The Billionaire's Assistant

Aubrey

My heart was pounding as if I'd just completed a marathon and I urgently tried to get some much-needed moisture into my parched mouth before I had to speak. I couldn't believe it was actually happening. What have I done? my mind cried, deafening in the hushed air of the ceremony.

"Do you, Aubrey, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, forsaking all others, until death do you part?" the distinguished, grey haired minister asked, his voice soft, yet somehow full of verve and authority.

The man was dressed in his full regalia of black robe, white stole, and clergy collar. Like his voice, he appeared to be both authoritative and someone's kindly grandfather, a tiny smile on his lips, his eyes gentle behind his small spectacles as he waited for my answer. My legs were shaking so badly I was afraid I was going to fall. Thank God the elaborate wedding dress hid them from sight.

"I do," I said as loudly as I dared, proud and relieved my voice hadn't quivered.

The minister smiled and gave me a slight nod before he turned his attention to Dash. "Do you, Daschle, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, forsaking all others, until death do you part?"

Dash smiled down at me and my knees became even weaker. He was devastatingly handsome in his classic black and white tux, and I knew what was under there was just as delicious. I'd seen him in swim trunks more than once, and it'd been damned hard not to stare. His dark hair and eyes, strong cheekbones and chin, and a well-toned, muscular body that a five-thousand-dollar bespoke tuxedo couldn't completely hide, gave him a slightly dangerous vibe. He looked every bit like the type of man any sane person wouldn't want to trifle with, either in the boardroom or the back alley... until he smiled. His smile was quick, easy, open, and banished the darkness as if it had never been.

"I do," he said, his voice strong and full of confidence as his smile spread slightly.

The minister smiled and nodded at Dash as he had me. "Then by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Dash slowly raised my intricate lace veil and slid his arm around behind my back as he took my lips in a slow kiss. I was thankful for the support as he pulled me in because I felt like I was in real danger of collapsing. I'd just married Daschle Callisto, heir to Callisto Holdings, one of the largest resort development companies in the world, and I was kissing him, really kissing him, for the first time. He released me, and I wobbled slightly. I felt dizzy and out of control, but I gathered myself and played my part. I turned to the gathered throng, took a deep breath as the wedding march began, and forced a beaming smile as he escorted me down the aisle.

Our wedding was the social event of season. It took a lot to raise eyebrows in Las Vegas, but the most eligible man in town, and heir to a multibillion-dollar fortune, suddenly announcing he was marrying, and to an unknown like me, his personal assistant, had raised more than a few. Tongues were wagging that I was pregnant, that I was blackmailing him, that he'd lost his mind, but none of the gossip and speculation were true. He knew exactly what he was doing. I was the one who was unsure.

We spent the next three hours socializing with people far above my previous station in life. In the year that I'd worked for Dash, I'd become used to mixing with people who spent more on a single dress or suit than I had on my entire wardrobe, but I was still keenly aware of the differences in our social statuses. Before I'd been invisible to them, Dash's girl Friday, and I was given no more notice than his cell phone. That changed ninety days ago when he announced to the world our impending wedding.

Suddenly I was on everyone's radar. I'd been mobbed by the nattering nabobs of the social set, eager to know my secret, wanting to understand how I'd nabbed the man every woman in the world wanted for herself. I had a secret alright, but I couldn't tell them. I could never tell anyone.

The ninety days had been a whirlwind. I was suddenly thrust into the moneyed elite. My wedding dress had cost more than my car, and I'd been appalled at the three-hundred-dollar a plate lunches and the fake smiles as people who had once thought of me as furniture suddenly wanted to be my friend. It'd been one thing when Dash was spending his money on lavish lunches and expensive gifts, but it was another thing entirely when it was me. I wasn't at all comfortable spending that kind of money, even when Dash had given me a Mastercard Black and basically said, 'Sky's the limit.' The only part of the whole affair I enjoyed was the envious glances some of the women couldn't quite hide. The same glances I was getting now.

"Congratulations, you two," Kaitlyn said as she slinked up, a crystal champagne flute in her hand.

"Thank you," I replied with a beaming smile, but she didn't fool me for a second.

Kaitlyn Tyree, great-granddaughter of Milton Tyree, founder of the Tyree Canning empire, had been after Dash for years. She had the money, the looks, and the ruthlessness to normally get what she wanted, but I'd snatched him from her claws. She was smiling now, but I knew she'd slit my throat in my sleep if she thought she could get away with it, just so she could be there to comfort Dash, and there were a couple dozen more women just like her. The list of women Dash had bedded regularly was long, and each of the women thought she was going to be the one to share his life, not some nameless assistant that nobody had ever heard of.

"Thanks, Kaitlyn," Dash replied, slipping his arm around me and pulling me in tight to his side. I smiled. I could get used to him doing that. "I'm sure we're going to be very happy."

My smile flickered, but I forced it back to full power. I had my part to play. Kaitlyn would get her chance again... five years from today.

We did what people do during their wedding, eating cake, dancing, and sipping champagne. With a few exceptions, all female, everyone seemed genuinely happy for us. Dash's parents, William and Karen, had truly tried to make me feel part of the family, and I was thankful for their effort. They knew me, of course, as I was always at Dash's side, and while they'd always been friendly to me, I was certain they'd been horrified find out I was going to be their daughter-in-law. Much to my surprise and relief, after Dash had told them the news, they'd welcomed me, and over the next ninety days, had taken the place of my own parents, talking to me, encouraging me, calming my nerves, and striving to make me feel comfortable. Hurting them was going to be the most bitter pill of all to swallow.

After the dancing and toasting were done, Dash led me to his meticulously restored, silver over black, 1952 Rolls Royce Silver Wraith. He had a collection of 32 cars, mostly European makes, by Ferrari, Bentley, Rolls Royce, Mercedes, and Jaguar. None were newer than 1959, nor older than 1939. I knew, because I was responsible for making sure the car he wanted was where he wanted it when he wanted it there. We climbed into the back of the Rolls and the driver shut the door.

"One more kiss, for a good show?" he whispered as Terry, the driver, circled the car.

I wouldn't mind being kissed again. "We have to keep up appearances, right?"

As he took my lips, Terry opened the front door and slid behind the wheel. Our lips slowly parted as the car rumbled to life with barely a whisper or shudder. Dash said nothing, watching my eyes a moment, before taking my lips again as Terry and the Rolls whisked us away in luxurious silence.

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Dash

I smiled as Aubrey worked herself out of her wedding gown. We'd just gone wheels up in one of the Callisto jets on our way to Miami. Because it was just the two of us, we were taking the smallest of the three company planes, a Cessna Citation X. Since our flight was around five hours, I suggested that we make ourselves comfortable, and Aubrey had immediately stood and started struggling out of her wedding dress.

I watched, enthralled as she appeared from under the mountain of white fabric, dressed only in lacy panties and bra. I'd always suspected there was more to the efficient Ms. Aubrey Madigan than met the eye, and seeing her barely clothed for the first time confirmed it.

She was stunning. Her strawberry blonde hair and fair complexion spoke to me at a deep level. She was so different than the women I normally had on my arm, and she had an honesty about her that I liked. She was her own person and didn't try to be who she thought I wanted her to be. She'd had her makeup professionally applied today, but she didn't look any different than she normally did, so light had been the touch. Her gaze spoke volumes, and I'd seen her green eyes dance with amusement and darken with disapproval. She'd seen me in more compromising situations than I'd care to admit, but she covered for my occasional indiscretions with aplomb.

Now, for the first time I saw her for the truly beautiful woman she was. Not only were her eyes enchanting and her face lovely, but her body was perfect and without flaw.

"Don't look!" she admonished as she covered herself.

I chuckled. "We're married. We might be sleeping in separate rooms, but you can't expect me not to see you."

She turned her back to me, lowered her arms, and pulled a pair of jeans out of her bag, shielding the carry-on with her body as if she didn't want me to see its contents. As she tugged her pants on I shook my head as my lips tightened in silent disapproval. We were going to have to do something about her wardrobe. She was far too lovely to hide behind off the rack jeans and shirts.

She shrugged in a blouse and then turned to face me. "Just give me some time, okay? This is a big adjustment for me."

I nodded. It was for me as well.

Two years ago, Tim, my best friend and loyal assistant, had been killed in a senseless car accident, and his death had rocked me back on my heels. I had grieved my loss, and in the process, had gone through several assistants. None had been able to fill Tim's position, either in my job or in my life. Two I simply didn't get along with, and the other three had complained bitterly about the long hours.

After I'd let the latest assistant go, Aubrey had applied for the job. She was one of five applicants, but she'd impressed me with her intelligence, eagerness, and she had the skills I was looking for. When I'd offered her the position, I made it clear that if she worked for me, she had no life of her own. I expected her to be at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and most importantly, if she uttered a word about what she saw or heard, she would be instantly terminated. She hadn't even blinked.

While she hadn't been able to replace Tim as my friend, she had more than filled his shoes as my assistant. Dad was the President and CEO of Callisto Holdings, but I was Vice-President of Development, and I was running the company day to day as he groomed me to take over when he retired.

I had what every guy thought they wanted. Money. Power. Women. But I also had headaches, worries, and responsibilities. Development accounted for nearly eighty percent of Callisto Holdings revenue, with our construction division providing about fifteen percent, and the rest coming from Guest Services, the properties we were operating until we could find a buyer.

Aubrey, after we settled in, made my life so much easier. She was organized, responsible, discrete, and as reliable as the rising sun. After six months she was as necessary to me as breathing and eating. I'd even considered having her move into my house.

Then Dad had dropped the bombshell on me. He'd reminded me of the stipulation of his retirement and of my future. I had to marry. He'd told me that as soon as I graduated college, but I'd thought he was kidding. It hadn't been mentioned in the eight years since, and I'd forgotten about it, but he hadn't been kidding.

He and Mom were old school. They'd married while in college and had built Callisto together, starting with a single, defunct motel on Lake Meade they'd bought, renovated, and then sold for a handsome profit. They believed the steadying influence of a spouse was a good thing, that it would teach me personal responsibility, and show me that I wasn't the only person in the world. In other words, they didn't want me to be the no-good, lay around, spoiled rich kid that didn't know how to do anything except spend money, and they thought having a family was the best way to achieve that.

I'd laughed at the idea then, but I wasn't laughing now. Dad was serious. He wanted to retire, he wanted me to take over the company, but it wasn't going to happen unless I took a wife... and I had two years to do it. If I wasn't married by my thirty-fifth birthday, Dad said he was going to take the company public. If he did that, it would be up to the board of directors to decide if I took over the reins or they brought in outside talent. I'd protested, but it didn't take me long to realize no amount of arguing was going to change his mind, not with Mom backing the decision.

I watched as Aubrey turned back to the bag and began extracting carefully folded pants and shirt. She placed the clothing on one of the small, highly polished wooden desks that fronted the cream-colored leather chairs. Finished with her task, she settled back into her chair with a sigh.

She'd again saved me from a potentially disastrous situation. After I realized I wasn't going to be able to talk Mom and Dad out of retiring, or taking the company public if I didn't marry, I spent the next two months evaluating my options.

I had an almost unlimited number of women who might be willing to marry me. I'd made the cover of People magazine as the most eligible bachelor in America, for God's sake, and afterwards I'd been invited on Mornings with Emily, a nationally syndicated television talk show, for the same reason. The problem wasn't finding women. The problem was finding one I wanted to marry. I'd fucked more women than I could remember, but not one of them made me think they were for anything other than for my amusement and pleasure. I treated them well, but I had no intention or interest in falling in love with any of them.

Thank God for Aubrey. She'd become indispensable as my assistant, but she'd become my confidant as well. After three months of searching, I'd told Aubrey the truth. I told her what was happening, and though I could tell she was appalled that I was wife shopping, she'd said nothing and expressed sympathy for my plight. From that moment on, our relationship had become more than employee and employer, and had become much closer than it should have.

She'd started picking dates for me, subtly screening the women before suggesting them to me. I had to admit, she had much better taste in women than I did. The women she selected were all beautiful, kind, down to earth, and intelligent, but none of them clicked, not enough for me to think I wanted to marry them.

"Are you going to change?" she asked.

I smiled, shaking myself out of my memories. "Only if you don't look," I teased.

She twittered out a laugh. "Oh, no! If you got to look, that means I get to."

"Okay, you asked for it," I said as I rose.

The front portion of the Citation was configured with offset chairs that could be swiveled to form a conversation group, giving me enough room to gyrate around the cabin while beatboxing stripper music as I began opening buttons, zippers, and snaps, all accompanied with exaggerated hips thrusts. I liked the way she grinned at me as I performed for her. When I ripped my shirt open to show my chest, she stuck her two pinky fingers into her mouth and let loose a whistle so loud and shrill I thought my ears would bleed. I had to stop and laugh when the pilot came on the intercom to ask if everything was okay before starting again, slowly stripping down to my underwear as she laughed, catcalled, and cheered me on. This arrangement might not be so bad after all.

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Aubrey

We stepped into the huge suite and Dash tossed our one small bag onto a chair. Our luggage had been sent ahead and all our clothes were already pressed and hanging in the closet. That was standard procedure for Dash when he traveled. He had four complete wardrobes for each season. One was at his home, in Las Vegas, one where he was going, another was being cleaned and repacked from where he'd just been, and the fourth was on standby, just in case.

We were at Callisto #28, or as the sign on the dock said, Fisher Island Resort. This was my first visit to this location. Since the resort was operational, the facilities were the responsibility of the Guest Services division, and Dash had little to do with it.

The resort had opened only months before I began working for Dash, but I knew from being his assistant the resort had been an older, dilapidated golf resort on Fisher Island, overlooking Biscayne Bay on one side and the ocean with its sandy beaches on the other. Built in the nineteen sixties, the building and golf course had needed complete renovation. Callisto had purchased the property, and then expanded and renovated the entire resort. I tried hard not to be impressed but failed. When I traveled with Dash, the places we stayed were sometimes... tatty... as he investigated potential development opportunities. Fisher Island was anything but tatty.

Callisto didn't own the entire island, but they controlled it, with every building and business on the island there to serve the resort and its guests. Spread around the main building, and taking up the bulk of the available land, was the resort grounds with its golf course, giant lagoon pool, spa, and various other guest services. With no cars on the island, wide golf cart paths wound across the rest of the island to deliver rich customers to businesses eager to take their money.

With access to the island only by ferry, Callisto had made Fisher island into an exclusive enclave for people who valued a slower pace and breathing room. All the shops and restaurants on the island were either owned by Callisto or operated under their observation. Now, after five years, and 526 million dollars of investment, Fisher Island had been transformed from drab relic of the past into a to a shining jewel. Callisto was still operating the property, building up its reputation, but it was scheduled to go on the market in 2022, and it would probably sell for deep nine figures.

As Dash's assistant, I went everywhere with him, but I didn't stay in the suites with him, or hadn't until now. I'd always had my own, much smaller room. This was the Diamond Suite, the best in the resort. It normally rented for fifty-five hundred dollars a night, and was far larger than my apartment. Even though I'd worked for Dash for a bit over thirteen months, I still had trouble getting my head around the amount of money he, and clients like him, had. People who rented this suite looked at fifty-five hundred dollars much like I looked at fifty-five cents.

I grew up in Flagstaff, Arizona, the younger of two daughters. Dad was employed as a mechanic at one of the Ford dealerships, and Mom worked as a billing clerk at the city water department. We always had nice new cars, a roof over our head, and food on the table, but not much else. Kathleen, my older sister, married right out of high school, had a couple of kids by the time she was twenty-two, and now was a single parent. Kathy was five years older than me, and I knew I wanted something better than that, so I set my sights on college. My parents couldn't help much, so I scrimped and saved, worked two jobs, and put myself though school. I'd just started my sophomore year at the University of Arizona when Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her cancer had been aggressive, and though they'd caught it early, it wasn't early enough, and she'd died before she saw me graduate with my MBA.