Her Billionaire Boss, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, DECEMBER 2021
Copyright © 2021 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations.
www.relaypub.com
BLURB
Only love lasts forever…
For most of Laila Diaz’s life, nothing has gone as planned. But now, things are finally looking up. On her last day working for child services, she’s scheduled to deliver an orphaned infant to his new legal guardian…grumpy Scottish billionaire Marcus Campbell.
It’s immediately clear that while Marc is capable (and gorgeous), he’s also in need of a nanny, especially with a six-week family retreat on the horizon. Laila’s out of a job, so she offers to step in. The seductive billionaire seems almost too perfect, and his smoldering looks have her dreaming of hot kisses under the tropical sun. Too bad he’s her boss…
Marc has never met a woman as caring, sincere, and sexy as Laila. There's something special about her…the way she looks at him, touches him, laughs with him. He’s falling and falling hard—for both her and their new addition. Even as they enjoy paradise together, the real world still looms over them, ready to burst the happy bubble of their romantic affair.
When the cruise ends, can Marc prove to Laila that they can build something new, something that can last forever? Something more than just a fantasy…
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
End of Her Billionaire Boss
Thank you!
Make an Author’s Day
About Leslie
Sneak Peek: The Billionaire’s Fake Engagement
Also by Leslie
1
Laila checked the address once again, juggling her phone awkwardly with one hand, since the other was occupied with a baby carrier. The six-month-old baby she was delivering to his new guardian was adorable and blessedly calm, but he was also heavy.
The baby squirmed in his seat. “Shhh,” Laila hushed, swinging him back and forth, even though the action made the furrow the carrier was digging into her forearm even worse. Stepping up to the intercom system by the door, she pressed the buzzer for PH, preparing to go into her usual spiel to explain why she was there. To her surprise, the resident—Mr. Marc Campbell—didn’t answer to ask why she was there, he just pressed the button to unlock the building’s front door.
She stepped into the lobby. A blast of super-chilled air hit her in the face, and she closed her eyes gratefully. She waddled into the waiting elevator—the carrier smacking her in the thigh with every step—and pressed the PH button.
Moments later, the doors swished open into a wide marble vestibule. A bank of windows—so clear they were nearly invisible—afforded a view of the skyline. She paused to gasp. A beautiful view like this, and all for one person?
“Canna help you?”
Laila turned and gasped again. As beautiful as the view was, it had nothing on the man in front of her. He was the kind of handsome that made her have to look away quickly to hide the flush in her cheeks. It almost hurt to look at him. “Are you Marc Campbell?”
He nodded, a small furrow springing up between the twin slashes of his brows. “When you buzzed, I assumed you were bringing up the Chinese food I had ordered.” She couldn’t place his accent. Irish? Scottish? He looked at the carrier on her arm. “That dinnae look like egg foo yong.”
Laila did not have time for bad jokes. “This is Grayson Clark. He’s six months old.”
“Okay?” Marc gave her a blank look. “Are congratulations in order then, Miss—?”
This was always the worst part. Laila tried to soften her words with a smile, but knew there was no way of saying this kindly. “Mr. Campbell, I work for ACS—the Association of Child Services. This child was turned over to us by his nanny today after his parents were killed in a car accident. The one with the tanker truck in Fort Lee. You might have seen it on the news?”
Marc shook his head. “I haven’t been keeping up with the local news this week. You said Clark, though, right?”
She nodded sympathetically. “Grayson’s parents were named Remy and Kendra Clark.”
Marc reached out to the wall to steady himself. “Remy,” he breathed.
“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this news.”
Marc blinked and then shook his head as if to clear it. “No, no. I understand. It’s just—” He pointed at the infant carrier. “They had a son?”
Laila nodded again. “And they named you as his godparent.”
Marc’s shoulder hit the wall, which may have been the only thing that kept him upright. His face went pure white.
“Mr. Campbell, I am sorry to be so abrupt. There really is no good way to deliver news like this.” She swallowed a little, because it was true. This was the part of the job she’d always hated the most.
Knowing she’d never have to do it again almost made getting abruptly laid off this morning a relief. Almost, but not quite.
“Knowing this would be a shock to you, I took the liberty of bringing you some supplies to get you through the night,” she told him hurriedly. There was so much to remember. She set the carrier down on the marble floor and held out the reusable bag on her arm. “A pack of diapers, enough formula for the night, a clean onesie, and some binkies. I don’t know if he likes binkies or not yet.” She set the bag down next to the carrier and looked at the still-sleeping child, feeling her heart lurch in sadness to admit there was not much else she could say about this child. She didn’t know anything at all. “I took an educated guess. It’s my understanding that the Clarks’ will is still going through probate, but they left everything to Grayson, so once the paperwork has been sorted, you’ll have access to all of his assets to provide for his care. If you require the estate to forward you some funds for his expenses until then—” Not that he looked like he was hurting for money, living in this clearly luxurious penthouse in NoHo, but still, it was part of her job to run through the explanation. “—you can reach out to the executor of the Clark estate. I have that woman’s information right here. She’s a lawyer in Montclair, supposed to have a very good reputation.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the crumpled Post-it note, and held it out to Marc without looking.
He did not take it.
Laila looked up at his ashen face and immediately checked herself. In the span of two heartbeats, he had not only found out he’d been named guardian to an infant he’d never met, but also that a friend had passed away tragically. How dare she be so impatient while he processed this news? “I am sorry for hitting you with so much at once,” she said, feeling that same tight band of sadness envelop her heart that always gripped her when she confronted the sorrows of this world. Her fingers ached to touch his arm and give him a reassuring squeeze, but she had no right to do so. She needed to stay professional.
“You’re fine,” Marc said in a gruff, tight voice. “You did nothing wrong. You’re just doing your job.”
Maybe so, but Laila was too much of a bleeding heart not to empathize with this man.
She gently set the carrier down at her feet and flexed her fingers before telling him, “I wish I could do more to help, but I’m afraid today was my last day with ACS. If you do have any follow-up questions, I’m sure the remaining staff would be happy to help you—but they might not be the fastest with a response.” Budget cutbacks meant getting rid of a number of jobs, including hers. The people who remained would be massively overstretched—as if they
When she looked back up, Marc stood in front of her, one arm bent upward as he slowly rubbed the back of his neck. There was a haunted, hollow look to his expression.
Then he seemed to pull himself together right before her eyes. “Would you mind coming in?” he asked her, stepping back to allow her the first glimpse she’d gotten of the penthouse behind him. “If you could watch him for just a wee while longer so I can make some phone calls, I’d appreciate it.” Then he winced. “I’m sorry—you said this was your last task, on your last day. Do you need to be going? Am I keeping you from anything?”
“No, not at all,” she said. “I don’t mind staying with him a bit longer.” She made to lift the carrier again, but before she could complete the motion, Marc scooped it up and beckoned for her to continue inside.
It was an oddly chivalrous gesture, and Laila found herself charmed, then a little embarrassed about getting charmed by something so basic as helpfulness.
Without the carrier, she felt strangely light as she entered his apartment. Almost dizzy, even, although that might have had more to do with the stunning view in front of her than anything else.
A bank of windows so clean they looked like there was nothing between her and the sky revealed the streetscape below backed by much of the Lower Manhattan skyline. In the setting sun, a tiny wisp of cloud curled around the antenna of the far-off World Trade Center tower, its edges tinged pink like the cotton candy her first foster parents had sprung for in an uncharacteristic fit of generosity during their only vacation to the Jersey shore. Back when she had still thought she might belong to a family of her own one day.
Laila mentally shook herself, forcibly yanking her thoughts back to the present day, and looked around her. From somewhere deep in the penthouse, Marc’s voice rumbled in low, tense tones. She strained to listen for a moment. His accent had grown thicker, making it difficult for her to understand much of what he was saying. She could only determine that he must be speaking to his lawyer before Grayson stirred in his carrier, drawing her attention.
The infant scrunched his nose comically in the losing battle to avoid waking up. His chubby fist flew upward and Laila immediately hurried over to where Marc had set the carrier down on the marble floor of the foyer. “Sssh,” she hushed, touching his face. “Oh, you’re all sweaty,” she noted with dismay. “Let’s get you out of there.”
She hefted him into her arms and he curled his still-sleepy body in to her, nuzzling at her neck a moment, before fussing a little and balling his fist to rub his eyes. Laila looked around for something to catch his attention, but everything in this apartment looked far too expensive to have a baby even breathe near, much less play with. She was about to start singing when she felt a tug at her neck. “You like that?” she asked him. Grayson’s eyes were so thoroughly focused they were close to crossing as he closed his greedy little fist around the simple pendant she always wore around her neck. “Don’t pull too hard, okay? Gentle,” she said, holding his hand to show him the right amount of pressure he needed to investigate the shiny object. “It doesn’t have any real meaning, I just think it looks nice, what do you think? No, not in your mouth, though—”
“Sorry for making you wait.”
Startled, Laila turned to Marc. She’d been so focused on Grayson that she must have missed him wrapping up his call. “It’s fine,” she said, shifting Grayson to her other hip so she could turn to him. “For me anyway. How about you?”
Marc let out another one of those long breaths. “This news is coming at the worst time—” He paused and then laughed ruefully. “Although, truth be told I can’t think of when a good time to receive news like this would be. But I needed to double check a few things because my family and I are leaving on a six-week cruise tomorrow.”
“Six weeks,” Laila echoed. A vacation lasting six weeks. He may as well have told her he was flying to the moon. It was just as foreign a concept.
“Yes,” Marc said. “Everything’s been arranged, and it’s too late to cancel now. But now I have a bairn to mind?” he finished, his voice rising incredulously.
She had never heard an actual person say that word aloud in regular conversation, but she had watched Outlander devotedly, so now at least she knew that Marc was Scottish.
“It’s a lot.” She had to sympathize. She’d spent the past few weeks feeling like all her life’s plans had been thrown into chaos, too—though her circumstances had been markedly different. When she’d come to New York a year ago, to move in with the long-distance boyfriend she’d met online, everything in her life had seemed on track. She was in a good relationship with a successful man and she quickly found a job at ACS. When Brian proposed, it all seemed picture perfect.
Then she’d come home to find her fiancé in bed with another woman, and the relationship she’d counted on fell apart in an instant. She got to keep the apartment when he moved out, but that wasn’t much of a benefit, since she couldn’t afford it on her salary. The salary she wouldn’t have after today, thanks to budget cuts and restructuring. She liked to believe she was capable of handling anything life threw at her, but lately life had been throwing with both hands.
She was doing her best to turn her wipeout into a controlled turn. She was looking into finding a new, more affordable place for herself, and subletting her current apartment until the lease ran out. And she had a good lead on a new job—the director position at the new community center going up in Queens. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t snag an interview sooner than eight weeks from now. They were still finalizing the building and had not yet moved to the hiring stage, which made Laila nervous. The woman she’d spoken with had assured her that she was a shoo-in for the job. But that was eight weeks from now. And she honestly didn’t know how she’d get by until then.
At one point in her life she might have leaned back and relaxed, knowing she could count on everything working out. This past month had changed that.
Marc didn’t know this, of course. But he looked like he was having trouble breathing, just like how she hadn’t felt like she could draw a full breath for the past month. They had that in common. The difference was that for her, a six-week cruise sounded like heaven, and the way he’d said it made it sound like the seventh circle of hell.
“I understand that you need some time.” Laila said, disentangling Grayson’s fingers from her necklace chain. “I can get Grayson set up with a foster home—”
“Absolutely not,” Marc interrupted immediately. “I’m not a complete eejit when it comes to children. I have younger cousins. I can manage.” He reached out to hold Grayson.
As swoon worthy as this display of paternal skills was, Laila was reluctant to let go of the baby.
Marc must have noticed this, because he dropped his hands and chuckled. “Would it make you feel better if I tell you I have my parents staying here tonight and they can back me up?”
Laila smiled. “Maybe a little.”
