Wicked Valentine (Holiday Billionaire Romance #2)

Chapter 1

CUPID CAN SUCK IT

Lety

The next person who walks in carrying a bouquet of roses that costs more than my rent is getting my high heel shoved up their ass.

Starting with that bitch Melanie who has sauntered by not once, not twice, but three times holding an ugly ass vase with flowers from her overseas boyfriend.

A boyfriend I’m almost certain doesn’t exist since she never seems to have pictures of them together, despite being so in love.

The worst, though, are the flowers that come with a singing telegram. Who even knew that was still a thing? Because I certainly didn’t, and after the third rendition of L-O-V-E, I was about ready to fling myself into oncoming traffic.

Needless to say, I fucking hate Valentine’s Day.

I would have taken the day off if I remembered, but the last few weeks have been unusually busy for the office.

One of the big boss lawyers, Elias, cut back on office hours to spend more time with his wife, leaving his secretary scrambling to reschedule.

Since my boss, César, is his firm partner, I’ve been roped into rescheduling meetings and moving clients around to help ease the load of the other secretary.

Which is fine, I guess. It’s not necessarily hard work, just frustrating.

Especially when calendars are looking more like a color-by-number rather than a schedule, leaving it almost impossible to add a new workload onto another lawyer’s plate.

César needs to hire another lawyer or two, but his schedule barely allows him time to piss these days.

I should know, since I schedule everything for him.

There’s a knock on my door, and I snap my head up, expecting to see another flower delivery, but standing at my open door is Kase, Elias’s secretary, leaning against the doorframe. He’s sucking on a heart-shaped lollipop. Of course. “Lety, do you have a second?”

No.

“Of course.” I give him my best customer service smile, closing my laptop. “What do you need?”

Kase walks in and perches his ass on the edge of my desk, nearly knocking over my bowl of mints.

I try not to scowl at him, because I’m not trying to start an office rivalry, and I actually do like Kase.

I’m just irritated with all the lovey-dovey shit and cupid nonsense.

Just call me the Grinch of Valentine’s Day.

“We got a problem,” he tells me. I sigh because it feels like we always have a problem these days. “The contractor for the winter expansion project needs to reschedule his meeting.”

“Okay, that’s not too bad. When does he want to meet with César?”

“Next Wednesday.”

I take that back. “Fuck.” I quickly open my laptop again and immediately pull up César’s schedule. I know what I’ll find before I see it, but the calendar shows no signs of wiggle room.

“There’s no way he can meet with the contractor on Wednesday. Can’t he do another day? I might be able to schedule him for the following Monday.”

“Nope,” Kase says, popping his lips on the “p.” “He’ll also be booked up for the next two months, so unless César is okay with pushing back his plans to expand the firm, someone’s gotta figure out something.

That someone is you, doll.” Kase winks at me before pushing himself off my desk to head out.

“Good luck!” he calls over his shoulder before bolting out.

Coward.

I groan, a tension headache coming on. Good thing this job has excellent healthcare or else this stress wouldn’t be worth it.

Besides, tonight I’ll take out all my frustration during my show.

It’s my little wicked secret—something that allows me to take ownership of my sexuality and ease the stress from the day.

Plus, taking money from men is my favorite pastime.

I just have to get through another four hours and a quick meeting with my boss before I can think about my nighttime job. Then I can spend Valentine’s Day doing what I love most.

Myself.

Pushing up from my pink, padded chair, I grab my laptop. César is in between meetings now, which gives me a short window of opportunity to speak with him before his next client. After adjusting my skirt that’s ridden up to an almost scandalous level, I head toward my boss’s office.

Fucking Melanie is still talking about her pretend boyfriend as I pass her, and I do my best not to roll my eyes. I’m tempted to “accidentally” swipe my hand across her desk and knock down her gaudy arrangement of flowers, but I’m a proper lady, so I don’t.

I just think about doing it. Repeatedly.

César’s office is on the third-story. My heels aren’t made for stairs, so I take the elevator, ignoring the judging looks all chubby people get when they opt for the elevator.

If they want to be miserable and huff and puff up the stairs, they can have at it.

I hold my head a little higher when the doors finally open, and I step inside.

Soft elevator music plays—thankfully not a love song—when I enter and select his floor. I tap my manicured nail against my laptop, checking my watch. Ten minutes until César’s next appointment. I’ll need to be quick.

When the doors open again, I step into the floor’s silence. Gracie, another receptionist, peeks her head up from her desk and offers me a smile. “Lety, how’s it going down under?”

“Oh, you know. It’s like cupid threw up all over the place. Is César in his office?” He should be, but I ask anyway in case he ran off to the bathroom or went in search of something to eat.

Gracie nods. “He is. His next clients are here, so he’ll be busy soon. I’d hurry if you need to talk with him.”

“This will only take a minute,” I assure, walking past her desk to the double set of mahogany doors.

I knock once, but don’t wait for a response before barging in.

The Lety who started this job last year would have never had the guts to simply walk in uninvited, but a year in this firm has hardened me.

There’s only one way to get what you want here, and it’s not hiding behind nerves.

César is leaning over his desk, completely absorbed in whatever email has his attention.

His jacket’s open and his sleeves are pushed up just enough to show the edge of a tattoo winding up his forearm.

The suit clings to him like it was directly sewn on, top buttons undone to tease a hint of his chest.

He’s unreadable, jaw tense, with one hand braced against the desk while the other rubs his mouth like he’s trying not to say something out loud.

The light from his monitor casts shadows across his chest, catching on the pendant that rests right between his pecs.

It shouldn’t look that good. He shouldn’t look that good.

I let my gaze linger for half a second too long before snapping myself out of it.

Yes, he’s attractive. Stupidly so. The kind of man who ruins lives with a smirk and knows it.

But I’m not here for that. I’m here to work, get my shit done, and definitely not drool over my boss.

No matter how annoyingly perfect he looks at all times.

“Mr. Estrada.” My voice carries in the room, reverberating off the windows. He raises a brow, surprised to see me in his office, as if he didn’t hear my big entrance. I swear this man has no idea of the things happening around him when he’s lost in work.

“Miss Zavala,” he says in that gravely tone of his that has probably soaked more panties than he knows. It’s not just that my boss is hot as fuck, it’s that he knows he’s hot as fuck and uses that to his advantage.

César sits back in his chair, arms moving to rest behind his head.

His shirt pulls taunt against his chest, showcasing the muscles he’s worked hard for at the gym.

Or from fucking half the female population.

Not certain which one. A lazy smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “What can I do for you?”

His words remind me why I’m here, and it’s certainly not to drool over my boss.

Unlike half the staff here, I’ve made it my mission not to throw myself at César in a desperate attempt to gain his favor.

That’s more than I can say for the other women, and a few men, at the office.

They are all wasting their time, though.

César has never dated anyone he’s worked with in the year I’ve been here.

Probably afraid it would complicate things too much.

“This is about the contractor,” I say, bracing for his frustration. “He needs to reschedule the meeting; except the only time he can reschedule is for next Wednesday.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he says, and I have to stop myself from gritting my teeth. Of course he hasn’t checked his schedule. Why would he when he has worker bees like me to run it for him?

“Well, it actually is a problem because you have no availability on Wednesday.” I do my best to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but it still bleeds through. “And I mean none. You don’t even have time to piss.”

César raises a brow, and my cheeks instantly flush. Why the fuck would I bring up his bathroom breaks? It’s just the first thing to pop into my mind to show just how stacked his Wednesday calendar is and the problem we’re facing.

“No time to piss, eh? You’re working me like a damn dog, Miss Zavala.

” Again with that damn smile. Only this time, there’s lingering fatigue hidden behind it.

The man is working too damn much, having picked up the slack from Mr. Ayala.

Before then, César had a strict four-day workweek policy, which I know he’s itching to get back to.

With a sigh, César untangles his hands from behind his head and runs his fingers through his gelled, black hair. After a brief pause of being lost in thought, his deep brown eyes bore into me. “You’re certain there’s no time?”

Instead of answering, I open the lid of my laptop and pull up his calendar and march my ass to his side.

“You’re welcome to look for yourself,” I say, and hand him the laptop, which he takes.

His brows knit tightly together as he quickly scans, seeing for himself the clusterfuck that is his calendar.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath. I probably was not meant to hear. He runs a finger over each time block, mumbling incoherently to himself. After a moment of silent deliberation, he says, “Schedule him for noon, and push everyone else back an hour.”

Now it’s my turn to raise a brow. “Really? That has you at the office from six in the morning to nearly seven at night.”

“Worried about me, Miss Zavala?” He grins, cheekily, brushing off the fact his days just went from sucky to torturously long.

“More so worried about myself and the demands you’ll make from lack of sleep.”

His answering laugh definitely doesn’t make me squeeze my thighs together or send a pleasurable shiver down my spine.

Get your shit together, Lety! You are on a strict no man diet.

And even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be going after my boss.

César hands me back my laptop, but then accidentally knocks over a stack of papers on his desk in the process.

Without thinking, I bend over and snatch them off the ground.

It’s not until I stand up that I realize I just had my whole ass in César’s face.

My skirt isn’t indecent, but I can’t make that same promise when I’m bent over for the world to see.

Fuck me.

Maybe he didn’t notice. He definitely doesn’t make a comment, but his eyes trail over every curve of my body before reaching my outstretched hand.

“Thank you.”

Is it just me or did his voice grow deeper? His hands brush mine when he takes the stack of papers, sending a shockwave through my body.

I tell myself it has nothing to do with César and all to do with my show tonight and finally letting off enough steam so I’m not a horny mess. I blame the day, too. Fuck Cupid and fuck love.

“Anyway,” I say when I realize we are both just standing there like idiots. I take my laptop back from him, closing it and holding it to my chest like a protective barrier between us. “I’ll go switch up the schedule and send you a message when it’s updated.”

Not waiting for a response and needing to put as much distance between César and myself as possible, I turn on my heels and make a beeline for the door.

But I’m not fast enough.

Before I can leave, he calls out, “Oh, and Miss Zavala?”

I pause, angling my body toward him. “Yes?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Aware of my not-so-hidden disdain for Valentine’s Day, the bastard smirks. It takes everything in me not to reply with a bitchy comment, even though I desperately want to.

“It’s the merriest day of the year!” I say with fake enthusiasm.

“Pretty sure that’s Christmas.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, tossing my hair over my shoulder, resuming my exit. I swear I hear his deep baritone laughter follow me down the hallway.