina, Antonia said, "Thank you, Davina, you may resume your duties at reception."

"Yes, ma'am." She scurried away like a mouse, pa.s.sing Antonia as she crossed to the other side.

His heart pounded as Toni strode inside the supply closet, closer to him. A wicked smile pulled her lips, but the blaze in her eyes proved she wasn't amused in the least. "This doesn't seem like a very good start to being my a.s.sistant, does it?"

He snorted. How could that small of a person change the air around him so drastically? Make him so tense? She had entirely too much power. That was going to stop. "I'll do what you want, Toni-"

"Miss Robuchon." Her lips pursed and she grew closer still.

"Miss Robuchon. h.e.l.l, I'll feed you grapes, but I'm not going to make your coffee." Their stares jousted. She'd come to a complete stop about a foot from him. All he smelled was vanilla standing so close to her.

Her jaw clenched, but she finally relented. "Fine. Don't make my coffee. Con someone else to make it. But you will deliver it to me at precisely eight-fifteen." She wasn't going to let up.

Several intense seconds pa.s.sed, and then he relented. Annoyed with himself, he said, "Fine." Robuchon 1, Pallis 0. He let her win that round. Too easily, he might add. But there was something inside him that wanted to give her her way, which was odd since he was used to getting his. Obviously, he would have to pick his battles, though she clearly intended to fight every single one where he was concerned. She needed to show her dominance. That was fine. He could let her do that. To a point. She could think he was her whipping boy for as long as his father wanted him to be. When she wasn't his boss anymore? All bets were off when that day came.

She smirked that time, s.n.a.t.c.hing the coffee cup from his loose grip. Coffee spilled onto his suit jacket. "Oh, sorry. You can dry clean that using your expense account."

He brushed off the cold drops from his suit. "Sweetheart, I probably have more suits in my closet than you have thousand-dollar shoes."

She frowned. "It's Miss Robuchon."

"Miss Robuchon." They stared a few moments more. Was it always going to be a struggle with her? His gaze fell over her tight face. If it were possible, she might have been even more attractive. "You have something against me."

"Oh?" She seemed amused, but she wasn't fooling anyone. "Now why would you say that?"