Charmed by the Billionaire (Blue Collar Billionaires #2) - Lemmon, Jessica Page 0,3
how nice it is to have money, but it’s no substitute for a parent.
When Cris turned twenty, she started working as an intern for William Owen, better known as “Dad,” but he’s not my birth father. Sadly, my birth father (and birth mother) are no longer alive. It’s not a circumstance I like to think about, but there’s no escaping it. They’re gone and have been since I was ten years old. I’ve missed them every day since.
Anyway. We’re talking about Cris.
I remember the first time I saw her. Spunky, adorable, blond. I thought she’d come and go as most interns did at Owen Construction, but she stayed on full-time, working for my dad before I hired her myself. I had taken to working at my home office more often than not. Traveling to headquarters is a drive to the tune of ninety minutes on a light traffic day which allows me to get almost nothing done, so I limit my visits to the big HQ. Plus, I like my home office. And my home gym. The in-ground pool in my backyard is heated. I’m not trying to sound like a dick, just illustrating how everything I need is at my fingertips. Including my life assistant coach.
It’s a title I made up. I needed an assistant, but I also needed a life coach. Her position is bespoke. I’m thrilled she was willing to mash together two seemingly random job titles into a Franken-position we could stitch up or bolt together as I saw fit. We were acquaintances at best when she worked for William. Our friendship grew once we started spending a lot of time together. Now I don’t think I could do anything without her. At least not well.
When we moved her from HQ into my house, I noticed tenfold how spunky, adorable, and blond she was. How she hums when she takes her first sip of coffee. How much she enjoys going to the post office to buy stamps. She always buys the LOVE ones with puppies or cartoons on them, but I don’t complain. Whenever she uses one, her gray eyes light up and a sweet smile spreads her mouth. Unfortunately, she’s not the kind of assistant you hire and then seduce. She’s practically family, though “family” takes on a broader meaning in the Owen family.
William and Lainey Owen have one child of their own. Archer Owen is three years older than me but not the eldest of the Owen sons. He’s the middle by a technicality. After they adopted me, they went and adopted a rough Chicago teen straight out of juvie. Nate is one year Archer’s senior. Ours is a patchwork family. I’ve heard Archer refer to Cris as our honorary sister, but I can’t agree with him there. She’s a lot of things to me, but sister? Yikes. I’ve admired far too many of her body parts for that not to be creepy.
And man, is she hard not to admire when she’s running ahead of me, her round ass jiggling enticingly every time her shoes hit the pavement. Dappled sunlight streams through the leaves on the trees and lights her curly blond hair. Her fair skin is what most would consider “tan” but given my bronze hue, I only see “fair.”
So there she is, a blond-haired, gray-eyed, petite, strong, smart woman with an ass that won’t quit…who works for me. As her boss I overlook her questionable professionalism—the aforementioned cutesy stamp fetish and her typical ensemble of Chuck Taylors and ripped jeans at the office. As her best friend I overlook her glaringly obvious hotness and wish I’d developed a fascination with her before hiring her. I could have asked her out in some neutral capacity back then. Now I have to settle for stolen glimpses and pretend not to notice her admirable attributes. Whenever we stretch side by side after a run, I glance at her bare legs, pale next to mine, and entertain what they might feel like wrapped around my waist while I roll my hips and give both of us the ride of a lifetime.
“Race you to the parking lot.” She interrupts the vision beginning to form, which is probably for the best considering it’s hard to run with a boner. She spins around and runs backwards, her curly hair bouncing with her every step. Now I have a view of another jiggling part of her, those incredible breasts I try to ignore every single day.