Selling Out to the Billionaire

by Penny Wylder

  I push the image of us naked and writhing out of my head, trying to regain my mental footing. "And you're so sure that whomever was watching would like what they saw?"

  His lips twist into a wider smile. "Well, you certainly seem to,” he chuckles.

  "Just part of the job," I say, giving him a winning smile. "I have to be familiar with you so I can imagine you in a space."

  "You're free to imagine me however you like."

  I ignore the dare implied in his words, trying to turn it back on him. "Ah, well, this isn't about what I like. It's about what you like. Speaking of which, could you tell me some things you enjoy in a home? It might help with the search."

  He smiles, and I wonder what he's thinking. If it's anything close to what I imagined about that bed…It doesn’t matter. I’m a professional, and I’m going to sell this man a house. "I want the best."

  The best. That's very specific. Well, if he wants to be coy with his preferences, at least I can give him exactly what he wants right now. “Let’s go to the next house then. As it happens, the bedroom is full of windows. You'll be free to imagine whomever and whatever you like.”

  I turn and walk out of the room without seeing if he’ll follow. I’m just making it to the top of the stairs when he overtakes me. He passes me, and I get a whiff of his cologne. It’s subtle and spicy and perfect because you have to be this close to him to smell it at all. He places his hand on the small of my back as he passes, murmuring an excuse me. And as he passes his hand drifts lower, deliberately across my ass before it’s gone.

  I’m so shocked that I miss a step. I feel that terrifying sense of empty space and the horrifying realization that I’m going to fall down the stairs in front of my client. Because of my client. A small corner of my mind wonders if this is how I’ll die and whether or not I’ll go down in realtor history as one of the most embarrassing people to ever enter the profession. All this in a second, and then an arm comes around me and I’m not falling. Instead I’m looking straight into the eyes of Derek Conway.

  I’m pressed up against his body and I can see how deep green his eyes are. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that color. Really gorgeous. I can smell his cologne again and I realize both that I’m staring and that I really would be happy not moving from this spot. I can feel the hardness of his body through his clothes and I feel my body reacting to his. I’m warm and fuzzy and aroused. There’s concern and mild panic written across Derek’s face. “Are you all right?”

  Inside, my mind is cheering. HELL YES I’m okay, and I'd be even more okay if you took me back into that bedroom. Out loud I say, “I think so.”

  There's a tenderness in his eyes that feels so out of place. It was his fault I fell—kind of. But maybe he knows and he regrets that. I can't be sure. The only thing I'm positive about is how delicious his strong hands feel wrapped around my waist.

  My face flushes red again as I push away from him. He hesitates, as if he's debating taking hold of me again. I hurry down the stairs before either of us does something crazy.

  If I don’t keep remembering that he’s off limits I may try to jump him no matter how infuriating he is. I’m embarrassed to feel that I’m wet—being that close to him was intoxicating.

  I make it down the stairs without further incident. Derek casts one more long look at me before he climbs into his car. I hope he's heading to the next house and not fleeing me and my messed up desires. Either way I'm happy for the brief escape; I need some space to clear my head and put my professional face back on. And I need to keep it on even if he does talk about fucking women in front of giant windows. God, why is that so infuriatingly hot?

  It’s not too far a drive to the next mansion, and I manage to calm myself down and review the different aspects I can pitch to him. This mansion is much more edgy in style than the last one—streamlined architecture with a lot of hard angles and more than enough glass. If he wants people to watch him fucking, he’ll be able to do it in practically every room in this house. It has tons of other perks too, a three-car garage, the standard gorgeous pool and I think…yes.

  As I’m pulling into the driveway I flip open my file and check the photos. This house also comes with a waterslide. An actual fucking waterslide. I laugh out loud. I’m glad I’m going to get to sell these houses, but sometimes I wonder what people were thinking when they built them.

  Not to mention that what someone is going to pay for this house would set me up for life. Even when my bank account isn't dangerously close to zero, I can't imagine having this much money. It must be a completely different kind of life.

  I'll settle for my commission which will make the difference between whether or not I even have a place to live. That's the goal, Penelope. Sell him this house. I steel my mind as I exit the car, preparing to make him see that this is a house he can't live without.

  Derek had pulled in first, parking his car in front of me. When he steps out I can’t read the expression on his face. Is he upset? And if so, was it because of something I did? I don’t think I can handle him dismissing another house today. It’s already been far more exhausting than I’d imagined.

  “This is much better,” he says when I approach him. “But in the future, don’t bother saving the better house for last. I know that's a sales strategy, but I’d rather you not waste my time. I’m a busy man with very little patience.” He reaches up to smooth his hair, never breaking eye contact with me. His voice drops lower. “I told you before—I know what I want, and I’m not accustomed to waiting for it.”

  As his gaze travels down my body and lingers, I feel my heart kick up its rhythm. I’m not going to lie, the fact that he’s looking at me at all makes me want to let him into my bed. But why is he acting like an ass? I wasn’t trying to save the best for last, I genuinely thought the last mansion was beautiful. Just because he has a stick up his—

  I cut off my line of thought and plaster on a fake smile. It doesn’t matter. Do your job. But... I still let out a bit more sarcasm than needed. “My apologies. I know that searching for a multi-million-dollar home can be so stressful. Shall we look inside?”

  Derek takes a single step my way, his face serious and intrigued. My mouth tingles with house close he is to me—we could kiss, if he bent down a hair. "You have quite a mouth on you. Be careful, Penelope. You wouldn't want that mouth to get you into trouble."

  From the tone of his voice, I know that his version of trouble and mine are very different. I try not to notice how closely he follows me as I retrieve the key from the realtor’s box. “Maybe we should see the bedroom first,” I say. “If that is of particular importance to you, it’s probably better to judge it before we move on to the rest of the house.”

  “I agree,” he says, his voice going rougher... warm around the edges. I want to roll around in his voice like it's catnip.

  I haven’t been inside this mansion yet, so I have to consult the floorplan in order to get us to the master suite. It’s on the main floor towards the back of the house, overlooking the spectacular and sprawling lawn. As promised, the bedroom has walls made of windows. I’m not sure I would be willing to sleep in a place that seemed so open. I would always feel like something could sneak in on me. But, as he made abundantly clear, Derek gets what he wants.

  When I turn to look at him, I’m surprised. He’s smiling, and not a small one either. The smile on his face is full and breathtaking. All those pictures I’ve seen of him on red carpets and everything else, they don’t do it justice. I find myself getting lost in it.

  “This is much better,” he says. “Can you stand over by that window for me?”

  I give him a look. “Why?”

  “So I can visualize the room better. I find it helps to have someone standing in it, don’t you? So you can imagine what it would be like.”

  “I suppose.” I raise an eyebrow, but I move to where he pointed. If it helps me close this house…

  “Turn around and look out the window.”

  I res
ist the urge to roll my eyes until I’ve already turned around. The grounds are beautiful. The lawn slopes away from the house, leading down to the pool and the pool house. The pool looks delightful, turning a deeper blue in the darkening twilight. I press my hands against the glass, savoring the coolness on my skin and leaning just a little. My feet are starting to kill me in these heels and the leaning helps relieve the pressure.

  Suddenly I realize that Derek is right behind me, and I jump. I didn’t hear him come over. I’m going to turn around, but before I can he places his hands over mine on the glass. His arms are surrounding me, and his body is pressing into my back. Once again I’m surrounded by the divine scent of his cologne, spice and water and mountain. I don’t really know what those things smell like but it’s what comes popping into my head when I breathe it in.

  He runs his nose along the line of my neck, and I get chills all over my body—the good kind. I hear him inhale and I’m glad I took the extra few seconds to put on my favorite perfume. I should stop this. This isn’t professional. He’s a client and I need to push him away, but his body feels so impossibly good pressed against mine.

  “I just want to thank you,” he says in my ear, “for being so helpful and accommodating. I appreciate the extra work you’ve put in today.”

  I think I say something like thank you. I hope it was coherent.

  “This bedroom is just what I imagined. I can picture it, fucking someone right here against the glass for all the world to see.”

  His words paint the image in my mind and I can see myself naked with him, panting against the glass. I can feel his erection against me, and my head falls back, pressing my ass into him. Screw professionalism.

  Derek releases my hands and steps away. I stumble, but recover to see him smirking at me from a few feet away. The front of his pants are bulging with his erection. The sight of it makes my insides throb—I push my knees together, trembling as I ask, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m finished here. I’ve decided that I don’t like this house after all.”

  My mouth drops open and I don’t recover it in time. “Are you serious?”

  “I'm always serious.” He tucks his thumbs in his pockets, turning away.

  I swallow slowly, trying to keep my anger in check. "Is it possible you could be more specific about what you don't like?" I'm itching all over with a hot, wild need to fuck. And he's standing there like we were looking at old cars that he changed his mind about. I am not an old car. I'm also not a house, but I'm definitely confused as hell.

  "I said I wanted the best." His eyes narrow. "And if this and that pathetic excuse for a mansion you showed me earlier are the best you have, then I think you and I are done."

  I feel myself begin to snap and I can’t stop it. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just do things like this.” My voice rises in volume. “You don’t show up an hour late to an appointment, you don’t dismiss things out of hand, you don’t demand things that are unreasonable. I know you may be richer than the entire world's population combined, but that doesn’t give you the right to ignore common decency. And that…” I sputter and gesture at the window. “What was that? You get all handsy then back off like you're made of ice. You say you know what you want, but I don’t see any evidence of that. You need to make up your mind, Mr. Conway.”

  I run out of breath and stop, realizing that I yelled at my client. At Derek Conway. Well…he did deserve it. And if he fires me I’ll deserve that. We’re even.

  He doesn’t even look like he heard me, standing there perfectly unruffled with his lips in a neutral line. “Are you finished?” he asks.

  I straighten my spine and set my shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Good,” he says, turning and walking towards the door. “Watch your tone, Ms. Swanson. If you don’t I can easily find another realtor to handle this transaction. I’ve cleared my schedule tomorrow so that we can look at more properties. Remember,” he says, vanishing around the corner, “I want nothing but your best.”

  Then he's gone, and all that's left is his addicting scent in the air around me.

  4

  On my way home, I call Anna—best friend and bitch session partner. If there’s anyone I need right now, it’s her. Her voice comes over the car speakers as she picks up. “Hello, my newly-minted realtor friend. How was your first day?”

  I sigh. “Do you still have that bottle of vodka in your fridge from your birthday?”

  “Shit. That bad?”

  “Oh, no,” I say. “Bring ice cream too.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  We have a drop everything policy when the other is in distress. I am very, very in distress. I called Jeremy and told him that Derek wasn’t sold on any of the places that we saw and that I’d be showing more houses tomorrow. I apologized for having to put off my office orientation. He didn’t seem to mind, though I know the idea of a rookie like me taking on someone like Derek must make him nervous. At least he was polite enough not to show it too much.

  An hour later my heels and dress have been discarded in favor of sweats. I’m halfway through a pint of strawberry ice cream and I have two drinks worth of vodka in my stomach. I’ve just finished rambling through my day, including everything from how late Derek was to how fucking hot he is. And the fact that he touched me more than once. And the fact that I should probably be really mad about it, but I’m not.

  Anna slams her glass down on the coffee table. “He really said that? That you had to ‘watch your tone?’ God, what a prick.”

  “Yep,” I say, shoving another spoonful of ice cream in my mouth and Anna does the same with her coffee flavored pint. “He’s really stupidly sexy, though. It’s unfair.”

  “But if he’s an ass all the time it’s not exactly a good trade off,” she says.

  “True.”

  I put down my ice cream, choosing instead to finish the lovely vodka mixer that’s a pinkish orange in my cup. Anna handed it to me, I didn’t ask what was in it. She always uses my bar to make delicious things that I’m unable to replicate.

  “So what now?” Anna asks.

  “I guess I’m going to be spending some time tonight looking through more mansions,” I say. “I want nothing but the best." Mimicking his tone, I put on a pretentious face as I continue. "This is a pathetic excuse for a mansion. Be careful, Penelope, you wouldn't want your mouth to get you into trouble."

  Anna is nearly doubled over with laughter. "Wow, I don't think I would have lasted as long as you did before tearing him a new one."

  "I know. If he does buy a house it will be a miracle." I roll my eyes. "The way he’s dismissed the first three we may run out of listings to show him.”

  Anna refills her glass. “Well you’re going to do your best there. But what about the rest of it?”

  My eyebrows go up. “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean the fact a gorgeous piece of man who clearly wants to screw your brains out is going to be tagging along with you all day tomorrow,” she says, raising her glass. “I mean, I know I just said that he’s an ass, but…”

  I look at her expectantly. “But what?”

  “If given the chance, I would do him in a heartbeat.”

  “Anna!”

  She grins. “I would. I've heard he knows his way around the bedroom, and I would take full advantage. I say that if you have the chance, you should go for it. But only if it’s not going to get you fired.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “No matter how fun that all sounds, I need this job.”

  “You’re going to do great.” She pulls out her phone. “I’ve gotta go. And you need to start looking for his houses before we drink ourselves under the table.”

  I let my head fall back against the couch, exhausted just thinking about it. “Yeah. You okay to get home?”

  “I’m taking a cab.” She waves her phone at me. “It’ll be here in a minute. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow. Make sure you text me how it’s going?”


  “Sure.”

  Anna gives me her brightest smile. “You’re going to knock him dead.”

  “Hopefully not literally,” I say, and I hear her laughing as she heads outside.

  I open up my laptop and log onto the Sunset Realty site, ready to work. Nothing but the best, he said. Fine. I’ll find him the best damn houses we’ve got. So far really the only hint I’ve had about what he actually likes is the floor-to-ceiling windows. That’s fine. Architecture trends in L.A. make it easy enough to find.

  He seemed to like the outside of the third house better as well, so I look for houses that trend toward the modern—more sleek and angular, less old world design. Finally, I make sure the properties have privacy parameters like fences and surveillance.

  After I filter our listings as well as I can, I’m still coming up with around thirty houses. I’m surprised there are so many, but it gives me more chances. Now it’s time to narrow them down.

  I pour over the photos of the houses, comparing everything I can think of and choosing the best. I narrow it down to fifteen houses, and miraculously manage to schedule the showings in a way that doesn’t require hours of extra driving time. If we make it to all these houses, that will be fifteen total. God, I hope that I can find a house that he likes before number fifteen.

  I send an email to Derek, asking him to meet me at the Sunset Realty office at eight o’clock in the morning. Finally, I can rest. I close the laptop and stretch. It’s close to two in the morning, and my body is reminding me that I’ve barely moved in hours. I go through the motions of getting ready for bed, barely able to keep my eyes open now that I’ve finished.

  But despite my exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come. Instead, I see Derek, reliving that moment when he held me on the stairs. I try to recapture that delicious feeling of him pressed against my spine, those moments when I thought he was trying to seduce me and I was going to let him.