Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

Where was your dedication to duty then?”
    I counted down from ten in my head, and arrived at one to find that I was still pissed off. “Sir, I can only say that –”
    “And then there’s the matter of your providing sugar, caffeine, and comfortable chairs to the local homeless population, all on my dime. I understand from various sources I’ve consulted that this is in fact something you do virtually every day – tell me, were you under the impression that this sort of unauthorized generosity features somewhere in your job description? Because I have to tell you, it certainly does not – not unless the aromatic Jerry and his scruffy assortment of friends are the ones providing you with your paycheck.”
    Ashley, remember your mom, your rent, and the three or four dollars left in your checking account – you need this job, so do NOT tell this entitled jerk what you think of rich assholes who pick on street people for laughs.
    I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and decided to say nothing, since anything I blurted out at this point would probably sink me like the Titanic. 
    Mr. Killane steepled his fingers on his desk top and hit me with that sideways look once again. Was he angry, or not? About to fire me, or not?
    The silence between us stretched out to one, two, then three minutes. Then Mr. Killane nodded, rose to his feet, and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. He peered down at the doings of the great unwashed masses for a moment, and then turned to face me again.
     “Guess what I’ve been doing all day.”
    He left the window behind and strolled toward me step by indolent step, with a smug smile pasted on his face. Dear God, what was he up to now?
    He stopped a few feet away from me. I looked him up and down, trying to read him, but it was like trying to read the intentions of a statue. My body chimed in with its opinion that he was a gorgeous, smoking hot statue, and I told my body to shut the hell up.
    He took a step closer. “Go on, guess.” His grin reminded me of Shark Week on the Discovery Channel.
    On impulse, I hedged my bet between anger and meekness, and went with humor. “I’d say … you’ve been destroying dreams? Bankrupting third-world countries? Having a helicopter lower your favorite yacht into the middle of Times Square and then setting it on fire? Crushing puppies?”
    Just for an instant, he grinned like a little kid – a genuine, heart melting smile that vanished in seconds.
    A pang went straight through my heart – I wanted to see that smile again.
    No such luck, though – now he was back to his blood-in-the-water grin.
    “Turn around and you’ll see what I’ve been up to.”
    He waved at something behind me. I bit my lip – did I dare turn my back on this guy? I mean, he wouldn’t stab me in the spine or anything, would he?
    I took the chance and turned around.
    I saw the door, I saw the paneling, I saw the hardwood floor, but I didn’t see anything unusual. What was he talking about?
    “Look up, Ms. Daniels – there, just under the ceiling.”
    I tilted my head back. Just where the wall met the ceiling, right where Mr. Killane would have a perfect view from his desk, six gleaming monitors hung in a row, displaying the live feed from the building’s security cameras.
    Each LED screen was at least fifty inches across, and each one showed the feed from a different location in the building. Even with the view on each screen changing to a different camera every thirty seconds or so, it took a while to rotate between all the views available, since Mr. Killane apparently had dozens – hundreds? – of snooping little lenses concealed all over this monument to his massive, throbbing bank account.
    “Sir, I don’t understand – you’ve been watching the security cameras all day? Why?”
    “Just a certain select few of them, Ms. Daniels.”
    He pulled a remote control from an inside pocket of his suit jacket. Thumbing rapidly over the buttons – the