All Chapters of One Night Stand With The Billionaire Boss : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

ElizabethOliver Huxley is well-oiled tonight. I’m not surprised. He’s been drinking whisky since the party started at seven, and it’s now almost one a.m. Fortunately nobody else can tell, as he’s always been able to hold his drink. He’s one of those guys who just becomes progressively funnier with each shot he puts away.I go to put my glass on the table, miss, and nearly fall off my chair. Hmm, maybe it’s me who’s well-oiled. I’ve tried to pace myself this evening, but it’s tough to refuse Huxley when he’s at his most charming, and he’s been sending over doubles of the most expensive whiskies all evening. Earlier I complained that he was trying to get me drunk, and he replied that he was hoping I’d fall over to entertain the guests. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility considering I’m wearing my usual three-inch stilettos. Being five-foot-one in my bare feet means I nearly always wear high heels—not that it brings me much closer to Huxley’s six-two frame. He’s always teasing me

“Don’t act like you’re not pleased.”“I’m thrilled. And a tad embarrassed.”“No you’re not,” I scoff.“Well, it’s better than hearing you’re all laughing because it’s so small, but yeah, it’s a little mortifying.”“Well, then, maybe you need to keep it in your pants a bit more, and we wouldn’t have so much to talk about.”He drops his gaze to his glass and swirls the whisky over the ice. “I probably deserved that,” he says before taking a sip.I close my eyes for a moment before turning toward him a little. The last thing I meant to do was hurt his feelings. He’s still my best friend when it comes to it.“No, I apologize. That came out sharper than I meant. You’re a gorgeous guy. Good looking, funny, and warm-hearted. Women are going to clamber over each other to get you. And why shouldn’t you make the most of that?”He holds my gaze for a long while. I lean my head on a hand and study his light-gray eyes. I’ve been in love with this guy since the moment I met him. It was at a party,

I’m sure she doesn’t think I’m serious when I ask her. I’d sell my soul for a chance to convince her how good we’d be together.And then an idea strikes me like a hammer on a bell.I loosen my tie a little. Then I pick up my whisky glass.“There is an addendum to my decision,” I tell her. “Or is pudendum?”She snorts and pushes me away. “What sort of addendum?”“I said I wouldn’t do anything in a cup. But I am prepared to get you pregnant the old-fashioned way.”“Hux, come on, this isn’t a laughing matter.”“I’m not laughing. Look at my face.” I point to it. “I’m deadly serious.”She rolls her eyes. “Jesus.”I lift a hand to cup her chin and turn her face so she’s looking at me. “I’m serious,” I repeat. I release her chin, but her gaze remains fixed on mine.We study each other for about twenty seconds.Then, eventually, she says, “Nope.”I’d expected that, and I’ve prepared my argument. “Okay. Let’s look at it this way. From what I understand, at the clinic you’d have two choices of

“Most mornings.” I sip my whisky. “You?”She sucks her bottom lip for a moment. “Most mornings.”We both smile.“We are really, really drunk,” she says.“Yeah, I know.”“I’m so going to regret this conversation in the morning.”“It’s the most honest we’ve ever been,” I tell her. “I’m loving it.”She leans forward and rests her forehead on my shoulder for a moment. “Don’t tell anyone.”“Which bit? The self-administering bit, or about Rich Halcome?”“All of it.” She sighs. “Especially the bit about Steve hitting me. Mack and Titus will get all riled up and then the Magnificent Three will go off to teach him a lesson, and I don’t want that.”“Why not?”“I dealt with it. Plate-glass window, remember? The fucker will have scars on his face for life. He won’t ever forget the day he gave me a fucking backhander.”I kiss the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”“I love you,” she says.I sigh. “You are plastered, aren’t you?”“I mean it.”“I know.”“Why aren’t you drunk?” she demands.“I am.”“Y

I look up at the ceiling. Huxley is tall and handsome—the best-looking guy I know. He’s incredibly clever—his crack last night about bribing the examination officer for a pass in mathematics was amusing because he was top of all his mathematics and economics classes. The guy’s a fucking smart arse. He’s honorable and fair. Very funny. Extremely affable and a great host, seeing it as his calling in life to put everyone at ease. And because of all that I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s great in bed. He sounds perfect.But he’s not of course. I can overlook the fact that he’s afraid of spiders, heights, thunderstorms, needles, clowns, dolls, the sight of blood, and probably a dozen other things. I can forgive him for being incredibly ambitious, a tad arrogant, squeamish, for only eating his food one item at a time without mixing them on his plate, for liking practical jokes, and for being stubborn and prideful and even Mr. Darcy-like at times, refusing to admit he’s wrong.I can forget all