Dreaming of the Billionaire

by Bright, Alice

  "Dammit," I mutter out loud, realizing that my tingly clit is still just as tingly as it was before I got off. My pussy is still just as unsatisfied. My tits are still dying to have his tongue wrapped around them. For a second, I'm so hell bent on picturing Sean fucking me that I forget he's just a few feet away from me, separated only by a thin, wooden door.

  "What is it?" He asks through the door. I sense a hint of urgency in his voice and a whole lot of concern. He's worried about me. Obviously. I can tell. He tries turning the handle, but I locked it. I'm alone, for now, until I'm ready to face him.

  Which isn't now.

  I'm still naked.

  "Give me a fucking second Sean," I grab a towel from the rack and sort-of manage to cover myself, at least up front. My butt is still hanging out. At this point, I don't care.

  I finally rip the door open and he's standing there in a suit, looking perfect. Of course he is. Isn't he always? He's showered since the last time I saw him and his hair is perfectly styled. Not a strand is out of place on his brunette head. His eyes glow, fiercely, when he sees me. I think I see him bite back a growl. His jaw line is sharp and determined. He's the kind of guy who always gets what he wants.

  But how come I'm not what he wants?

  "What do you want and why are you here?" I ask. My eyes dart down the hallway to where Amy is standing next to her room. Her eyes pop open and she gives me a "sorry" look before darting into her bedroom. I sigh, realizing it's not her fault. Sean is a sweet talker. It probably didn't take much to convince her to let him inside.

  "You left in such a hurry that you forgot this," he says, holding up a small necklace. The pendant on the end is an hourglass. It's filled with sapphire. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I start to reach for it before I realize that I've never seen it before in my life.

  "That's not mine," I tell him, suddenly irritated that he thought it was. How many girls has he had over? How many sluts have stayed in that guest room? How many times has a girl been invited to sleep in his bed instead of the guest room? And how many necklaces have been "forgotten" at his house?

  "It is now," he says, not blinking. "I bought it for you. I was going to give it to you last night, but, well, I didn't really get the chance." He holds it out again to me and this time I reach for it, take it, and hold it in my hands.

  "It's not to sway your decision on whether to work for me," he adds quickly. "It's more of a thank-you for your company last night."

  I look at it again.

  It's tiny and perfect and everything I love in the world.

  "Tell me you like it," he says. "You seem like the type of girl who knows that time is precious, so I thought it was appropriate."

  "I don't know what to say," it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It reminds me of an hourglass my mother gave me when I was little during a talk about how time was the most valuable currency in the world. You give your time to the people you love, to the things you care about, and you don't waste them on things that don't matter.

  I finally manage to blurt out a thank-you, but as I do, I realize that my towel is slipping. My attempts to grab it before it hits the floor are unsuccessful, but Sean keeps looking at my eyes and nothing else. He doesn't even seem to notice that the towel fell and I'm not even embarrassed to be standing in the hallway of my house, completely naked, next to the sexiest man I've ever known.

  "Thank you," I tell him. "I love it."

  Sean takes a step forward and before I know it I'm wrapped up in the softest, warmest, sexiest, dirtiest, naughtiest hug I've ever been in.

  My head rests softly against his heart. I swear I can hear it beating even through the suit, even though I know it's probably not true. One hand is on the small of my back, the other gently rests in my hair.

  "I'm sorry about this morning," he tells me, pulling away. "Can we try again?"

  I nod, fervently, not quite believing that this is happening.

  "Do you want to have dinner with me?" he asks.

  "Yes," I say. Somehow, it's all I say. It's all I can find the words for. It's the only thing I can blurt out before his hands are on me and I'm wrapped up in him again.

  I hear an AHEM from down the hall and we both turn to look at Amy, whose head is popping out of her bedroom.

  "Don't mind me," she says, smiling at us. "But you might want to put some pants on before you go, sis."

  With that, she vanishes back into her room and Sean and I both burst into a fit of laughter.

  15.

  "What's good around here?" Sean asks me as we hop into his car. I don't know the made, the model, or the year. All I know is it's ridiculously fancy and I couldn't afford it on a year's salary. Or, you know, five.

  "Let's go to Rebecca's," I suggest.

  "Uh, okay," he hesitates, then turns to me with a questioning look. "Is that a friend of yours?"

  I laugh. "No, silly, Rebecca's." I say it slowly, drawing the word out, as if that's going to make him understand.

  He still doesn't get it.

  "It's a restaurant," I tell him. "It's downtown. Take Oak to West Fourth street. It's on the right."

  "Ah," he pulls out of my driveway and starts heading down the road, following my directions perfectly. I fold my hands neatly in my lap as he navigates the narrow roads, wondering what made him come over to see me.

  I don't actually want to wait to hear what his answer is and I don't actually want to spend the entire day wondering, so I decide that it's best to just be blunt.

  "Why are you here?" I ask. It comes out more rude than I had hoped, and I sigh. Dammit. I'm never going to get this dating thing right.

  But Sean doesn't seem annoyed or frustrated. He just smiles and keeps his eyes focused on the road. I wonder what's rushing through his mind as he takes way too long to answer my simple question. Maybe he's searching for the right words, the way that I should have.

  "I couldn't let things end the way they did," he finally says.

  And I know exactly what he means.

  It's not every day you completely blow it with a billionaire.

  It's not every day you're falling-down-drunk at his house, puking on his floors and then yelling at him when he doesn't like you back. It's not every day that you have the guts to yell at a guy who could buy your entire town and five more without breaking a sweat. It's not every day you scream at a guy who controls your entire future.

  But I did that.

  I did all of that and I did it today.

  And now I'm terrified of what's going to come next.

  "I'm sorry," I finally say, breaking the silence. And I am. I'm not pouring the words out because they sound nice or pretty. Coming from me, they sound neither. I'm only saying it because it's true and because it's what he deserves. He deserves to hear that I was wrong. We both know it.

  "Violet," he begins, but then hesitates. He seems to be waiting for another outburst, for me to interrupt again, for me to call him a name or slap him, but I don't. I just wait. Once he knows that the speaking floor is his, he starts talking again.

  "I should have been more clear with you. I didn't mean to lead you on. Make no mistake: I find you wildly attractive. Everything about you is just," he pauses, as if searching for the perfect word, "exciting," he finally settles on. "Your hair, your clothes, your makeup, your smile. It's all just fantastic."

  His words glow in my soul, reminding me that sometimes, the world can be a beautiful place.

  But then the harsh reality comes crashing down around me when he says, "But I can't be in a relationship with you. Not right now. My offer, much as it pains me, is purely a business negotiation."

  And that's when I realize that Cinderella dreams are just that: dreams.

  This guy took me out for an incredible dinner, cared for me when I was sick, and then bought me the most beautiful necklace I've ever laid eyes on.

  But he still doesn't want me.

  And I doubt he ever could.

  16.

 
"This was a mistake," I say, and his eyes dart quickly to me before going back to the road.

  "Violet?" He seems surprised at my reaction.

  "Take me home."

  "What's wrong?" He places a hand on mine, but I pull it away and grit my teeth.

  "I want to go home, Sean."

  "Okay, but will you talk to me?"

  He pulls the car over and I focus on my breathing. I don't know if it's rage or frustration or embarrassment or disappointment that's boiling my stomach, but it's something fierce that I've never felt before.

  It's been a long time since a boy made me cry.

  And I don't want to do it in front of Sean.

  "I don't think I can work with you," I tell him. I'm being honest. Even if it's part-time work, even if it's from my office, even if it's only on the weekends, I don't know if I'm ready for him. I don't know if I'm ready for Sean.

  Am I really strong enough to handle this?

  Am I really brave enough to take on this world?

  "If it's the pay-" he starts, but I hold up a hand and cut him off.

  "It's not that."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  The tears burn my cheeks as they fall faster than I thought possible. I feel myself blushing, unable to stop them from falling. I don't bother wiping my cheeks. He knows what's happening. There's no point in trying to hide it.

  Did I really think he'd ever be able to make me feel this way?

  Did I really think he'd be able to hurt me?

  It hasn't even been a week since I met him and already I'm crying over him.

  Me! Crying over a boy. How pathetic is that?

  "I like you," I tell him simply. I've never been a coward and I'm not going to be one now. It might not be politically correct for me to tell a guy I "like" him. I might seem like a middle school girl confessing to her crush. I don't really care. Sean deserves to know why I don't want to work for him.

  "Then what's the problem?" Again with the hands. Why is he always touching me? For someone who doesn't want a relationship, his hands are on me. A lot. I fight back the quiver that's building up in my body, but I can't. I'm still crying, only now I'm quivering at his touch, too.

  Perfect.

  How am I for a hot mess?

  "The problem is that I don't think I can work with you and not want more."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," I sigh. Are all billionaires this clueless? "I don't think I can work with you and not think every second of every day about you stripping me down and throwing me against the wall in a passionate kiss. I don't think I can work with you and not wonder what it's like to feel your cock pulsing in my mouth. I don't think I can work with you and not picture us naked on your bed, fucking harder than anyone has ever fucked before. That's what I mean, Sean."

  His jaw hits the floor.

  "Now, please, Sean. Just take me home."

  He doesn't say a word as he drives me back to my house. He pulls into the driveway and I let myself out, nodding politely to him. Then I close his door and walk the stairs to my house, crying the entire time.

  Why did he have to walk into my life?

  17.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" Amy is standing in my doorway, glaring at me while I cry.

  What a great sister.

  Instead of answering her, I throw a pillow in her general direction. It hits the dresser and knocks my jewelry box to the floor, scattering earrings everywhere.

  Perfect.

  "Seriously," now she's in the room standing over me. "You need to figure this out because you're being stupid."

  "What do you even know?"

  "Uh, I know a lot more than you think. I know that Sean is a really great guy and you really like him. I also know that you're totally blowing it."

  Who does she think she is?

  She has no idea what it was like at his house, feeling pampered and beautiful and then being pushed aside. She doesn't know what it was like to be wined and dined and then told I'm "just a business connection."

  Amy has no fucking clue.

  "You don't get it." I'm still sobbing. I don't even think she can understand me, but it doesn't stop me from trying to speak. "I am so fucking crazy about this guy and I barely know him. And every time we're together, we're just electric."

  "Yes, Violet, I too have had lovers." She pats her belly, as if to remind me exactly how experienced she is. "But you can't keep this up. You can't keep coming home crying after every interaction with this guy."

  "I always feel like he likes me, but then he makes a comment about how he's only interested in me professionally, how he's not ready for a relationship."

  "So?"

  "So, it's horrible."

  "Have you ever thought that maybe there's something he's not telling you?"

  Um, no.

  I haven't.

  Waves of embarrassment cover me again.

  It's a feeling I'm quickly getting used to.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, looking up from my bed.

  "I mean, maybe he's not ready for a relationship. Maybe he actually likes you, but he just got dumped or he's dealing with personal issues. Maybe he's completely smitten by you and it scares him, Vi."

  "I guess I hadn't thought about that." Though, to be honest, I'm not sure that it matters. Do I really want to waste my time on someone who has personal issues he can't talk to me about? Do I really want to date someone who has a terrible secret? Do I really want to go crazy over someone who makes me feel like a million dollars and then who makes me feel like I just don't fit in his world?

  Do I?

  Absolutely, if it's Sean we're talking about.

  I get the feeling that he's worth the pain.

  "I know you didn't think about it," Amy says, leaning casually against my door. "And that's why you have me." She turns to walk away, yelling over her shoulder, "I'm the smart sister."

  I lean back on the bed and take a series of deep breaths.

  Maybe she's right.

  Maybe I'm overreacting.

  Maybe Sean really thinks I'm great, but wants to wait awhile before pursuing me. Maybe he wants to get to know me first. Maybe he wants to make sure I'm someone he can see a future with before he commits.

  There are a lot of maybes floating around in my mind right now.

  The phone rings. It's him. Of course it's him. He's been calling me ever since he dropped me off.

  But I just can't.

  I can't hear his voice without melting.

  I can't hear his voice without dreaming about the way he looks at me.

  And right now, what I need is a clear head.

  Right now, what I need is to stop thinking about Sean Moormead, if only for a little while.

  18.

  "You have a visitor," Tim tells me when I walk into the tech department on Monday morning. He jerks his head toward me office and gives me a questioning look, but wisely says nothing else.

  I know exactly who it is.

  Sean called and texted me last night, but I didn't answer. I didn't want to. I couldn't. I'm still reeling from the idea that we had a connection when all we really had was a common business goal. Well, that and the fact that I like to drink wine.

  And lots of it.

  Even if Amy really is right and Sean cares for me, I'm so hurt and confused by our entire weekend together that I don't think I can focus when I talk to him.

  All I'm going to be doing is wondering how good he is in bed or whether or not he'll ever actually kiss me.

  And is that any way to treat a business connection?

  "Do I look okay?" Tim looks as surprised that I asked the question as I am that I asked it. I've never once mentioned my appearance to Tim. Ever. But I'm suddenly incredible self-conscious and want to make sure that I look absolutely perfect when I walk through the door to my office.

  Tim finally gets it together and nods quickly.

  "You look wonderful, Vi," he says. "Really good." Then, glancing over at m
y office and back to me, he adds, "Don't worry about a thing. You're going to knock his socks off."