Without Warning: A Billionaire Romance (Playboys of New York Book 5) JA Low (e textbook reader .TXT) 📖

a small smile in return, then busies herself with work. I step into my office, which is practically a windowless shoebox, and sit at my desk. I fire up my computer and listen to the beeps of the numerous emails that come through while I sip my coffee.

“Morning, Ariana.” Stanford Davenport stands at my door, his blue eyes assessing me. He’s the boss’s son and fits every single stereotype that would bring. His ego is through the roof. He believes he’s a brilliant architect. He’s not. The interns fix up his mistakes. Stanford is a creep to most of the women in the office. He’s never done anything. It’s just the way he looks you over that makes you feel dirty. He’s asked me out several times since I’ve started at the firm, and every single time I’ve declined his advances.

One—he’s technically my boss.

Two—he’s a creep.

Three—he’s a creep.

Do I need to continue?

But the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree with senior Davenport either. Bruce is your typical rich, older man who thinks he’s more important than he really is. He may be a brilliant architect, but all of that is forgotten because of his demeanor, or maybe it’s just the way he treats the women in the office. He is happy to invite the boys in the office for Friday afternoon drinks at the local strip club. Women are obviously to be seen for pleasure and not heard from in the office unless it’s to get his fucking coffee. The man knocked up his assistant, for fuck’s sake.

I don’t understand what she ever saw in him. Yes, he is distinguished- looking for an older man, but his personality is the pits. Maybe some women can put up with that when it leads to a payday like it did for Elisabeth. She lives in some fancy apartment in Manhattan, has a large allowance, and doesn’t have to work.

“Did you have a good weekend? Get up to any mischief?” he asks.

Ew.

“No. I didn’t do much at all, actually.” Not giving him anything. I hope the conversation will be over and done with.

“That’s a shame. You should have come ‘round to my penthouse. I hosted an awesome party. It turned into something crazy. You would have loved it.”

Yeah, there is no way in hell I would have enjoyed going to his place. I’d probably be the only person invited, and before I knew it, I would be locked down in some creepy sex dungeon of his. Stanford’s eyes dip down to my breasts and stay there. Yeah, I’d definitely be locked in some dungeon.

“Sandy,” a deep voice calls out down the hallway.

Stanford stills at the nickname.

Sandy? Oh, I want to use that. It’s perfect for him.

His face pales as a hand grips him on the shoulder. Then it’s my turn to pale when I realize who’s voice it is as I see him standing in the doorway to my office. Rhys.

What the hell is he doing here?

How the hell does he know Standford?

Of course, he knows Standford. They are probably related. Let’s face it, they are equally as disgusting as each other.

I need to hide.

He can’t see me.

But I think it will look rather suspicious if I dive under my desk right about now.

“No, means, no. You know that, don’t you, Sandy?” Rhys jokes with Stanford calling him out on his creepiness. Rhys turns to see who Stanford has been talking to and stills. His eyes flare ever so slightly in recognition, all the while keeping a perfect poker face. He then looks back to Stanford, and his face darkens.

“Ariana, this is my brother, Rhys,” Stanford introduces us through gritted teeth.

Rhys is his brother?

He’s a Davenport?

What in the hell. I thought his surname was Bailey?

Of course, he would use a fake name.

Oh, fuck! I’m a little lightheaded.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in London.” Standford glares at Rhys.

I don’t think there’s any love lost between these two brothers.

Brothers. Realizing what they are, I look them over and would never have guessed the two men are even related. They both have the same blue eyes, but Rhys has darker hair, is taller, broader, and a hell of a lot more handsome. Stanford has blond hair and looks, well, douche-ier. Is that even a word!

“Dad wanted a meeting,” Rhys tells him, ignoring my presence, which is fine with me.

“Oh, that’s right.” Stanford nods, pretending like he always knew the plan.

“Ariana, why don’t you go downstairs and grab us some coffee.” Stanford turns and looks at me.

Go get your own fucking coffee! That’s not my job.

Rhys looks between Stanford and me, then frowns.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not her job to fetch coffee, Sandy,” Rhys tells him.

I’m stunned no one stands up to Stanford in this office, even me. I grin and take the bullshit because of their reputation in the architectural world.

Stanford’s face turns a horrible shade of red. He looks like he’s ready to explode and maybe plot the murder of Rhys.

“I would love a large black coffee, though. Thanks, bud.” He slaps his brother on his back and practically pushes him out the doorway.

The strange thing is Stanford does as he’s told and stomps away, grumbling something under his breath. As soon as Stanford has disappeared, Rhys shuts the door to my office and locks it. What the hell?

“You have five minutes to get out of my office before I kick you in your fucking balls,” I warn.

9

Rhys

The last person I thought I would ever see my brother being creepy toward was the woman from the other night. The one that I have been desperately trying to track down.

Ricky refused to give me any information about her. The fucking asshole. Thankfully management fired him the next day.

And now, here she is, working in my father’s business.

I stare down at her. She’s dressed in a black wrap top that extenuates her gorgeous breasts tastefully, and her brown hair is pulled up in a tight ponytail. She’s sitting behind her