The Day I Kissed My Ruthless Billionaire CEO Boss

You are 28, Victoria. When will you stop to consider your future instead of continuing to play a professional woman?

Victoria froze her fingers on the keyboard. Pursuing a job as a woman. It was as if her position as Senior Creative Director of Manhattan's top advertising agency was some juvenile fantasy. As if the late evenings, client meetings, and the promotions she battled valiantly for meant nothing.

Her phone beeped. Once more, it was her mother.

Mom: Keep from embarrassing me tonight. Grant Westfield hails from a decent family. Don't be challenging.

Victoria started to bite her jaw. She detested her mother's judgemental eyes and condescending look when she discussed her profession, blind dates, and probing questions. Her mother, though, would not waver-not now.

She grabbed her coffee mug and peered into the black liquid as though it had solutions. She could sense the old conflict rising between her who was and her expected self. Her freedom meant everything to her, yet it was only a lonely platform to stand.

She exhaled sharply, slammed her laptop closed, and then stood. Perhaps her mother would stop meddling at least temporarily if she went.

She reached for her pocketbook and looked in the corridor mirror. Perfectly controlled curls, lips painted a vibrant red, confidence engraved on every contour of her face. She refused to allow Grant Westfield to scare her. She would go, smile, and then walk away.

She pointed out him right away. Grant Westfield sat with an attitude that screamed self-importance, one arm stretched over his chair as though he owned the area. He looked embarrassingly good, with slicked-back hair and a custom suit hugging his muscular build. But her tummy turned from the arrogant smile he wore.

" Victoria Caldwell?" he asked, his eyes gliding over her in a critical glance that stayed a beat too long. I anticipated you to be... different.

She slanted an eyebrow and sank onto the chair across from him. Disappointments?

His lips rounded. Pleasantly startled. You tidy rather well.

Victoria's smile was icy. "I will try to meet your expectations."

He laughed a pitiful chuckle that made her skin crawl. I know you work in advertising. Is that not at least somewhat petty? All day playing with colors and slogans?

Her spine straightened. I am the Senior Creative Director here. I oversee groups, plan marketing initiatives, and negotiate million-dollar contracts. It's somewhat more than just experimenting with colors.

Grant waved his hand contemptuously, his cufflinks shining under the chandelier light. Indeed, indeed. Still, you never give settling down any thought. Rather than playing a career lady, starting a family?

Slice into her, familiar and aggravating the words. Her mouth contracted, but she kept her calm grin. "I consider a lot of factors. I am not limited, though, by preconceptions.

Grant's fingers danced over the table, his eyes shining with laughter. "Feisty". I appreciate that.

Counting down the minutes before she could flee this patronizing dream, Victoria fought the want to roll her eyes.

Her nails sank into her palm under the table, but she kept calm. That depends on the man, I guess.

He started to smile. Men find great satisfaction in control, in leadership, and in providing. That's biology. His eyes flashed with arrogant superiority. "I would not mind if my wife experimented with interests, but a career? All it is is a diversion.

Victoria had boiling blood. She inhaled slowly, guiding herself towards composure. "Good thing I'm not trying for the part of your wife then."

Grant's laughing rang loud and harsh. " Touché. Still, you ought to give it some thought. No man will take you seriously if you play career lady; your looks won't stay forever.

Her heart slammed inside her against her ribcage, wrath coiling inside. She visualized tossing her drink in his face and the gratification of seeing his haughtiness erased. She could already hear her mother calling her for being too stubborn and challenging.

Grant checked his phone with a disinterested air. It buzzed. "Duty calls." One of my clientele requires a favor. I will be back immediately. He stood with a patronizing smile. Try not to miss me too much.

With her nails driving crescents into her palms, Victoria watched him glide off. Her eye strayed to the door, temptation chewing at her. She could flee this degrading experience now. But once more, her mother's voice bound her to her seat.

Her eyes strayed to the bar, where a man sat alone, and his presence demanded even from a distance. His fitted suit was flawless, his dark hair was precisely groomed, and he exuded power and refinement. Unlike Grant's affected conceit, this man's authority was simple and genuine.

In that instant, a concept started to develop-a careless spurt of impulse notion.

Victoria stared, staring at the stranger, her pulse accelerating. Perhaps, just perhaps, he might be her escape route.

Desperate for a diversion from the place, a way out, she looked about. Her gaze fluttered over the chandeliers, the marble flooring, and the couples lost in hushed exchanges. Zero. There was no release.

Grant's words sliced through her ideas, slanted with contempt. "You know, a woman's role is next to a man, not above him. All of this career silliness is interesting. It will not, however, bring you happiness.

Her pulse accelerated, and her anger erupted. How dare he cut the work of her life to absurdity? Her shoulders hardening under his contempt, she battled to keep her calm. Her mother's voice stayed with her, pushing her to be courteous and to preserve harmony. But every thread of her existence shouted to get up, toss her drink in his face, and walk out, head held.

Her eyes blazing with annoyance, she tightened her jaw. She would not satisfy him by showing her breaking. She couldn't stay here, though, listening to him diminish what she had created.

Her eyes strayed to the bar, where a man seated alone exuded an authoritative presence. Perfectly styled dark hair, strong shoulders covered in a suit that suggested strength and status, his stance was laid-back, but his vibe was anything but. Certain, untouchable, and hazardous.

He drank his whisky, his fingers around the glass with trained simplicity. His sharp blue eyes fixed on the amber liquid whirling in his glass, and he appeared blind to the surroundings. He exuded something compelling, something that begged attention without a word.

Victoria's heart skipped. He was the ideal release from reality. She could stop this catastrophe and maintain her dignity if she could convince him to cooperate.

She decided upon this. Her pulse pounding, she pushed back her chair with measured motions. This was unbelievable, careless, even, but she could not withstand another minute of Grant's haughty rant.

Her head raised, she stood staring at the man. Though his identity eluded her, he was her only means of escape.

She hesitated, her pulse racing. She still had to turn back her ability. She may act to have a headache, create an excuse, and leave. However, she couldn't do it when she considered Grant's smug smirk and self-satisfying condescension.

Her spines straightened. She was not the kind to bolt. She met difficulties squarely, and this was no different. Besides, this went beyond only getting away from Grant. It was about demonstrating her ability to run her own life. Not Grant, not her mother, neither could control her decisions.

She inhaled steadily, her gaze following the lines of the stranger's strong jaw, dark hair, and how his suit fit his powerful frame. Every inch of the picture of power and authority appeared untouchable. She wanted him to sell this, so she prayed he was as assured as he seemed.

He raised his glass, his long fingers graceful as they cupped the crystal, unhurried, deliberate. His eyes shot to her, a quick glimpse, but they were piercing, a startling hue of blue that sliced across the space separating them. Victoria gasped, her heart skipping. This individual proved to be hazardous.

Still, that was precisely the reason he worked. Grant least of all, none would dare challenge him.

With her shoulders straight, she closed the distance with steady steps. Confidence-that proved to be the secret. She could not let it show, even if she was shaking within. She was Senior Creative Director Victoria Caldwell, a woman not back-off-oriented.

She reached him, his aroma filling her rich, seductive combination of cedarwood and spice. Her heartbeat surged, and her nerves tingled. Closely, he was even more arresting. Sharp cheekbones, chiseled features, lips curved in a subdued, aware smile. His weight was magnetic.

His eyes veered back to her again, interest flaring under that cold blue stare. He said nothing but watched her waiting.

Victoria's heart picked speed. Now or never was the situation. She inhaled deeply, her voice steady as she said. "You are there, sweetheart. I have been everywhere looking for you.

His eyes widened barely a fraction, and then a spark of laughter danced across his face. He leaned back, a languid, dangerous smile twisting across his lips. You have located me, then.