The Millionaire Offer Book 2

Sarah was lost in thought, admiring the beauty of Dubai’s weather, while she struggled to tame her long hair into a bun. Today, though, was proving to be an exception.

The humidity was turning her thick hair into a wild, unruly mess. When her hair band gave way, she surrendered.

She was already behind schedule, and her detour to Aron’s favorite restaurant to grab his preferred breakfast hadn’t helped. Juggling a pile of documents and a backpack that was causing her back to sweat, she wished she had requested a driver.

The day had seemed so promising, and she’d wanted to stretch her legs and get some exercise. The hand holding the freshly baked pie was starting to burn, so she switched hands and picked up her pace.

Time was not her friend. She still had one more intersection to cross.

The enticing smell of the pie made her mouth water. She might not be a culinary expert, but she knew how to pick out good food, and that had to be worth something.

The building in front of her shone like a silver blade slicing through the sky. A clock was perched on top of it.

She squinted to read the time. It was later than she’d anticipated.

The doorman helped her into the glass and stone structure—one of the many that seemed to pop up overnight in this country, radiating affluence at every corner. The cool, crisp air greeted her as she walked past the reception desk.

A pretty blonde receptionist rose to assist her. “Let me take that for you, Miss Sarah.”

“Thank you, Tracy. Could you call the elevator for me? I’d hate to have to do it with my nose.” Sarah smiled, blowing her unruly hair out of her face.

As the elevator chimed, she stepped forward with energy, only to bump into a wall—a warm, breathing wall. The pie ended up smeared all over her suit.

The papers she was carrying scattered across the floor. A piece of cheese landed on a crucial part of the speech she’d worked on late into the night.

The obstacle she’d collided with was a large man with a thick neck, dressed in a black military uniform, complete with boots and a cap. She knew some men had a thing for military attire.

It made them appear tough and dangerous, but it seemed absurd in this sweltering climate where merely looking outside could make you feel like melting. He squatted down next to her, and she noticed his veiny hands and broad forehead, and the fact that there wasn’t a trace of sweat on his bronzed skin.

That seemed unfair. He was covered from head to toe and yet didn’t sweat a drop, not even where she could see hair peeking out from the V-neck of his shirt.

Annoyed by this additional delay, she hastily gathered her papers and wiped her forehead with a damp hand, noticing two large sweat patches under her arms. The fact that the muscular, dry man beside her was trying to sort out her mess only added to her irritation.

“Stop it! You’re not helping.” She snatched the papers from his hands.

The man politely stood up.

“You’ve done enough. Next time, watch where you’re going,” Sarah scolded him.

Sweet Tracy was hovering nearby, trying to interrupt her. Just before the elevator doors closed behind her, Sarah heard Tracy apologizing to the man on her behalf, with the utmost respect.

She was seriously late now. Aron must be livid.

The thought made her smile. She found his temper amusing.

In ten minutes, she arrived on the CEO floor. The secretary rushed to her aid.

“He’s asked for you a dozen times. You should answer your phone when he calls you.”

Sarah showed her full hands, and the woman giggled. “He even asked me to check if you got stuck in the toilet.” She winked at Sarah as she opened the office door and let her in.

The man in question was sitting in a high leather chair, his back to her, talking on the phone. When he saw her, he dropped the phone and stood up.

“You’re late again. I can’t rely on you,” Aron reproached her.

His face showed more annoyance at a naughty child than actual anger. He bent down and licked her lips.

He did it just to annoy her. He knew she hated sloppy kisses.

And no matter how often she told him, he always did it. Sarah didn’t have a problem with body fluids.

She just didn’t like to start with messy kisses. Leaving the papers on his desk, she wiped her mouth, and his face broke into a wide smile.

“I’ve done it again. I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“You’re not sorry. You did that on purpose to piss me off,” she scolded him. “Let me show you what I’ve prepared for today.”

“I’ll look at it later or just send it to PR. It’s too late now for major changes. Let them deal with it,” he interrupted her.

She was a little late, but her job wasn’t to write his speeches, cute newspaper stories, or answer his interview questions. She did it because she loved him.

Aron had people paid to do that, but he liked how she made him seem more approachable and warm, so she kept doing it out of love and a little vanity. There was no greater reward than his praise.

“I had an accident. Your breakfast ended up all over me.”

“What breakfast?”

“Your favorite pie. I picked it up on the way here…”

He rubbed his forehead. “When I want pie, I order it. It’s as simple as that. You’re not the one who brings the pie.”

She tapped her foot, and her usually soft jawline hardened. Of course Aron could order pie if he wanted it.

It wasn’t like she was stupid. He could hire a top Michelin five-star chef to make his damn pie fresh from scratch here.

She did it out of love and care. He could bring her pie sometimes or thank her for everything she did for him.

“Find the speech. It’s in there somewhere. I also sent it to your email,” Sarah muttered, spinning on her flat pumps and marching out of the office.

Her auburn hair flew around her shoulders as she strode across the white marble floor. The footsteps behind her grew louder, and she knew he was following her.

Sometimes she worried that this seemed like a game to him. She refused to slow down.

He called her a few more times before his steps quickened, and he caught up with her somewhere between the restroom and one of the conference rooms and pushed her inside. A little disoriented, she squealed, feeling his mouth on hers and his hands all over her body through her thin summer clothes.

“Come on,” he murmured between kisses, “you know how important you are to me.” She squirmed under his rough fingers as she returned his kisses, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

This was too much for her. Making out in the middle of a workday, in the most inappropriate place, the office.

“Someone’s going to catch us, and then you’ll have to marry me,” she teased him as she felt his hands on her breasts. He froze for a moment and let her go, stepping backward and straightening his expensive suit.

The movement surprised her, and she felt cheap, as if the thought of marrying her was terrifying. “When will we announce our engagement?” she asked, watching his face.