The Billionaire's Desire Read Online Free

her desk, where files, folders and stacks of paper rose toward the ceiling like skyscrapers.
    “Great. Thanks.”
    It was business as usual, back in the office on Monday morning after the tranced weekend in St. Tropez. Ally had been given Friday off to pack and prepare; it seemed that in her absence for one day the entire senior administration staff had opted to drop their paperwork, reports and studies into her lap. It would take a week to catch up. Ally knew she’d have to dig her heels in tonight.
    She rose from the desk and padded down the hall to the museum and gallery head director’s office. Thanks to a few favors she’d been able to call in, the artist Alec Albert had been happy to arrange a sale, which was fortunate for two reasons: that was the sole purpose of the trip and Luc definitely had not come through for her, despite his grandiose gesture. The painting which had been acquired was, sadly, not the same one Ally had been so closely inspecting ( the one where I met him …) but it was still an exciting piece that would cause a sensation on the NYC art scene.
    “Ally,” her boss barked , looking up from his desk. He was a short man, balding on top, with a stern but handsome face even into his 60s, and he had been the director of the gallery for over 20 years.
    “Yes, Mr. Roberts,” she replied politely. “Brenda said you had the Manchester reports ready for me.”
    “Yes yes, of course.” He handed the file over. “The St. Tropez trip was good? No issues? I like the piece you chose, and the price was good, too. You spoke to Alec yourself?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good. We’re hoping to forge a relationship with him, so it’s very important that we maintain contact.”
    “He certainly seemed amenable to that; I know he was looking forward to having more of an American exposure. He’s ambitious, he’s flashy…he doesn’t want to remain in the shadows like other artists sometimes do.”
    “Good, good.” Mr. Roberts sat back in his desk chair and studied his assistant. “You did well. I’m going to have you accompany me and some of the other staff to the Met Ball this year. It’s in two weeks. Alec just emailed here and said he’ll be attending, so you can introduce yourself.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Miranda said Cecily has a play tomorrow evening at school, so I’ll need you to arrange a car for me from here. The Baker pieces are going to be coming in tonight of all nights, and you’ll have to be here to handle that. Oh, and make an appointment for Rufus at the vet’s for sometime next week and then let the dog sitter know.”
    He paused, sighed. “Anything else? No, that’s it. Now go get started on all that paperwork.”
    Mr. Roberts looked back down at his own mound of work and Ally knew she was dismissed.
    As she trod back to her office she wondered how he did it. The gallery demanded at least 80 hours a week from him, he was always on-call and since she’d begun working for him as his administrative and oftentimes personal assistant three years ago, he’d gone through two divorces.
    Is this what my future holds? Ally wondered, forlorn. Getting the position under Ben Roberts was a coup; she’d come to him with almost no experience, save for an internship at The Whitney during her junior year at NYU. She had started as one of four assistants to the director. Gradually the other three had quit or been fired, and in her determination to prove herself, she’d simply absorbed their work as her own and Mr. Roberts hadn’t bothered to rehire. Now she was practically his right hand. She had almost worried about what would happen to him while she was in France for the weekend.
    Lately he had been open to discussing her future, maybe placing her as an upper-level administrator at another gallery or promoting her here, making her the assistant director, grooming her for the top spot. Ally fully intended to reap what she had sown and nothing, nothing was going to get