Bad Girl Billionaire

By G.G. Woodhouse

Rebecca Burke is the CEO of a billion-dollar conglomerate. She was groomed to run the family business her entire life. She grew up rich, and always had the best. The only thing missing? Love. That is, until Rebecca meets Chet Chester, her temp assistant. His good looks, pure heart, and naivety win over experienced and cold-blooded Rebecca, and an unlikely romance blooms between the Alpha Female and her young subservient...

Bad Girl Billionaire is a feminist gender-swap of the "Bad Boy Billionaire" sub-genre — a steamy rom-com about what happens when a boss lady calls the shots.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Oct 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094422206

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: THE FILM MAJOR

REBECCA

"And you went to college… where?"

I blinked down at the resume in front of me, about the millionth I’d seen in the past week. Usually the task of interviewing a temporary assistant was beneath the CEO of a multibillion dollar company, but I was something of a control freak. I was known to have a short fuse, and I didn’t get along with most people.

Even though my assistant Amber would only be on maternity leave for two months, I wanted to know exactly who’d be filling her shoes.

The young woman who sat in front of my desk puffed out her chest a little bit as she answered my question. Harvard.

Yeah, she looks like Ivy League material, I thought, staring at her Hillary Clinton pantsuit. Who wears one of those under 30? Hell, under 50? An overachieving yuppie psycho, that’s who. Patricia Bateman here didn’t want to be my assistant — she either wanted my job, or she wanted to murder me. Both, most likely.

Good luck with that, sweetheart.

Well, thanks for coming in, I said, motioning above the girl’s head to Amber, who stood obediently near the door. My redheaded, nine-months-pregnant assistant waddled into action, giving the baffled candidate in front of me a warm smile. I loved Amber. I rode her ass like Seabiscuit but, secretly, I had no idea what I’d do without her. She was the yin to my yang. The sweet to my sour. The BFF to my cold, hard bitch.

I’ll walk you out, Amber said as the young woman rose. Thanks so much for coming in.

Thank you for your time, the candidate said to me, but I’d already spun my chair around to gaze out my office window at the Seattle skyline behind me. Or at least, the parts I could see beneath the usual blanket of gray rain clouds.

A few moments later, I heard Amber reenter the room. Who’s next? I asked, still staring out the window. Another Ivy League brownnoser? Maybe we should bring in someone from Stanford, just to mix it up a little.

You can’t keep rejecting people on sight, Ms. Burke, or we’ll run out of candidates, Amber said. Appearances aren’t everything. Maybe you should try and spend more than 60 seconds with these people.

Are you telling me how to do my job, Amber? I turned around in my seat, facing her. She winced at the intensity of my stare, but she held her ground.

I’m only saying that I have my C-section in two weeks, and I can’t reschedule it, Amber said, a bit of a tremble in her voice. The longer you take to find a replacement, the less time I’ll have to train them.

I scowled. She was right, obviously, but I wasn’t going to admit it. The problem was, I didn’t want some egghead temp looking for their big break. I wanted another Amber — a career assistant with a thick skin, a freakishly high WPM score, and a psychic ability to intuit my every need. At that moment, I very much felt the need to invest in a cloning company.

Bring in the next one, then, I grumbled. But she better not be wearing a pantsuit.

Actually, the ‘next one’ isn’t an interview. Amber smiled. "I mean it is, but you’re the one being interviewed."

I frowned. Come again?

"You agreed to talk to the Seattle State Bugle, remember? They want to film a segment for their social media."

I groaned. I hated press, even if they were just some gawky college kids from my alma mater.

Why did I agree to do this again?

Because you’ve donated enough money for them to name their new fitness center after you. This is just the kind of press you need to, well… Amber’s voice trailed off. I sensed her nervousness. "Humanize you."

"I am human! I snapped. Why do people always have it out for billionaires? I should start complaining about poor people all the time. See how they like it!"

Please just do the interview, Amber said. And try to be nice.

I opened my mouth to argue, but Amber was already out the door. Instead, I turned back to my window, staring hard at the tall buildings, as if I might find some niceness hidden behind the steel and glass. I was a woman with everything in the world — except a positive attitude.

Amber reentered the room behind me, speaking softly to someone. I heard some male uh-huhs and affirmative grunts, then spun around to see what the cat had dragged in. Some pimple-faced AV nerd, probably.

But the young man I saw beside Amber was anything but the geek I expected. He was tall, tall enough to play minor league basketball, with freckled skin and neat golden hair. A vintage leather jacket hung off his thin frame, as did his white T-shirt and corduroy pants.

He noticed me staring and turned in my direction, staring with olive-green eyes framed by long, delicate lashes. He was clean-shaven, with high cheekbones and a strong, masculine chin. He began to speak, and a deep and gentle voice rumbled into my ears.

Hi, he said. "Chet Chesterson from the Seattle State Bugle."

I was completely speechless. He was the hottest guy I’d ever seen.

I’m… I gasped for breath. I’m — I’m — I’m…

I, uh… kinda know who you are, Chet said, smirking a little. Nice to meet you, Ms. Burke.

He walked over to the desk and stuck out a long-fingered hand. I slowly took it, frozen to my seat. My hand looked impossibly small in his.

Same here, I stammered. "Chet."

Chet has to take a few minutes to set up the room for his shoot, Amber said. Do you need my help, Chet?

I think I’ll be alright, Chet said, smiling at Amber. Then he turned back to me. I’ll try not to get in your way, Ms. Burke. I’m sure you’re very busy.

I nodded, finally standing up from my desk. I was starting to feel lightheaded. What was with this boy? Or rather, what was with me? I’d never gone this gaga over a guy.

You can go back to your desk, Amber, I told my assistant. Chet, take all the time you need. I’ll just freshen up a bit.

Without another word, I walked across the office to my private restroom. I needed to splash some cold water on my face. Maybe masturbate. Anything to relax myself.

Section Break

CHET

I was just finishing setting up the shoot by the time Ms. Burke re-emerged from the restroom. Midnight black hair cascaded down her shoulders. She had sharp, honey-brown eyes and a perfect tan, which had to be from travel, given Seattle’s weather. Beneath her conservative navy blue dress was a shapely body. I had to force myself to look away as she came closer.

I couldn’t check out my subject like this! I shouldn’t have even been dreaming about a girl — no, a woman — as hot as Rebecca Burke. She looked well-worth the billions in her bank account, and I was just some broke-ass 22-year-old film major.

Ready for my closeup, she said with a wink. She’d seemed distracted earlier, but now it looked like I had her full attention.

Maybe you could sit there. I indicated to the pair of grey sofas she had near the giant wall of windows behind her desk. I’ll sit across from you and ask the questions off camera.

I wish we could switch places, Ms. Burke quipped as she took her seat. I walked over with the microphone.

If you could just clip this on the front of your dress somewhere, I said, looking down at her, trying not to stare at her ample chest. She took the little microphone from me, our hands brushing just a little. I felt a little shiver go through me.

How’s this? she clipped it to the collar of her dress, basically forcing me to look at breasts.

Great, I said in a small voice.

I went back to where I’d set up the camera and focused the lens on Ms. Burke. She smirked at me — she was far more stunning than the Seattle skyline behind her.

How do I look? she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I hesitated, unable to simplify my feelings about her beauty. Instead, I gave her a thumbs up.

Ready to start? I asked. She nodded. I pressed record on the camera and took my seat on the couch across from her. She crossed her legs, staring at me. I was hypnotized.

Well?

Right! The cue cards, I laughed a little as I took them out of my pocket. Real professional, Chet, I chastised myself. Emmy here I come…

Tell me about your journey. How did you become CEO of the Burke Organization?

Ms. Burke gave me a wry smile. Nepotism.

Oh, uh… I chuckled again. Do you care to elaborate?

She gave me a little shrug, a playfulness in her eyes. My great-grandfather started the Burke Organization when he moved to Seattle from Connecticut eighty years ago. Since then, ownership of the company has transferred through four generations of my family, down to me, and one day, I’ll pass it onto my kid… if I ever stop working long enough to have one.

I see, I said. Wow. Ms. Burke really didn’t fuck around. It was obvious that she’d inherited ownership of the company — her name was literally on the building — but most people wouldn’t be so blunt about it. Unfortunately, Ms. Burke had just donated a ton of money to the school. I had to make her look like a philanthropist, not a badass.

How did your experience at Seattle State help you get where you are today? I tried.

My father wouldn’t have handed over the company if I didn’t have a degree, she said. Those were the rules. He wanted me to go to Stanford, but something about Seattle suits my personality. She glanced out the window at the city below, all shades of grey. I’ve never wanted to stray too far from home. Plus, Seattle State recruited me for the women’s wrestling team.

"You wrestled?" I blurted out. I couldn’t help myself. Picturing Ms. Burke in spandex was having a certain effect on me.

Three-time conference champion, Ms. Burke said, glancing casually at her perfectly manicured red nails. "I