Billionaire Playboy

by Terry Towers

  “Can I have a peek when you’re dressed?”

  “Sure.” Time for the second opinion. Opening the door, I stepped out of the bathroom and waited for her opinion.

  She made a little “squee” noise and clapped her hands together, like an overzealous teenager. Her enthusiasm was contagious; my smile widened, and like magic I could feel my mood and apprehension lift. “I knew it would look amazing on you. Just knew it. Come back out to the living room, I have some mirrors set up for you to use.” She gave me another smile and walked back to the living room, expecting me to follow.

  I did, as best I could anyway. The dress was quite narrow at the bottom, forcing me to take small strides. The price of beauty, I suppose.

  Entering the living room, I noticed a portable three-way mirror beside the rack. Stepping up to the mirror, I examined every angle of my figure. I felt my confidence growing each second I looked at myself. It was amazing how something as simple as a dress could make a person feel like a super model… Okay, perhaps not a super model, but damned good.

  “I think dress one is a winner,” she announced, “but you can never say for sure. We have lots more to go through.”

  My attention shifted from my reflection to the row of dresses I still had to try on. The rack looked daunting, but I’d give it a go. For the first time in a very long time, I was feeling really good about clothes shopping. I could get used to this type of life.

  “Once we’re done making the final decision on the dress, we’re going to need to get started on the shoes and accessories. Mr. Thompson also has a make-up and hair stylist waiting for phase one to complete so phase two can begin.”

  Cocking a brow up at her, I asked, “Phase two?”

  “Of your make-over day, of course. You’re so lucky, I’d kill for this, myself.”

  It would appear that I was more than just a bet. I was his pet project as well. Like a Barbie doll to be dressed up. A touch of anger interrupted my good mood, but I pushed it down. It wasn’t fair to make assumptions about his intentions, at least when it came to this topic anyhow, and I wasn’t going to let that ruin one of the best days I’d had in a long time.

  Chapter 5

  Devon

  What a fucking stressful day. Couldn’t a day go by where I didn’t have some major crisis to deal with? What the hell did I pay people for if I still couldn’t get a day to unwind? Deep down I knew the issue: I was a control freak who had a hard time relinquishing control of company decisions to anyone. It wasn’t so much their inability to take care of matters as it was my refusal to delegate issues I knew I could take care of personally.

  On the bright side though, I had a date for the event that I was actually eager to see. And there’d be no worry about her getting clingy and wanting more than I had to offer. The woman disliked me and seemed unaffected by my charm. But she didn’t have to like me for me to indulge in the need between her legs. Maybe part of the reason I was so anxious to get home was because I wanted to get the challenge of slipping between those silky, ivory legs.

  An hour ago, I’d received a call from the people at Bloomingdales. They informed me that she should be good to go. It would have been nice to have been here today and see how she handled being pampered for a change.

  But, oh well, maybe next time. “Abigail?”

  All I got was silence in return.

  I frowned. “Abigail,” I called out again, shrugging out of my suit jacket and making my way up the glass staircase to the second floor.

  At the top of the stairs, the door to the first bathroom on this level opened and she appeared looking a little flush, but holy fuck, gorgeous. With makeup and in the dress she was wearing, I barely recognized her. I stopped in mid-stride and stared for a moment. That dark hair which had been in a ponytail every time I’d seen her before was now free and flowing down her back on loose curls. Her dark eyes were lined with a smoky cat-eye look, lips painted a scarlet red to match her dress.

  “Wow.” The word came out as I exhaled.

  She smiled, and despite the layer of make-up a rosy blush still appeared at her cheeks. “So, do I look okay? Will I fit in?” she asked with hesitation in her voice as she slowly turned for me to get a look at her from all angles. Damn, that ass. The dress clung to her backside like a second skin. My dick jerked alive and I longed to walk over to her and cup those beautiful ass cheeks in my hands.

  Jesus, I was turning into an adolescent boy in front of this woman. It was insanity.

  Her embarrassment seemed to overwhelm her because by the time she twirled all the way around she’d lowered her gaze and couldn’t look me in the eye. I was a little confused over her sudden shyness; the other day she was anxious to tear a strip out of me, so why was she suddenly shy? Had I taken her that far out of her comfort zone with this?

  I was tempted to play with her a little bit, but settled for honesty. “You look amazing. We’ll definitely turn some heads.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I think you’re overstating a little bit. I’ve seen the types of women that attend these things.”

  Cocking a brow up at her, I walked forward. “And what types of women are those?” Walking past her as I asked the question, I expected and hoped that she would follow. I was anxious to see the fire light up in her eyes when I ruffled her feathers a little bit.

  At first there was no movement behind me, which was a slight let down. But as I reached my bedroom door, I heard her shuffling behind me and grinned.

  “You know the types of women I’m referring to.”

  “I really don’t,” I called over my shoulder as I entered the bedroom, leaving the door open so she could follow behind me. Of course, I knew she would.

  Walking into my closet, I hung up my suit jacket and pulled out the tuxedo I was going to wear to the night event. Exiting the closet, I was glad to see her standing in the middle of the room, her hands planted on her hips and waiting to give me her opinion.

  “You do know,” she insisted.

  I shrugged as I began to undo the buttons on my shirt.

  She continued, “Women who are so thin the only fat on their bodies is in the butt and breast implants.”

  “Not everybody is thin or slaves to plastic surgery.”

  “Okay, name me one girl you’ve been with that hasn’t had cosmetic or plastic surgery.” She gave me a smug little smile.

  Pulling my shirt from my waistband, I finished undoing the buttons and pulled it off, thinking. When I reached for my belt buckle, I halfway expected to see her run off to leave me to it, but she didn’t. She wanted an answer. Scratch that, she wanted me to admit that she was right.

  She was indeed right.

  My world was the kind you couldn’t take at face value. Everyone put on a facade for the rest of the world, one that they’d spent time and money fabricating, and I was just as guilty. Not because I had crap injected in my face or ass, but I dressed and acted with a specific intent demanding respect and admiration. It was what you were supposed to do in that company, at least as far as I’d been able to tell.

  “It’s what women do.” That’s the only answer I had for her.

  “That’s a pretty sexist remark! Not all women. Which is the point that I’m getting at.” She motioned to her body. “These aren’t my curves”

  I begged to differ, I’d seen her in a pair of boxers and camisole, but waited for her to continue so didn’t respond.

  “I’ve got a contraption on that’s so tight I can barely breathe or bend, I don’t see myself getting out of it until the end of the evening. I’m like a walking barbie doll.”

  I grinned, undoing my pants and pushing them down. “It’s not until the end of the evening that I’ll need you out of the dress anyhow,” I said with a wink. She tried to keep her eyes level with mine, but I could see them dipping. My grin widened.

  She jerked her thumb towards the door. “I’m going to…”

  “You don’t want to finish the conversation about women I fuck and boob jobs?”<
br />
  “I’m just saying, I’m not your usual style.”

  “You’ve never actually met anyone I’ve brought home, so how can you make that assumption?”

  She turned her back fully to me. “I’ve cleaned up their underwear. Not a pair of granny panties in the lot.”

  Nope, she was right with that one. Still, granny panties might be erotic to me since it would be such a rare sight. “It’s about the panty lines.”

  “Right. I’m going to wait for you downstairs.” She scurried out of the room as quickly as the dress would allow. “Isabella should be here any minute,” she added before closing the door behind her.

  “Very well.”

  ~*~ TT ~*~

  Abigail

  At the ding of the elevator reaching our floor, I rushed out to the foyer. The driver was dropping Isabella off right on time. As the doors slid apart, my darling little girl appeared, followed by a man that I assumed to be Devon’s driver. I thought his name was… Ummm. Shit… I had no idea, even though I’d been told previously. There was just way too much going on right now to remember everything.

  “Hey, mom!” Isabella’s dark eyes shone with excitement. She waved her hand towards the driver, an African American gentleman dressed in a black suit. “This is Karim. He picked me up in a fancy car. It was so cool.”

  “Is that so?” I grunted, due to the restrictive dress as I bent down to give my daughter a quick hug.

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded excitedly. She stepped out of my embrace and looked around us, her dark eyes widening further. “We’re staying here?”

  “Just for a month.” I didn’t want to get her hopes up. What if she got used to this place and didn’t want to go back? I’d have to make certain she was clear this was only temporary. “It’s like a vacation. For a month.”

  She eyes stopped roaming and she looked at me directly. “Wow, mom, you look so pretty. Like a princess! Why are you dressed like that?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but a deep voice coming from the stairwell beat me to it. “Your mother and I are going to a ball.”

  “Wow! A ball? So lucky, Mommy.” Isabella’s gazed shifted to watch Devon make his way down the staircase. “Are you a prince? Is mommy going to be a princess?”

  Devon chuckled. “No, I’m not a prince. I’m just your mother’s date for the night.”

  “Ohhh.” She looked back to me. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “No, honey. We’re just friends.”

  As Devon approached and stopped at my side, Isabella shifted her attention back to him. “You’re friends with my Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked back at me and then to him again, her eyes narrowing. I waited with baited breath to see if she would continue to question us further, but she didn’t. “I want to see the house.” Pulling off her sneakers, she ran out of the foyer and towards the main living area.

  I grunted a second time as I attempted to straighten. I was both grateful and annoyed when Devon reached down to help me stand. Damned dress and heels, this was going to be one bugger of a night. While I felt like a princess, I was extremely uncomfortable. Maybe I’d get used to it, but the pessimist in me seriously doubted it.

  Chapter 6

  Abigail

  These people are no different than me. I have nothing to worry about, and besides, I’m with the most eligible and desired bachelor in New York, no one is going to care about me. At least that’s what I hoped.

  My eyes widened in surprise as our car pulled up to the venue. There was a line of reporters on either side of a blocked off walkway with numerous, and intimidating, security personnel positioned on either side. Shit, I didn’t plan for this. I was so concerned about what other attendees of the event would think that I never considered there’d be reporters looking for a story. And what better story then a billionaire who falls for his maid. Boy, wouldn’t that be a fun headline. Right out of that movie, Maid in Manhattan.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

  My gaze left the crowd outside of the vehicle and to Devon. I tried to keep my expression cool and indifferent. “I’m sure it will. I’m not worried.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t get to where I am in life by not being able to read people.”

  “It just so happens that you’re mistaken on this account,” I announced as the chauffer opened the door on my side. I slid out without giving Devon the benefit of another glance, giving the driver a nod and smile of thanks.

  As soon as both feet my were on the cement, the flashes of the cameramen began, nearly blinding me. I blinked and shielded my eyes from the intrusive flashes of light. While attempting to gain my bearings, I felt Devon put his hand on the small of my back and gently nudge me forward.

  Gulping down my fear, I allowed myself to be ushered forward.

  “Just smile and nod, I’ll do the talking.”

  “Okay.” I looked over at him, and he gave me a smile of reassurance. I felt slightly better. I could smile and say nothing, easy-peasy.

  As we moved forward, I did as told, smiling, but not really paying attention to what was going on around me. My mind was fixated on the entrance that was approaching, though not soon enough for my liking.

  Just another ten feet, five feet. And then we were there, walking through the entrance and away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and their flashing cameras. I released a sigh of relief.

  “The hard part is all over. Now you get to enjoy the rest of the night.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I’m an excellent dancer. You’ll see.”

  My brow furrowing, I looked up at him. “What do you mean by, I’ll see? I really don’t dance.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you’ll have a partner that does.” He winked at me and I blushed despite myself. “Besides, any woman can dance as long as they have a partner that knows how to lead.”

  “And you know how to lead?”

  “Better than just about anyone I know.”

  Mischief shone in his eyes and it got me thinking that he was talking about more than just dancing.

  Walking into the ballroom, I was blown away by the elegance of the décor. As we strode past one extravagant floral arrangement that stood six feet tall, I had to stop and check out the flowers. There’s no way those were real. But they were. There had to be at least a dozen different arrangements around the room. Filling all the massive vases with fresh flowers at this time of year must have cost a fortune.

  Couples were mulling about the room, the men dressed in tuxes and the women in varying types of gowns. All the gowns were high fashion and fitted around slender figures, with only a few exceptions to the rule. It was as if I’d stepped into a different world.

  “Holy shit!” I stopped short, not wanting to stare but I couldn’t help it. It was my favorite television star, Ryan Cain. “Devon!” I spun to face him and gave him a swat on the shoulder. “Do you know who that is?”

  “First, shhhh.” He placed his index finger on my lips. “Yes, I’m aware of who it is. There will be a number of actors and musicians here. It’s not a big deal.”

  He removed his finger. “But, it’s Ryan Cain,” I repeated in a hushed voice, leaning into him.

  “So you’ve said.” He didn’t seem overly impressed.

  “You’ve never seen his show?” My eyes widened in surprise. How could he not be as excited as I was?

  “No.” He had an amused gleam in his eyes as a smile touched his lips.

  “Oh wow. We’ll have to watch it when we get home. Isabella and I watch it every Thursday night, and have seen the entire series on Netflix several times.”

  “Doesn’t it get boring watching the same show over and over?”

  “Nope. Not his show. No way.”

  “Would you like to meet him?”

  A surge of excitement raced through me. I felt like a teenager with a crush again. Holy crap, meet Ryan Cain! Devon could make it happen? “Yes! I’d love it.”

  “Okay.
”

  I looked over my shoulder at Ryan again, my grin so wide it felt like it was going to split my face in half.

  “On one condition.”

  My mood dropped a little. A condition? Shit, my hopes dropping a little. As I turned to face him again, I was curious to see what this condition could be. “A condition?”

  “Uh-huh.” His smile turned wicked as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.

  My eyes narrowed at I stared at his closed fist. “What’s that?” I’m not sure that I wanted to know to be honest.

  He jerked his head towards a less crowded area and began to steer me towards it. What in the hell was he up to? Once we were where he wanted us, he stopped and turned to face me opening his hand in the process. Sitting on his palm were two silver balls attached together by a thin string.

  “What are those for?” I had a pretty good idea, I was hardly naive, but asked the question anyway.

  “If you want me to introduce you to Mr. Ryan Cain, then you’ll put these on and deal with whatever happens.” Reaching into his other pocket, he produced a remote. “Would you like to me to go into detail on what this does?”

  He didn’t need to. I knew. My first instinct was to tell him to shove those balls up his ass and let me play with the remote. Ironically, I was pretty sure there were people in this world where that’s exactly where they went. On the other hand, I did really want to meet Ryan. However, there was another reason why I put my hand out and accepted the balls. The bastard was challenging me. I could see it by the smug expression on his face and gleam in his eyes that he didn’t think that I’d go through with it.

  “Are they properly cleaned from the last girl?” I cocked a brow up at him, and gave him a smirk.

  Chuckling, Devon shook his head. “Brand new, just for you.”

  “How thoughtful.” He dropped the balls into my hand and I was immediately surprised by how much weight they had. I’d never actually put balls into me before, though my roommate liked to use them for her Kegel exercises. She said they worked wonders on tightening, but I couldn’t have cared less. My vagina wasn’t a man’s playground. I didn’t have sex as a physical release, I had it as an expression of my feelings towards the other person. Perhaps I was old-fashioned, but that was how I felt. I was a mother first and foremost. I was looking for love and a life-partner, not some quick romp.