Man Juice: A Billionaire Romance (69th Street Bad Boys Book 7)

by Alexis Angel

  I hang up and stretch again, savoring in the fact that I don’t have to even get out of bed if I don’t want to, but who the fuck am I kidding here? I live on coffee in the morning.

  I pull my hair back in a no-nonsense ponytail and climb into some bright pink jogging capris. I pull a tank top over my head that reads, “I survived Mardi Gras, NOLA 2012.”

  I walk to my kitchen but stop dead in my tracks when my doorbell rings.

  I’m not expecting anyone, and everyone I know will expect me to be at work, so I’m having a perplexing moment of wonder.

  I walk to the door and stand on my tip toes to peer through the peep hole.

  It’s Owen Wolfe. Damn! What the hell is he doing here?

  I swing the door open and breezily greet him with a smile. “Good morning!”

  He whips out a bouquet of stargazer lilies from behind his back. “For you,” he says in a charming voice and gives me his million-dollar handsome-as-fuck smile.

  “Wow, thanks!” I take the flowers gratefully and bring them to my nostrils to sniff their wonderful aroma. “These are beautiful, what’s the occasion?”

  I move aside to allow him in.

  “Just pretty flowers for an even prettier woman,” he says with a grin, exposing his perfect set of teeth.

  “Awesome,” I say. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch, and I’ll make us some coffee?” I suggest.

  “That sounds amazing,” Owen admits and plops down.

  He’s wearing a black suit with a dark navy tie. He looks ready for the workday and sexy as hell.

  “Cream and sugar?” I call from the kitchen, asking how he wants his cup.

  “Just cream, please, that’s great. Whatever you have is fine,” he responds politely.

  I bring the mugs and hand him one of them. “For you.” I grin.

  “Thanks.” He takes it and brings it up to his mouth. “It smells delicious.”

  “So, what are you doing here?” I get right to the point.

  “More importantly, why aren’t you at work?” he asks.

  I lean back on the back of the couch. “If you thought I would be at work, then why are you at my house?” I raise my eyebrow, taunting him.

  He rolls his eyes. “I called your secretary, who told me you weren’t coming in today.”

  “Oh…right,” I say. Now I feel fucking stupid.

  “Anyway,” he gives me a cute little smirky expression, “I’m here to invite you to the Lone Wolfe Anniversary Celebration.” He beams with pride.

  “No way!” I flirtatiously slap his knee. “It’s awesome you’re having a party for that. Congratulations by the way.” I take a sip of my coffee.

  “Thank you,” he says with a humble nod.

  “Why didn’t you just mail me an invitation?” I chuckle.

  “Well that’s another part of the reason I’m here,” he begins and takes my hands in his. He feels warm, strong and masculine.

  “Okay,” I say and look down at our intertwining hands as my heart beats faster.

  “I want you to go as my date,” he says as if I should take this as a privilege and an honor.

  “Really?” I smile.

  “If you’ll have me,” he says with the grace of a true gentleman.

  I ponder this idea for a moment. In theory, it sounds like a fantastic idea. Maybe there will even be some celebrities there, and maybe Owen will introduce me to them.

  “Well, you can probably guess that I’m doing a personality flip here.” I laugh and cross my legs. “You know, beginning with having dinner with you the other night—”

  “To now playing hooky from work…” He grins and interrupts me.

  “Right.” I point a finger at him in agreement. “Something like that. Maybe I’m becoming more like you.”

  “I might not be the best role model for anyone,” Owen jokes.

  I laugh and think about how much fun I have when I’m around him, but more importantly how I’m actually fun, too, when we’re together. I’m trying to be more relaxed, and I hope my leisurely lifestyle plan doesn’t backfire.

  For now, I’m content to take each second and opportunity as they arise. There’s something irresistible about Owen that draws me in, and I have a hard time saying no to him, which I’m sure he’s already used to.

  “Okay.” I nod. “Yes, I’ll be your date for your anniversary party.”

  Owen’s eyes light up. “That’s great, thank you so much.”

  “No, thank you for inviting me.” I smile at him, wondering if we’ll end up in bed together again. The funniest part of this scenario? I’m not even afraid to know what might happen.

  Owen starts to chuckle as if there’s a realization hitting him.

  “What?” I chuckle because his laughter is infectious.

  “You went from being this uptight girl to the girl who doesn’t give a fuck about anything.”

  “That’s not true.” I raise my arm over my head. “I can think of something I care about.”

  He leans back on the sofa. “Oh, yeah? What?”

  “Well, let’s see here…” I tap my index finger against my chin. “Aha! I care about what dress I’ll wear to your party.” I nod assertively.

  “That’s my kind of woman,” he laughs.

  Right now, I’m certain I’ll be whoever I want to be and nothing more.

  14

  Owen

  “This party is rad.”

  “Hmm?” I toss a disinterested glance Melissa’s way.

  Melissa Anderson is my heavy-set secretary. I’m talking borderline obese. She has dark straight hair and a sassy attitude. She doesn’t allow her weight to bother her, though, and has the mentality of a hot girl.

  Sometimes this gets on my nerves, and other times it doesn’t bother me that much. She has enough confidence for both of us, though, and I need to have an assistant on my side who’s willing to get the job done and not take shit from anybody.

  “Look, boss,” she says, as she affectionately likes to call me. “People are pouring in from the entrance to the bar.”

  “Oh, right,” I say vaguely and stare down at my phone.

  We’re at the second anniversary party for Lone Wolfe Productions. I know that Melissa works her ass off and that part of the reason this festivity is so incredible is because of her diligent dedication to not only me, but to her job as a whole as well, but I just can’t fucking concentrate on anything right now. It’s almost as if I have the fucking attention span of a two-year-old.

  I have the entire top floor of the Ritz Carlton Hotel in New York rented out for the entire night to celebrate my successes―and my team who helped me along the way.

  Why, yes, I have no problem giving credit where credit is due.

  Melissa is sitting next to me on a trendy and swanky black leather couch in the VIP lounge area.

  She’s trying to give me a run-through of the program for tonight, but unfortunately, I’m zoning out like a fucking space cadet or something.

  I have more important issues on my mind right now, and the biggest one is whether or not Molly Quinn is going to show up and be my ‘date.’

  “Are you ignoring me?” Melissa cuts through my fuzzy concentration once again.

  “Huh? No, sorry, please continue.” I wave my hand at her, but she’s right; it’s a hopeless cause trying to keep me on track.

  My eyes won’t leave the entrance. I’m waiting for Molly with full attention on anyone who walks through that door, hoping that the next time I glance in that direction, I’ll see her coming towards me.

  “Owen?”

  This time I recognize the voice, and it’s male. I glance up to see Victor standing directly in front of me, blocking my view.

  “I have drinks, man,” he announces, and I nod when I notice two whiskeys in his hand.

  “Thanks,” I mumble and crane my neck to peer past him.

  Melissa’s voice continues to drone on in the background.

  Victor sits down next to me and nud
ges me hard in the side with his elbow.

  “Ouch.” I rub the painful area. “What the fuck, dude?”

  Victor ignores me and addresses Melissa directly. “I can take this from here,” he tells her.

  “Um, what?” She gives him a funny look.

  “Owen has shit for brains right now.”

  “Well, that’s not good.” I see Melissa shake her head in my peripheral vision, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the entrance for one fucking millisecond.

  She’s probably bordering a fucking panic attack right now, and I’m to blame if it happens. Obsessed doesn’t even begin to describe the way I’m acting right now, but I don’t fucking care.

  “He’ll be alright.” Victor nudges me again, but more gently this time. “Right, man?”

  “Huh?” I stare at him in a daze.

  Victor smiles at Melissa. “See?” he says confidently, although I’m not doing my best at selling Victor’s convincing story.

  “What about his speech?” Melissa’s eyes dart nervously between us.

  “He’ll wing it.” Victor shoots her a wink and a smile.

  Melissa is like the fucking queen bee, guarding the hive. She looks reluctant to leave my side, but Victor nods reassuringly at her again.

  “Don’t worry, I can take care of Owen. He just needs some TLC from his best friend.”

  “Okay.” Melissa gives him a nervous glance, but she stands up and hesitantly moves away from us, most likely to do something else behind the scenes. I don’t fucking know, secretary and assistant type shit.

  Victor takes a sip of his whisky and stares at me.

  I don’t blink and stare at the door some more, and I’ll keep staring forever if that’s what it takes.

  “Dude, are you alright?” he asks, and waves his hand in front of my face as if he’s trying to break my trance.

  “Yeah,” I respond robotically.

  “Then what the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice is high and stringy.

  I look at him and laugh. “Nothing.” I take a sip of my drink.

  “You seem really distracted, Owen,” he says.

  “I am not,” I deny, although I don’t really have a valid fucking point to back myself up with either.

  “Does this have anything to do with your fail-safe plan?” Victor asks.

  I don’t look at him, I merely stare straight ahead. “Eye on the prize my friend, eye on the fucking prize.”

  “Do you want me to give the toast then?” Victor looks at me.

  “Maybe.” I shrug.

  “Well, it’s time,” he says.

  “How the hell do you know?” I look up and scan the room.

  I notice Melissa waving at Victor, holding up cue cards like he needs to help get me ready for a speech.

  “Sure, go ahead,” I say, and give a defeated look to Victor. “I’ll just fucking screw it up right now in the state of mind I’m in.”

  Victor takes a deep breath. “Okay, no problem, dude.”

  He gestures for me to stand up, which is the least I can do. This is my fucking party after all.

  When Victor is sure he can grab everyone’s attention, he clears his throat and clinks a spoon against the side of his glass.

  Everyone stares at him, and at me because I’m standing right there beside him. I know they’re expecting me to say a few words, but I don’t have it in me right now. I still have time to kill before my big speech at dinner.

  Victor directs every film I make, so he’s more than worthy for the task at hand.

  “Good evening, everyone.” Victor’s voice bellows in the room, capturing the moment.

  “I’ll keep this short and sweet, because I’m not good with the words like Owen here.” He chuckles and points a thumb at me.

  I put on my best charming smile and wave to the crowd. “Thank you all for coming.” At least I’m able to say that much to the room full of my friends, peers, and coworkers.

  “Anyway,” Victor says and holds up his glass, “I would like to propose a toast. We are at the two-year mark for Lone Wolfe Productions. Our success is broad and growing like wildfire. We would just like to thank each and every one of you, for all of you play an intricate part in the role of keeping this operation successful. So, this party is for you, because together, we are one.”

  Victor raises his glass high and proud, and the crowd joins him, clapping and roaring with their congratulations and joy.

  Once the chatter begins again, Victor and I sit down next to each other again on the couch.

  “Thanks for saving my ass.” I give him a chagrined look.

  “Anytime.” He slaps my back. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “I know I’m still going to have to go on the stage later when everyone sits down for dinner,” I say begrudgingly.

  “You’ll do fine,” Victor reassures me.

  I just hope he’s right and that Molly shows up before then. Then maybe I’ll be able to fucking focus.

  15

  Molly

  I stare at the two dresses lying on my bed, each one beckoning me to pick them.

  I’m down to two choices, and fuck, it’s a difficult one. I analyze the dresses.

  One is a sapphire colored halter dress. It’s sexy, yet sophisticated and…well maybe a little on the safe side.

  The other is a champagne colored dress that’s a little longer in length, but has a killer, plunging neckline. I mean, the puppies might burst and spill out of this dress if I pick it…

  I mentally compare them for at least five minutes, but shit, I still have no fucking clue which one I want to wear to Owen’s party.

  Do I want to make a bold statement, or do I want to play it safe?I’m still undecided.

  If this were a normal occasion, and the old Molly was choosing the dress, things might go a little differently. There would be no contemplating. It would automatically be the sapphire halter dress that would come out of the closet and accompany me to the party.

  The champagne dress wouldn’t even be an after-thought.

  The tides are turning, though, and I’m realizing with this new freedom that I am choosing to live in that life can be spicy and fun, full of flavor.

  I want more fucking chocolate in my life and less plain ole’ boring vanilla, dammit.

  What does freedom mean to me, you might ask?

  First of all, it represents that I can actually have a choice, and not allow myself to always take the easy road.

  The sapphire dress is more on the discreet side, yes. However, the champagne dress is bold, daring and sexy.

  The new me should most definitely go for the plunging neckline. Don’t you agree?

  I take a deep breath and pick up the champagne dress and pull it over my slender body. I stare at myself in my full-length bathroom mirror and gasp in disbelief at the sexy as fuck woman who stands in front of me.

  I’m proud of myself, and I can’t fucking wait to see Owen’s eyes drop right out of his skull when he drinks me in with desire.

  I leave for the party, having a driver drop me off right in front of the hotel. I ride the elevator to the top floor where I know the party is happening.

  I can hear the crowd’s mingling chatter and the music playing as I slowly approach the entrance doors.

  “May I take your coat, Miss?” A female attendant gives me a polite smile and holds out her hand.

  I’m wearing a trench coat. I’m not chickening out; it’s just a chillier night than usual for this time of year in the city.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, and shake my arms out of the coat. I tip the attendant and head inside, adjusting my hair and dress at just the last second before entering.

  I look around, observing my initial surroundings. It looks like any normal party I’d attend. There are people dancing in the center and a live band plays covers of 80s pop songs.

  The room is completely packed, and I find myself having to weave and maneuver around people, bumping and brushing up against strangers as I
push through to the bar area.

  I’m taking my time, walking slowly so I won’t miss the chance of finding Owen, my date for the evening―just like he wants.

  I finally spot him in the lounge area on the balcony.

  “Owen,” I call out, hoping he can hear me.

  He turns around and as our eyes meet, my heart beats faster and blood rushes between my legs, pulsing in my pussy.

  I give him a cheesy wave that I pray doesn’t look like desperation to his point of view. His hair is perfectly manicured, short and dark. He has clean-cut features and not a lick of facial hair.

  He’s wearing a tuxedo that makes him look even sexier than he already is. Yep, he pulls off the James Bond type of look exceptionally well.

  He approaches me, and I grin from ear to ear.

  “Hello,” I greet him.

  “Thank you for coming. I’m so glad you were able to make it.” He plants a soft kiss on my cheek, and it tickles me as his lips brush against my skin.

  “You’re welcome; it’s my pleasure,” I respond with sincere enthusiasm.

  Now comes the special moment I’ve been waiting for. Owen glances at me, checking me out from the ground up.

  He’s undressing me with his bedroom eyes as a devilish and playful grin stretches across his gorgeous face.

  “You look…” He trails off in wonderment as he continues to ogle me. “Absolutely fucking beautiful,” he finally finishes his sentence.

  “Thank you,” I say and spin in a subtle little twirl.

  “That dress really leaves little to the imagination,” he whispers into my ear. He smells delicious.

  “This dress represents the new and improved version of Molly Quinn,” I confess.

  “I like this new Molly Quinn,” Owen says as he intentionally brushes up against me so that I can feel the growing bulge in his pants.

  “Should we go get a drink?” I ask and point to the bar area inside the lounge.

  “Absolutely.” Owen nods and follows me inside.

  Just as we’re about to hold hands, someone announces over the microphone that it’s time for Owen to give his founder’s speech.

  So instead of heading to the bar, I follow him into a large reception hall where people are sitting at round tables eating catered salmon steaks and prime rib.