The Millionaire's Masquerade (Erotic Romance Novella)

Copyright © Amelia Calhan 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Cover Design and formatting by Amelia Calhan

Cover Image by 
Renzo79 @istockphoto.com

Hidden desires

When it comes to her sinfully sexy boss, Meg Daniels acts like a lovesick teenager. For two years, Aidan Forrester has been nothing but professional. She has a plan. Before she finishes her last day as his personal assistant, she’s going to tell him how she feels. But when he marches past her desk without a glance, then decides not to attend the Christmas party for a goodbye drink, she loses her nerve—so much for being a sexually liberated woman. However, a mysterious invitation to a masquerade ball will show her just how liberated she really is.

Revealed passions

Aidan is tired of fighting his attraction to the gorgeous Meg. Beneath her buttoned up shirts and knee-length skirts, hides a woman who needs the opportunity to let lose. Now that she no longer works for him, he knows how to make that happen. If his seduction goes to plan, he’ll show her exactly how he feels and give her a night that will change both of their lives.

The Millionaire's Masquerade is a 
12,500-word
erotic novella.

Excited holiday chatter filled the tinseled office while Elvis Presley crooned about being lonely this Christmas. Meg Daniels mumbled along with the lyrics and nodded in agreement. This year, instead of eating, drinking, and being merry, her holiday plans involved unpacking boxes, painting walls, and stacking shelves. In seven days, she would no longer be Ms. Daniels, personal assistant to the most desirable man alive; she would be Meg Daniels proprietor of Recollectibles Furniture Restoration.

With a tuneless hum, she rummaged through the depths of the purse slung over her chair until she located her compact—the one that promised flawless skin—and examined herself critically. Panda eyes weren't an option—not today. Despite it being her last day at Forrester Holdings, she'd made an extra special effort with her appearance, even going as far as to dye her hair a shade called
copper shimmer
. She'd blow-dried it so it lay in soft curls over her shoulders instead of the usual messy bun at the nape of her neck. If he didn't notice her today, he never would.

Aidan Forrester oozed sex, and it wasn't because of his Bailey's-over-ice accent—although that didn't hurt. It was the way he carried himself, the way he commanded a room, the way people automatically deferred to him.

Every time he strode past, her breath hitched and her inner muscles tightened. At least when she left her job, she could make a grown man weep with one squeeze of her pelvic muscles. 

She'd dropped a pen or notepad accidentally on purpose so many times, just so she could bend down in front of him, which wasn't all that easy in a pencil skirt and heels.

Over the past two years, he'd been nothing but professional towards her. Not one inappropriate remark, or one lingering glance, or one brush of his fingers, but today, if she had to, she'd lock him in his office and rip off her clothes until he
saw
her. She could do that. She could take charge of her emotions and tell him exactly how she felt. Maybe. Or Not. Probably not.

Satisfied her pumped-up washable mascara was still in place, she threw the compact into her bag and turned her attention to her paper-strewn desk. How could someone amass so much crap in twenty-four months? For the millionth time, she peeked at the clock on her monitor. Where was he? He was taking longer than forever to show his bad boy face.

She smoothed down her white blouse and opened two buttons so her cleavage would be on full view when she leaned over his desk. The anticipation sent butterflies relay racing around her stomach. And she attempted to tamp down her anxiety by organizing her paperwork and dropping mementos from the past two years into moving boxes. Coming across as a skittish whack job when her boss arrived wasn't part of the plan.

Ten sluggish minutes passed before Aidan strode into the office. Her heart batter rammed her rib cage. He was more perfect today than yesterday and the day before—if that was possible. Cropped black hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and an athlete's build all wrapped up in a navy Italian suit. Meg tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes, but he walked past without acknowledging her and slammed his office door. Her heart clattered to the floor, and she slumped onto her swivel chair.
Goddammit.
If she had any guts, which she didn't, she'd march in there and tell him how she felt.

It wasn't that she
wasn't
cute—enough people had told her she was—but she obviously wasn't Aidan Forrester cute. The women he dated had a cool elegance that reminded her of runway models, plus they all had powerhouse careers. She'd never be runway material, unless runway material meant being five-four and wearing a size fourteen, or sixteen depending on the day. She restored second-hand furniture and wore paint-splattered overalls when not in the office.

She firmed her lips and stared through the window panels either side of his door. Usually, he had an open door policy except for when he was engaged in meetings or phone calls. She guessed he was on a personal call from the way he guffawed every few seconds and from the way he fiddled with his pen. He always fiddled with his pen when he flirted on the phone.

Meg yanked out the bottom drawer of her L-shaped desk and continued to dump her accumulated junk into the boxes without concern. Amongst the contents was a long-forgotten vent brush. She grabbed it and tore the bristles through her hair, taking her anger out on her freshly dyed follicles, not caring if she ripped her hair from its roots.

Aidan glanced up from where he scribbled on his doodle pad, and when he caught her gaze, his brow furrowed and he swiveled his chair until he faced the window. Her cheeks heated to radioactive levels, and she gripped the handle of the brush and wrenched it through her hair, sending stray strands flying. She grabbed a raw elastic band from her pen holder then secured a bun at the nape of her neck.

"Knock, knock." Ellory, her willowy friend and coworker, leaned against Meg's desk with crossed arms.

"Sorry, didn't see you. I was busy packing."

"Sure you were." Ellory nodded toward Aidan's office with a grin. "Are you going to do anything about it?"

Meg removed the torn hair from the brush and watched as it floated into the trashcan. "About what?

"Oh, I see, you're playing dumb." Ellory clucked her tongue. "About the six-two piece of meat you've spent the last two years drooling over."

Meg glared at her friend and whispered, "Keep your voice down. How I feel about
him
is between you and me."

"Right, because no one else notices your puppy dog eyes whenever he walks past. Sometimes I think you're going to have a big 'ol orgasm when he talks to you."

"I'm not
that
obvious."

Ellory raised both eyebrows and snorted. "Whatever, babydoll."

"If you're done harassing me, I need to finish packing up my things." She wasn't in the mood to defend her inability to be a sexually liberated woman who made the first move.

"Just wanted to let you know we're going to O'Reilly's after work for mojitos and Christmas karaoke. You in?"

"As awesome as that sounds, I have to paint my studio tomorrow and unpack boxes. I can't have a late night." Shelly, being a
screw 'em and leave 'em
kind of woman, wouldn't understand the only thing Meg wanted to do was to go home, eat cookies, chips, and candy, and get all teen-angsty about her unrequited love for Aidan.

"What? But who's gonna sing
All I Want for Christmas
with me? It's a tradition."

"We did it once. Hardly a tradition." Meg scowled and heaved out a fake sigh. "I suppose one mojito won't hurt. Two at the most. Maybe three. But seriously, I can't get wasted. I've a million and one things to do this weekend."

"And what would the two of you be whispering about?" The smooth Northern Irish lilt in Aidan's voice did all manner of peculiar things to Meg's insides. He sat on the edge of her desk with his jacket draped over one arm and his laptop bag laying over his crotch. Oh, to be that bag.

Ellory gave Meg a discreet wink. "We're going to O'Reilly's for drinks after work, and since it's Meg's last day, we were hoping you'd join us."

He cleared his throat and shifted as if uncomfortable at being asked. "Sorry. Can't. Meeting Alex Testani to discuss funds. Put tonight on the office tab."

"Will do, boss." Ellory sashayed off with a wicked smile.

Aidan's beautiful dark-brown eyes engulfed Meg, trapping her in a lust haze. The way he gazed at her made her ultra-conscious and she curled a stray strand of hair around her finger. Desire and hope pricked her skin. Could this be it? Could this be her "why, Ms. Jones, you're beautiful" moment?

"Thanks a million for your hard work, Meghan. We'll miss you, so we will."

Nope, it wasn't. To him, she was nothing more than Meghan, his ever-faithful assistant. Despite her sniveling heart, she fought to keep her expression neutral. "And thank you, Mr. Forrester. Being under you has taught me a lot about hard work and running a successful business."

He quirked an eyebrow, and a smile played on his lips. "Is that so?"

"Oh, God, that's not what I meant. I meant—"

Aidan chuckled. "Don't worry yourself. I knew what you meant."

He leaned closer; his grinning lips showing off his perfect teeth, and the scent of his ever-familiar woodsy cologne intoxicated her until there was no air left in her lungs.

"If my replacement needs help, call me." She lifted her pen holder with great care and placed it inside her box of belongings.

"I'm thinking she'll be grand. Sure you trained her, didn't you."

Meg sighed heavily, resigned to Aidan not declaring his undying love for her. "But
really
, if you need anything,
anything
at all. You have my number."

"I think we'll be fine." A muscle in his shadowed jaw twitched.

She mentally counted how many blue pens she was taking with her—ten. "I guess I'll see you around."

"I suppose you will. I'm heading out for my meetings. Watch yourself, Meghan." He stood, giving her a faint smile before walking away.

She pressed her cheek onto the cold desk and watched his sweet ass walk out of the office, and out of her life. When he was halfway down the hallway, a garnet-colored envelope fluttered from the jacket still draped over his arm and landed on the floor. He didn't stop to pick it up.

"Mr. Forrester," she called, scurrying after him, but by the time she made it to the envelope, the elevator doors had closed.

She scooped up the envelope. Silver wax pressed with the initial
M
sealed the opening. Meg turned it around in her hand and ran back to her desk. She dialed Aidan's cell, but after ten rings, it went to voicemail.

In the past, she'd opened every piece of mail he'd received, including the vomit-inducing valentine's cards from his girl-of-the-month. She wasn't sure if she should open this one. It was different. Expensive.

What the hell.

She ran her fingers under the flap, and snapped the seal. The aroma of cinnamon and sandalwood drifted upward, and a gold-trimmed square of white vellum paper floated onto her desk. She lifted the paper, then brushed her fingers over the swashed and swirled silver font, which read,
Masquerade, December 23
^rd
, 7 p.m.
, with a series of numbers printed beneath it. Transfixed, Meg turned the card repeatedly, searching for more information.

"What'cha got there?" Ellory called from her desk.

"Not sure," Meg answered slowly. "An invitation for something that's happening tomorrow. Aidan dropped it." She stuffed everything back inside the envelope. "I'll put it on his desk. I probably shouldn't have opened it."

Ellory sauntered over to Meg's desk, snatched the envelope from her fingers, and pulled out the contents with a grin. "You got invited."

"To what? You know what it's for?" Meg asked, snatching it back.

"You mean you don't know?"

"No, and if you don't tell me, I'm going to kill you."

Ellory gave a throaty laugh. "It's an invitation to a pop-up party."

"A what now?"

"A very exclusive and very secretive club that pops up somewhere different at certain times during the year, and you, my dear, just got invited."