The Billionaire's Kitten: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  But the movers were unhelpful, shrugging at my question.

  “We were told to move everything in here to another location. Didn’t someone tell you?” a scraggly looking guy answered, picking at his teeth with a finger.

  “No, no one told me anything. When I left yesterday at 5 p.m. I thought everything was fine!” I choked. “I never expected to come in and find … this,” I said helplessly, gesturing at the empty space. Now that my metal desk and chair were gone, the windowless office looked even smaller and sadder, the walls a pale yellow, the floor a shiny institutional grey.

  “I dunno,” shrugged the scraggly guy again. “Ask up top.”

  “Fine. I’m getting on the phone with HR,” I said tightly. “They can’t just do this to me,” I huffed.

  But evidently they could. When I finally got through to HR, the woman was just as dismissive.

  “What was your name?” the woman drawled.

  “Jones,” I replied tightly. “Tammy Jones.”

  “Jones … Jones … Jones, there are so many Joneses at Luxor. Did you say you were Tabitha? Teresa? Tamara?”

  And I interrupted there.

  “Yes, Tamara is my full name, I go by Tammy,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Tammy is short for Tamara.”

  “Right, right,” said the woman disinterestedly. “Hmm, let’s see what it says here. What’s your social security number?”

  “My social?” I choked. “I’m just trying to figure out where my stuff is, can’t you do that with just my badge number?” I pleaded. This was entering the seventh circle of hell and I was desperate to locate my missing drawer. “Please,” I added, a choked tone in my voice. “I don’t know my social off the top of my head.”

  And the woman seemed to take pity on me.

  “Okay, yeah says here that you’ve been transferred to headquarters.”

  “Headquarters?” I sputtered. “Why? Where is that?”

  “I dunno, you’ll have to ask your boss,” replied the woman again, clearly bored. “We just process paperwork. Your new office will be at 1 Time Warner Center.”

  And I gasped then. The Time Warner Center was probably the most expensive piece of real estate in Manhattan, prized for the building’s unobstructed view of both the Hudson River and Central Park.

  “You mean at Columbus Circle?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Of course at Columbus Circle,” snapped the woman. “What other Time Warner Center is there?”

  And slowly, I put the receiver down. I’d certainly moved up in life if my new offices were going to be in such a shi-shi location. I only prayed that my desk was still there, intact with the drawer locked.

  Slowly, I put on my coat and walked the few blocks to the new place, breathing in the air, letting my lungs expand and deflate slowly, taking deep breaths. The good thing about the Time Warner Center is that to get there from 666 Madison, I could walk along Central Park South and breathe in the scents of autumn, the unmistakable fiery smell of crackling leaves, the beautiful fall foliage turning the sky red and yellow.

  “You got this,” I told myself silently. “Just march in there like you belong and no one’s going to say a word.”

  So when I stepped into the lobby of the Time Warner office building, I flashed my badge with a confident smile and was immediately treated like a VIP.

  “Ms. Jones is here,” said the security guard, calling upstairs. He added, “They’re expecting you on the thirtieth floor.”

  “Thank you,” I said graciously, “Where are the elevators please?”

  And the guard gestured to a pair of doors that opened magically, not a whisper of sound despite their construction from heavy metal. I was whisked upstairs, the elevator so fast, so luxurious that within seconds the doors were flying open again to reveal an elegant foyer.

  I stepped in confidently and went straight up to the receptionist.

  “Hi, I’m Tammy Jones,” I said, business-like. “I’m not sure …”

  But the elderly woman gave me a kind smile.

  “Yes, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Norma,” she said, extending her hand. “We’ve desperately needed a new addition to the typing pool, so your arrival is much anticipated. Let me show you around.”

  A typist? My heart sank. This was definitely old-school, I hadn’t even realized that typists still existed in the modern era. But it wasn’t for me to say. I was lucky to not be fired and I wasn’t about to complain about a demotion from my marketing position.

  So I followed Norma around obediently, greeting various staff members including the guys who operated the copy machines to the in-house caterers who were whisking away a late breakfast of some type.

  “Oh wow, the view here is beautiful,” I said, pausing at a floor-length window in the conference room.

  “It is, isn’t it?” commented Norma. “Mr. Martin commissioned these windows because he wanted everyone to enjoy our location. He could have done tiny windows or no windows at all for a fraction of the cost, but he decided to go floor-to-ceiling instead,” she said.

  That was the first mention of Nick and I pounced.

  “Oh does Mr. Martin work on this floor?” I asked, as casually as possible. Inside my heart was thumping, my pussy automatically moistening at even the thought of the big man.

  “Oh yes,” said Norma. “Luxor is headquartered here and Mr. Martin has his office just around the corner. He’s not here that often,” she confided, lowering her voice, “busy with meetings and such, but yes, this is his home base.”

  And immediately my pulse began racing. I’d be working within spitting distance of Nick Martin? Seeing him every morning as he strode into the office, powerful and handsome in a dark suit? My heart began jackhammering at the opportunity, the chance to be around Nick.

  But as we rounded the corner to Mr. Martin’s suite, my heart dropped. Because the most beautiful woman was sitting at a desk right outside the massive double doors, a woman with gleaming blonde hair effortlessly swept into an elegant updo, wearing a chic black dress that highlighted her slender figure, her long arms and legs.

  Norma smiled.

  “Hi Jeanette, this is Tammy our new typist,” she said by way of introduction. “Jeanette is Mr. Martin’s personal secretary, she handles all of his appointments, his bookings, his everything. If you need to get to Mr. Martin, you’ve got to go through Jeanette first,” she said with a wink.

  And my heart dropped even further at that. Everyone knew that some secretaries were more like wives than employees and it certainly seemed like Jeanette fell into that category. The blonde was elegant, beautiful, with a charming smile and an air of sophistication. I felt dumpy and plain next to her, my curls a mess, my dress suddenly tight in all the wrong places, hopelessly frumpy and outdated.

  “Hi,” said the blonde, extending a hand. Oh god, even her hand was perfect. Long, lean fingers surrounded mine, cool, almost cold, whereas my hand was fleshy and warm, my nails slightly bitten.

  “Hi,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Nice meeting you.”

  “If you need anything just let me know,” Jeanette said, her red lips curling into a fake smile. “I’ve been here two years already.”

  And Norma nodded approvingly.

  “Mr. Martin goes through secretaries like crazy, he’s very particular about who works for him. For Jeanette to be here two years means that you’re doing a very good job,” the old lady praised.

  And Jeanette preened at the compliment.

  “Thank you, I do my best,” she said with a smirk. “I’m organized, efficient, and I know just how Mr. Martin likes it. Exactly how,” she said with a wink.

  That got Norma laughing.

  “Young ladies these days!” she clucked, winking at the double meaning. As we moved away, she leaned in, whispering confidentially.

  “If you ask me, Jeanette’s got her eye on the boss and if Nick Martin’s a real man, he’ll put a ring on her finger. After all, he couldn’t do better than her. Beautiful, ef
ficient, sleek, sophisticated, who could ask for more?”

  I nodded although my mind was whirring. Norma had just described what to me sounded like a computer or some kind of high-end iPad. Couldn’t Siri do all that with more feeling?

  But I shook my head. I was a lowly typist, part of a pool of secretaries available to transcribe notes, type up labels, and file documents. I was lucky just to have a job, much less at a place like Luxor.

  So my heart heavy with disappointment, I followed Norma down a hall, then down another hall and to the right. Before me was a sea of cubes, the walls about chin-high, a maze of repeating grey nylon. She led me to a cube on the far side and it was with a sigh of relief that I saw my old desk. The shabby metal frame was banged up and scratched, but everything else was intact, all the drawers closed.

  I sat down in my chair and swiveled happily.

  “Yep, this is my stuff,” I said gratefully.

  The old lady smiled gently back.

  “Well I’ll let you get settled then. It’s your first day, help yourself to supplies from the supply closet, and Tammy, the women’s restroom is right over there,” she gestured. Sure enough, the door was about ten feet from my cube. “You’re lucky and unlucky,” confided Norma. “This cube is so out of the way that hardly anyone uses that restroom, but on the other hand, yes, you can hear the toilets flush,” she added wryly.

  I colored. Oh god, I had such a tangled past with the women’s restroom, did Norma know? But I scolded myself. There was no way the old lady could know, my masturbation incident had happened only yesterday and Mr. Martin wouldn’t confide in a receptionist.

  So I pasted a bright smile on my face.

  “Thanks, I’ll look you up if I have any more questions. And thank you again for the tour!” I chirped.

  The elderly lady just smiled back and slowly scuffled off, her bent form disappearing as she rounded the corner.

  Taking a deep breath I turned back to my cube. It was tiny and Spartan, to say the least. Grey cloth walls surrounded a desk and chair, with my old computer already plugged in. There was a banker’s box on the desk with a few of my belongings, my paper weight and some binders, as well as a photo of my mom and dad from long ago.

  Slowly reaching a hand forward, I tested the handle to my desk drawer. Oh thank god. It was locked. Taking a deep breath, I shook myself, determined to start fresh, give myself an opportunity to succeed.

  And flicking on the computer, I was able to log in, relieved to find that all my old passwords worked. I kept myself busy for a while, arranging my stuff in the new cube, re-reading the Employee Handbook, settling in when suddenly a new message flashed onto my screen. Clicking the icon, an email from Nick Smith popped up.

  Come to my office, it said.

  I frowned. Who the hell was Nick Smith?

  But another email appeared right after it.

  I’m waiting.

  And I immediately blushed. Of course. Nick Smith was actually Nick Martin, Mr. CEO. He had more than one email account because it was very likely that his official account was handled and monitored by the beautiful and efficient Jeanette.

  So I got up and straightened my dress, heart pumping. Slowly, I slipped my feet back into the violet pumps and made my way to Nick’s office, already feeling oddly warm and liquidy inside. Of course, his pretty secretary was waiting, staring at me like I was an alien and not a new employee who’d been introduced just an hour ago.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Martin,” I said formally.

  “I don’t have you on the schedule,” the blonde sneered. “Are you sure it was him?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. Mr. Martin called me? I got an email from his shadow account, I can show it to you?

  But an old-school buzzer rang on her desk and Nick’s disembodied voice floated out.

  “Jeanette, could you send Ms. Jones in please? And pour us some coffee too, will you?”

  I smiled victoriously then. Not only had Nick invited me to his office but Jeanette was going to be our waitress. If you asked me, it suited her perfectly, although the ugly frown on her face wouldn’t be getting her any brownie points.

  But once inside Nick’s office, the blonde was all smiles, bowing and gracious.

  “Oh Mr. Martin, I didn’t know you were expecting company,” she cooed. “Just a moment, here’s your coffee. You like it black, right?”

  And Nick watched with a bemused expression, all elegant masculinity as the blonde poured the steaming liquid like a geisha, swift with a sure hand. But that sure hand lost its grip when it came to me. With a shriek and a small “whoops,” Jeannette managed to upset my cup so that the steaming brown liquid splashed all over my dress, leaving me with an ugly wet spot on the chest.

  “Oh I’m so sorry!” she cooed again, “Here, let me help you,” she said taking a napkin and rubbing all over my bosom, forcing the stain into the fabric.

  I grabbed her wrist tightly, holding it away from me.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I said tightly, my eyes shooting daggers at her. But Nick stepped in there before we got into an actual catfight.

  “Jeanette, thank you so much, I’ll let Ms. Jones use my private bathroom to get cleaned up,” he said smoothly, his tone betraying nothing. And sure enough, there was a door to the side of his enormous office. “Ms. Jones, please,” he said nodding his head. “And Jeanette, thank you, I’ll be ready for my five o’clock soon.”

  “Of course!” chirped the blonde. “I’ll let you know as soon as they’re here,” she warbled, elegantly walking out the door, coffee pot in hand.

  Meanwhile, I was a dripping mess. I almost cried, the coffee already turning cold, the material sticking to my skin clammily. My purple sheath was ruined and I’d be out a pretty penny – it’d cost me a hundred bucks on sale at Nordstrom and I couldn’t afford to replace it.

  “I … I guess I’ll just use your restroom and try and get some of this stain out,” I mumbled, looking at the floor.

  But there was no reply from the big man, merely silence. I chanced a glance up and what greeted me took my breath away. Because Nick was staring at me like I belonged to him, hungry, ravenous, his eyes eating me up.

  “Ms. Jones, we meet again,” he growled by way of introduction, prowling to my side of the room. And immediately, my nerves went into overdrive, my pussy moistening automatically.

  “Yes, Mr. Martin,” I said in a small voice. “But I need to clean up. I paid a lot for this outfit and it’s done for,” I said in a small voice.

  But Nick just growled again.

  “I’ll get you a new one, two new ones,” he rumbled, his eyes going up and down my form, once, twice, three times, eating me up, lingering on my breasts and hips. “Take it off, it’s garbage now.”

  And I gaped at him.

  “But what am I going to wear?”

  But Nick didn’t appear to hear, or care.

  “Take it off,” he commanded, his gaze like fire on my breasts and ass. My cunt positively gushed under the heat of his stare.

  “What?” I whispered. “Right here? In the middle of your office?”

  Slowly he nodded.

  “Take it off,” he rasped. “That’s the third time and I’m not going to say it again.”

  And my cheeks flamed as the big man reached for a remote. Immediately the floor to ceiling windows tinted, growing dark, throwing us into shade. The overall effect was that we had privacy of sorts, away from the bright glare of day, cloaked in an intimate world where it was just me and him.

  And mesmerized, I silently obeyed. Without breaking eye contact, I slowly undid the zip of my dress before edging the cap sleeves off my shoulders. The fabric fell away to reveal my décolletage and then dropped even further, revealing my luscious, creamy girls.

  Because I hadn’t worn a bra that day. The stiff cotton of the dress was enough to hide protruding nipples and now my tips stood ramrod straight and perky, pointing at Nick as he devoured them with his eyes, my Double D’s huge, perfect tea
rdrops.

  But I wasn’t done yet. Slowly, I edged the dress over my hips, struggling because the fit was tight but finally the material dropped into a puddle on the floor and I stepped delicately out, clad now only in the sheerest purple panties and violet heels.

  Sassily, I put my hands on my hips, cocking my waist to one side and whispered, “You like?”

  And the big man was on me in an instant. His massive form was literally draped over mine in a second, his mouth hot on my own, his tongue thrusting into my mouth as his hands ran over my curves.

  “Ohh,” I moaned. “Oh god.”

  “Scream all you want, little girl,” he whispered into my ear. “The walls are solid oak, they can’t hear you outside.”

  And I just creamed further, rubbing my naked body against his big one, the wool of his suit scratchy against my sensitive nipples, almost humping his leg with my cunny.

  And the big man laughed deep in his throat again, pulling away slowly.

  “Show me that slit,” he commanded.

  I knew what he wanted. Oh so slowly, I dipped a finger between my legs and lifted the lace, pulling it to the side so that my pussy was bare. Just as expected, my lips were wet with desire, gleaming, my clit so hard and big that it poked out between my folds.

  And just like before, the big man commanded me again.

  “Show me your clit, all of it,” he rasped harshly.

  Balancing against his big frame I leaned back and squatted a bit, widening my stance. With one hand I reached down to my naked pussy and put a finger on each labia, slowly pulling my pussy lips apart so that my gleaming channel was exposed, my little hole winking at the big man as my stiff clit stood up with pure need.

  And this time, the big man touched me. But not with his hand. Instead, his belt was off in a flash and cock out, the entire ten inches hard with arousal, the vein on the bottom throbbing hungrily as the tip dripped. Without pausing, he brought his glans to my clit and slowly rubbed the tip of his dick against the bottom of my nub, massaging the bundle of nerves, making me throw my head back and moan.

  “Oh god,” I cried breathily, my boobs heaving up and down. “Oh god, oh god!”