The Arrogant Artist : A Billionaire Boss Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 2)

being filmed below me. I peer over the edge of the balcony into the pool area. There are women everywhere—gorgeous women sitting around in next to nothing.
Have I stumbled into fashion week or something because everyone looks like a damn supermodel, prancing around the pool as if they’re walking the runway?
A champagne cork pops, although I can’t hear it, and the girls all do this high-pitch squeal at the sound. Their fake laughter is like nails down a chalkboard to my ears.
How on earth did all these people get into the house?
Should I call Daniel?
Should I call the police?
Who shuts down parties like this?
Panic grips me because I’m totally screwing up this assistant thing by having no idea what to do. It’s then I notice Louis lazing on a daybed, lounging back and looking like a king. Women are pandering to him, desperately trying to gain his attention.
The guy’s a douche, ladies. Have some self-respect.
I realize he’s staring right at me with his penetrating glare.
Is he trying to intimidate me?
Is this some kind of payback for my late-night swim in his pool?
Is he seriously this childish?
I’m not looking away, Louis Marchant. You can try and push me to the edge, but I’m not going anywhere. You have no idea how desperate I am to keep this job, so give it your best shot, asshole, because I’m not leaving. I simply raise a brow. Daring him. Pushing him to give me his best shot. He looks away for a moment, his hand motioning for someone to come to him. One of the bikini-clad women comes into view. I can’t hear what they are saying above the obnoxious music, but I don’t have to know what words are exchanged because their actions are making it pretty clear. The woman moves herself between his legs and the next thing I know, her head is bobbing up and down.
Is she seriously giving him a blow job in the middle of the party?
Louis’ eyes catch mine again as his fingers tangle in her hair, forcing himself deeper down her throat. Well, one thing’s for sure, she’s taking it like a champ. My cheeks heat at the images playing out in front of me.
Louis’ eyes don’t leave mine while he gives me a ‘fuck you’ smirk as he enjoys his blow job. What a fucking asshole. He’s trying to fuck with me. Well, two can play at that game, Mr. Marchant.
I quickly turn away and run back into my room searching my desk for exactly what I need. Ripping a page out of my notebook, I scribble on the piece of paper in a large, black felt-tip pen and walk back to the balcony. The performance has slowed—what a shame. I lift the piece of paper with the number 3.5 written across the page—my score for the bullshit blow job he’s getting. His eyes widen, anger flashes across his face, then he yells something at the girl, pushing her off him. I watch as he tucks himself back into his board shorts and storms off.
Emily - 1
Louis - 0

8
Emily
“Good morning, mademoiselle.” The male voice surprises me as I enter the kitchen. A gorgeous man dressed in a white chef’s outfit greets me. Seriously, is every man in France good looking?
“Oh, hi.” I’m beyond tired and feeling a little flustered. Louis’ party went until the early hours of the morning. I am sure the sun was up. After his attempt to give me a show by the pool failed, I tried to go back to bed to grab some sleep, but it was to no avail. I wanted to start fresh on day one of my new job, but due to the private porn performance some woman decided to give early in the morning, sleep wasn’t an option. Having to listen to some woman fake an orgasm, and badly at that, at five in the morning was certainly not how I wanted to start my day.
Louis - 1
Emily - 1
“I’m Gabriel, Louis’ chef.” His chocolate eyes looking me over leisurely.
“Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand.
He ignores it, coming around the kitchen counter to stand in front of me.
“That’s not how we greet each other in France.” A sly smirk falls across his lips as he steps closer and kisses my cheeks twice and, of course, a slight blush creeps over my face. “What would you like for breakfast?” he asks, his dimples popping in.
“I can just grab something. You don’t have to—” He doesn’t let me finish as he waves his hand in the typical French way.
“It’s my job to serve you.” The French words roll off his tongue, seductively.
“Only if you’re sure?” I feel bad. I’m not used to this level of richness and people serving me.
“Of course. I’m just about to pull out some freshly baked croissants from the oven.” My stomach decides at that moment to make itself known. Awkward. We both burst out laughing. “And I have coffee, too.”
“I’m going to need that after last night.” Gabriel looks up at me with a frown, the tone of my voice obviously giving it away. “Mr. Marchant turned up last night, unannounced.”
Gabriel’s eyes widen, then he chuckles. “Ah, let me guess… Louis threw a party, did he not?” I nod. He hands me a beautifully brewed cup of coffee. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” He shrugs.
“This is a common occurrence?” Gabriel nods as he busies himself in the kitchen. “So, I need to invest in some good earplugs, then?”
“Maybe buy a set of those noise-canceling headphones instead. I have a pair.” Gabriel laughs as he pulls the buttery croissants from the oven.
Of course, the croissants are delicious. If I am not careful, I’m going to put on a whole lot of weight if I keep devouring this type of buttery goodness every morning. Thankfully, Gabriel has also made a fruit bowl for me, so I don’t feel too bad for the extra croissant I’ve consumed.
We’re sitting chatting, laughing at