Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal

“Drake,” he corrected. “As of an hour ago, your internship ended. You no longer work for me.”

His warm brown eyes with golden flecks gazed into hers, making Chaney feel as if she were the next special project he wanted to tackle. Her insides quivered.

Not that he would, with the bevy of beautiful women he dated and a supermodel currently being deemed his girlfriend du jour by the media.

But the thought raised Chaney’s temperature ten degrees. If this were a birthday party instead of a going-away party, she knew what she’d wish for when blowing out the candles.

“Drake.” She forced the name from her parched throat, feeling more like a tweener with her first crush than a twenty-two year old woman. Okay, she did have a huge crush on him, as did every other female who worked at the company. Probably every woman who breathed, no matter what age or marital status.

The man was a catch.

His chiseled cheekbones and jaw tempted a woman to reach out and touch them. His full lips hinted at long, hot kisses. And his bank account promised a life free from financial worry.

Prince Charming had nothing on Drake Llewelyn. He was King Midas and Adonis rolled into one. What woman wouldn’t want to be the one who captured his heart?

“Make a note of our new travel guide in Southern California, Gem,” he said in that halfteasing, half-serious tone Chaney had come to know and love. “With a cable channel in our portfolio now, we may be spending more time there.”

Adoration filled Gemma’s eyes. She, too, had fallen under the spell of the dragon, Drake’s nickname in the office. She batted her lashes and flashed a smile. “Already noted, sir.”

“Very good.” His easy smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Chaney bit back a sigh. She’d been longing for the unattainable—okay, him—since she met him on the third day of her internship.

Gemma scooted a chair to the table, right between hers and Chaney’s. Everyone else seemed more interested in filling their pints than staring at their gorgeous boss.

“But we’re not here to watch football on the telly.” Drake motioned to the table littered with half-filled glasses and plates of French fries. “A bon voyage party needs more than beer and chips. I’ll be right back.”

He strode away and spoke to the bartender. Soon plates of appetizers arrived along with bottles of champagne and glasses. The table resembled a buffet. Leave it to Mr. Llewelyn—make that Drake.

“Now we can send Chaney back to the States in style,” he said with a satisfied smile.

A barmaid handed her a glass of champagne.

“This is so…” Chaney felt as light and carefree as the bubbles floating to the top of her glass, but she didn’t want to sound starstruck even if she felt that way inside. “…thoughtful of you, sir. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do after the hard work and long hours you’ve put in these past months, especially with the acquisition of the cable channel.” Drake raised his glass. “To Chaney, who will be missed.”

Her co-workers raised their champagne flutes and repeated the cheer.

Tears stung Chaney’s eyes. Her tongue felt two sizes too big. This was more of a sendoff than she could imagine. She muttered her gratitude and sipped her champagne.

He handed her a white handkerchief, the kind her grandfather had kept in his back pocket. She never thought a younger man like Drake would carry one, too. The chivalrous, old-fashioned gesture brought another well of tears.

Drake Llewelyn was almost too good to be true.

As Chaney dabbed her eyes with the cloth, her friends attacked the food like a pack of starving hyenas. She didn’t blame them. Everything looked delicious and smelled good, too.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Drake asked.

She nodded. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to try first.”

“I know what I want.”

“The shrimp?”

He moved closer, so close his warm breath fanned her neck, and the male scent of him surrounded her. “Too much garlic.”

Chaney shivered, a combination of excitement and fear. She was used to swooning from afar, not up close and personal. Though she worked on the same floor as him, their interactions had been limited to meetings and a few conversations in the hallway. Still she mustered her courage. “So what appeals to you, Drake?”

“You.”

The air whooshed from her lungs. This couldn’t be happening. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. Ouch. At least she wasn’t dreaming. “I, um…”

“I’ve been watching you,” he said quietly, regarding her over his champagne glass. “You’re smart, hardworking and sexy as hell. Don’t go back to the States, Chaney. Stay here in London with me.”

Her heart beat in triple time. Who was she kidding? The hammering of her heart was probably taking years off her life, but she didn’t care. Drake Llewelyn wanted her to stay in London. He must have broken up with the supermodel.

Anticipation danced through Chaney. Excitement, too. All the time she’d been dreaming about him, she had no idea he’d noticed her as anything other than one of the interns. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You do work for me, darling. Did,” he corrected himself. “I’m not in the habit of dating employees.”

None of her daydreams had ever been this good. Nothing in her life had ever made her feel so good. Chaney wiggled her toes. But she’d better not get too far ahead of herself.

“You really want me to stay?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

Oh, wow. She wanted to stay in London. With him. Mrs. Drake Llewelyn. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “For how long?”

His brow slanted. “For as long as we’re both having fun.”

Fun. She thought about his answer, repeated the words in her head. For as long as we’re both having fun.

Drake didn’t want forever; he wanted to have fun. What he really wanted, she realized, was sex. And then move on to the woman who caught his eye, the same way he had in the months she’d worked for him, the same way he did with the companies he bought, restructured and sold for a megaprofit once the newness wore off.

Disappointment ripped through Chaney. The legs of the pedestal she’d placed him on crumbled. She straightened.

No more getting carried away where Drake was concerned. She pressed her toes firmly to the bottom of her boots. No more crush, either. She wasn’t any man’s plaything.

What had she been thinking? The guy wasn’t a catch. He might be gorgeous. He might be rich. But he probably still had a girlfriend, too. That would make him a cheater.

Disgust slithered down her spine.

Drake Llewelyn was nothing but a player, a man who thought nothing of going through a slew of women all in the name of having “fun.”

“Sorry, Mr. Llewellyn.” Chaney squared her shoulders. “You’re targeting the wrong girl. Short-term investments, however appealing, are too risky for me. I’m only interested in a long-term investment strategy.”

CHAPTER ONE