The Billionaire's Curvy Conquest - Complete by Lydia Layne

started writing things down.
    This is what I knew for sure about the night in question:
Mr. Reed had brought me to his home for an amazing evening of incredible sex
He had me arrive through the servant’s entrance, presumably for discretion, but depart through the front door
At the time, this did strike me as odd, but when I mentioned it, he explained it away
He also made sure that my coat was left open, revealing what I was wearing underneath
In retrospect, he obviously knew that Bill Blaine would be waiting in the shadows, camera in hand, ready to snap my picture in time to make the morning headlines
    This scenario covered the who, what, where and when. All that remained was the why.
    Why would Mr. Reed do such a thing?
    None of the possibilities I came up with made sense. He wasn’t an adrenalin junkie who would do something like this just for the thrill of it, and he clearly wasn’t trying to ruin my reputation since he basically rescued me from that very thing.
    If he had wanted to take our arrangement public, all he would have needed to do was ask. Fake girlfriend, real girlfriend, I wouldn’t have cared as long as we were together. I was clearly missing something that I wouldn’t find on the Internet.
    After putting 2+2 together, I should have been outraged and insulted. Instead, I was more curious than mad.
    The old me – Cassie James, administrative assistant – would have marched up to David Reed’s office and demanded answers. Or, if I was being honest, maybe she would have tip-toed into human resources and given her two weeks’ notice.
    The new me – Cassie James, Personal Communications Specialist and David Reed’s pretend girlfriend – had learned a thing or two from her billionaire boss about keeping secrets.
    The scandal was a setup, just like our fake relationship. Which brought me back to the question of: Why?
    Either he needed a reason to take our relationship public or this was just another calculated move in the game he was playing. Until I figured out what he was up to, I would keep what I had discovered to myself.
    After all, I had some reading to do.
    On the bottom of the mail pile was an envelope from Mr. Reed. Stamped across the front, in bold red letters, were two words that made me tingle all over: CONFIDENTIAL MEMO.

His Special Confession

    ~*~*~
    “D on’t think, my sweet, curvy Cassie. Close your eyes and simply feel.”

Chapter 1
    T hrough hazy pain, I heard the knock on my door and managed to call out a ragged, “It’s open.”
    My eyes were closed and I smelled Mr. Reed’s delicious cologne even before I sensed him standing over me in my small apartment.
    “I’m not amused, Miss James,” he said. He sounded annoyed. “You’re not even showered and dressed. Where are your bags? I realize that we’ll be taking my private jet to the Caribbean, but flight plans still need to be submitted and followed. Now is not the time for tardiness. Or games.”
    A wave of pain pierced my abdomen and I moaned, but not in the sexy way that Mr. Reed liked.
    While staying curled up in a fetal position, I leaned over the side of the couch and dry-heaved into the bucket next to me. After several hours of pain, nausea and vomiting, there was nothing left in my stomach to throw up.
    “You’re ill,” he said.
    If I wasn’t in so much pain I would have said something snarky, like: No shit, Sherlock .
    He sat down on the edge of the couch and I felt his hand on my sweaty forehead. “You’re quite warm, Miss James.”
    Another no shit moment for my dominating, billionaire boss, David Reed.
    I knew that comforting sick people wasn’t something he did very often. Or ever.  But, really?
    That’s all he could think of to say?
    You’re quite warm, Miss James.
    I’m pretty sure I had passed quite warm three or four hours ago and was sitting solidly in the burning up zone. I had tried taking some aspirin to lower my temperature, but the small, white pills had come right back up.
    I had been