Dance for the Billionaire

by Moore, Jewel

  Dominic’s money had little to do with her feelings for him. Yet, there was no ignoring the fact that he was loaded. She would have been attracted to him, even if he was a postman or a street cleaner. The question that she couldn’t honestly answer was: would she have slept with him if he was? His money gave him an aura of power that was seductive. He had also, with a sum that was peanuts to him, drastically improved her financial position and given her the first months of security she’d had since the age of eleven. And yet, if he wasn’t rich she would worry less that she was just a plaything he would discard when he was done toying with her.

  Never say never. She was thankful that she hadn’t ever vocalized the private thought that she would never date a white man. She’d had typical teenage crushes on black actors, singers and rappers; had been attracted to black boys while at secondary school and had seen a few on the university campus who had made her heartbeat quicken. But one casual date at Pizza Hut with a fellow student had made her realize that real romance could far removed from its portrayal in novels. Her date had ordered a large pizza for himself and a bottle of wine to accompany the meal, and another as they chatted afterwards. She had barely drunk any, not being used to it or liking its dry, crisp taste, but had enjoyed her small Margherita. When the bill was presented, she was horrified to learn that although he had invited her on the date, he’d expected her to pay half the bill. Luckily, she’d had the required amount in her purse, but it had severely eaten into the amount she’d set aside for that month’s groceries. In the weeks following her siblings hadn’t noticed that their portions of meat, chicken or fish were smaller than usual, or that often there weren’t enough pieces for their sister to have a share as well. It had taken several weeks of scrimping and scraping to financially recover from the one lousy date. She’d decided that they weren’t worth the effort—at least not until she was in a better economic position.

  On the other had, she hadn’t been attracted to any of the boys at school and had never felt the slightest spark between herself and any of her male white colleagues at university. In her naïveté she had imagined that it meant she simply wasn’t attracted to white men…and then Dominic had walked into Armstrong’s.

  She didn’t have a problem with interracial dating or marriage—she just thought that the motivation should be love, not the prospect of greater social acceptance or the purpose of genetic engineering. Both parties had to be proud of their own racial heritage and fully accepting of the other’s.

  She didn’t doubt the love she felt for Dominic. She was quite happy to be a member of the working classes. She was proud to be black and would have no problem if their children were replicas of her or Dominic, or a combination of both.

  What she didn’t honestly know was if her head had influenced her heart—did Dominic’s wealth, after years of financial struggle, have anything to do with the way she felt about him?

  If she couldn’t convince herself her love had nothing to do with his money, how could she convince anyone else?

  Chapter Ten

  “Mr. O’Brien would like to see you in his office immediately.” Angela didn’t sound her usual bubbly self. The fact that she’d used Dominic’s title didn’t bode well considering the company’s creed that they were all part of one big family so there was no need to stand on formality.

  Chantelle hoped that she wasn’t the cause of the woman’s uncharacteristic solemnity, though she suspected she was. Dominic must have just read her letter of resignation.

  “Tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Chantelle tried to make her voice sound coolly professional, but butterflies were dancing in her stomach.

  Let him stew in his own juices for a little longer.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted her legs and swung her chair in half a dozen complete circles before she remembered that she could be seen from the outside.

  It wasn’t as if she planned on leaving tomorrow. She had just politely informed him that she would work out her three month notice period effective from today.

  Her iPhone immediately beeped.

  Get up here now. Or I’ll come down and get you!

  She stood up and immediately headed towards the lifts. He was crazy enough to come down and haul her upstairs by her hair…or kiss her senseless in front of everyone.

  Angela looked up in relief when Chantelle tapped on the door.

  “Hi Angela, I finished what I was doing a little earlier than expected.”

  “No problem, Chantelle.” The woman’s frowning face broke into a smile and Chantelle wondered if she knew more than she let on. The woman reached into a drawer and pulled out a handbag that Chantelle had seen priced at several thousand pounds. Dominic must pay the woman a fortune. “He’s expecting you. Go on right through. I’m popping out for lunch now.”

  Dominic stopped his pacing when she pushed the door open.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded, shaking the paper he held crushed in his hand at her.

  God, he’s even more gorgeous when he’s angry!

  “Dominic, I told you I was going to leave.”

  “And I told you that you weren’t going anywhere!”

  She’d come up with several reasons to convince herself that she was better off leaving him and the company. Just one look at his beloved face made her wonder if she could honestly bear to tear herself away.

  “Dominic, it’s better this way,” she began, backing away to the door as he advanced. “If the media find out about us, Shawn and the girls could get teased or bullied by the neighborhood kids…even their own friends.”

  “That’s why I want you to move.”

  “I don’t want them to get used to a certain lifestyle and then have to go back to what we have now when our relationship is over.”

  “Who said that it would be over?” He challenged. “I’ve made some enquiries and it’s not too late for them to change schools for the new school year. Shawn wants to go to Oxford next year, but realistically he has a very slim chance unless he’s attending a private school. My brother Edward lectures there, but he doesn’t have enough clout to influence the admission board. I’ve found an excellent school for him and they will arrange extra tuition if he needs it. Cerise can board at the school I’ve found for her, or she can live at home and get a lift there daily. There are plenty of schools Charmine can attend. She’s little and you know her better, so you can choose which you think will suit her best.”

  He put his arms around her and she let him push her head onto his shoulder. His offer was so tempting she didn’t know why she was hesitating. It was a dream come true… But one that could turn into a nightmare if he decided he had enough of her in a few months’ time.

  “You don’t know what it’s like to have the rug pulled from under you.” Her throat ached as memories flooded back. “My parents weren’t rich, but we had everything we needed. We went to Jamaica every summer to see our grandparents and even though my father never came with us, we had a great time. When we came back from that last holiday… my father had disappeared and the house felt so…empty.”

  “I’m not your father.”

  “I know you’re not, but I saw what love can do to a woman. It was like my mother’s spirit died and left an outer shell. Believe it or not, when you first saw her, she was in a better state than when my father left. With him gone too, it was like we were orphans. When I started to mature I had no one to turn to for advice. It was Mrs. Alexander, the P.E. teacher, who pulled me aside one day and told me I needed to wear a bra. Cerise’s hair is soft like Dad’s, I could pull it back into a ponytail and put a couple of slides around her head to make it look nice. My hair’s thicker. I didn’t know how to handle it. I looked like a wild child in the class year-group photograph that year. My white shirt was a dingy grey instead of white, my skirt had a noticeable scorch mark because I didn’t know how to regulate the iron and my hair was in three tangled puffs because I couldn’t pull the comb through it. Whenever I see that photograph
it makes me feel sad, not because of my clothes or my hair, but the hopelessness in my eyes.”

  “Don’t cry.” He tightened his arms around her and Chantelle realized in surprise that her eyes were wet. She never cried; she didn’t have time.

  “It was tough, but I survived it.” Annoyed with herself, she twisted out of his embrace and backed away until she felt the door behind her. “I never want to feel that vulnerable again.”

  “All I want to do is look after you. To give you the life you deserve.”

  “I can look after myself!”

  “Really?” His voice was dangerously cool as he covered the space between them with a few long strides. He pressed her back against the door and cupped her breast through her cream silk blouse. Her nipples sprang to attention even before he took them between thumb and forefinger. He raised an eyebrow arrogantly as he tweaked them into tighter, harder points and asked again, “Really?”

  “Dominic!” she protested weakly, as he then unerringly found her clit through her skirt and thong and rubbed his erection against it. She hated that she was such a pushover for him—she couldn’t help but melt at his touch. She would resist him the next time, she promised herself, but right now she needed…needed to come, desperately.

  “Brace your hands against the door.” Spinning her around he covered her breasts with his hands once more and continued the sweet torment.

  “Angela could come back at any moment!” Sanity returned briefly as his hands left her breasts to move to the hem of her skirt, but not for long. He pushed the fitted skirt up and briefly rubbed his hands over her smooth behind before pushing her thong downwards to pool at her feet.

  “If she gets in here and see us it will be entirely your fault.” With that he knelt behind her and buried his face between her legs.

  Oh fuck!

  Chantelle bit her wrist and held back the scream that threatened to escape in the following moments as he ate her with no mercy. She stepped out of her thong and tilted herself up further so that his tongue could lave her just…so. The world spun crazily for a moment as she came in a series of shivers and shakes. She cried out, worried that she would fall, but Dominic straightened and held her securely back against his hard body.

  “Angela’s probably wondering what’s happening in here,” he said. “Go tidy up before she comes to investigate.”

  Face aflame, Chantelle snatched up her thong and staggered to his washroom on legs that felt too weak to support her and three-inch heels that seemed twice as high.

  Her hair was still in place and except for the sweet ache between her legs and the languid look in her eyes, she looked fine. She hurriedly tidied herself and returned to his office to find him seated behind his desk, looking as though he hadn’t moved all day.

  She glared at him for a second and then headed to the door and pulled it open. Angela’s seat was unoccupied.

  “Lucky she’s meeting friends for lunch today and won’t be back until late.” Chantelle turned back and once again shot him daggers from her eyes. He smiled and licked his lips. “Your delightful little scream as you came would have given the game away.”

  “You knew she wasn’t there, you bastard!” She couldn’t help but smile with relief at the thought that no one but him had heard the loud involuntary moan which escaped despite her best efforts.

  “My parents had been happily married for twenty years before I came along,” he corrected. “Speaking of parents, I booked a table for you and my mother at Bea’s tomorrow at one. Don’t keep her waiting.”

  ***

  As the waiter ushered her to the table, Chantelle realized that they seem to be heading towards a woman whose hair was liberally streaked with grey and brushed smoothly back from her face into a large, curly Afro puff, sitting alone at a table for two.

  Had the man not listened to her properly and assumed that because she was black she was meeting another black person? Well, mixed-race person, to be more precise.

  As she about to turn around and tell him that she was meeting a Mrs. O’Brien, the woman got to her feet.

  “Chantelle?”

  “Yes?”

  Had Dominic’s mother not been able to make it and sent someone else on her behalf?

  “Hi. I’m Philippa, Dominic’s mother.” The woman’s bearing, though her style was straight out of the swinging 60s, was too regal for her to be part of an elaborate joke on Dominic’s part. She also had Dominic’s hazel eyes. “Naughty boy, I see he didn’t tell you what to expect of me.” The woman’s laughter was a rich sound that seemed to come from deep within her.

  Chantelle couldn’t help chuckling herself. Even her drunken mother had seen the signs that she’d missed—the curly hair, the hazel eyes, those full sexy lips…

  Down girl!

  “I was quite surprised when he told me he wanted me to meet you.” The woman took a sip of her Earl Grey tea while Chantelle waited to be served her cappuccino. “I’ve never met one of his girlfriends before.”

  “I’m not exactly his girlfriend,” Chantelle blurted out and wished she could recall the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

  “Ah!” His mother took another sip of tea and tried to hide her smile behind the rim of the cup. “ I call him my little miracle, you know. He was conceived nearly ten years after my husband had the snip. He was totally unexpected and totally unwanted when I first realized that I was pregnant.”

  Chantelle felt her eyes widen at the woman’s candor. How could she not have wanted Dominic?

  “My husband and I met at university. I fell pregnant soon after we married and it was baby after baby for ten years. That year I’d planned to resume my art career as my eldest Simon was heading off to Oxford and my youngest Rosalind was nine years old and a very independent little girl. I went to my GP expecting him to tell me that I was experiencing early menopause or something worst. Pregnancy was the last thing on my mind! I called Michael right away hoping that he wouldn’t think it was another man’s child. Instead he was as excited as when I fell pregnant with Simon—he loves babies. Knowing how much I’d looked forward to finally starting my career, he promised to cut his hours at the office to look after Dominic while I attended refresher art classes and visited galleries in the evenings. He didn’t have to in the end because my older children just doted on the baby. His brothers even fought his sisters for their share of play time.”

  Chantelle smiled at the mental image of Dominic’s siblings having a tug-of-war over baby Dominic. He must have been the cutest little baby alive! It was little wonder the man wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was probably spoiled not only by his parents, but nine brothers and sisters. Well and truly and utterly spoiled rotten!

  “A mother shouldn’t have favorites among her children. I don’t really…but Dominic’s my heart,” his mother admitted with a guilty laugh. “He was an easy pregnancy and such a good baby. I used to dump my easel and paints in the back of my little van, strap him into a child seat and take him when I went landscape painting. When he was older I got him a little easel and he used to do his little drawings, too. I still have them.”

  “You have ten children?” Chantelle always thought that one child of each sex would be enough for her, yet she’d enjoyed growing up with her three siblings.

  “Yes. They all have high-powered careers and I don’t see or hear from some of them for months. I suspect their partners or PAs remind them of our birthdays and anniversaries. Dominic never forgets and I know that he often, if not always, chooses our gifts personally. I know it’s easier for him because he’s his own boss and doesn’t have a wife or children, but he’s always been the most caring.” The woman smiled across at Chantelle as she took another sip of tea.

  “Did you think he would one day be so rich?” Chantelle asked, and then felt embarrassed at the tacky question. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s okay. I always knew that he would do well for himself, but I never imagined the scale or that he would do it before h
e was thirty. From the time he was a little boy he used to save his pocket money diligently. He had a tidy little sum in his bank account by the time he was ten. By then most of his older brothers and sisters were working and they gave him extra money. Yet when he wanted a toy or gadget he shopped around for the best deal.

  “When he was sixteen Michael took him to a house action and later he told me that Dominic had helped him pick up two bargains that he would have missed. After that he took Dominic along whenever he was free. And just before his eighteenth birthday he convinced his father to buy two rundown houses that were in a good area but had been neglected for years while tied up in probate. My husband expected to spend months renovating them, but Dominic advised him to simply clean them up and sell them on. The idea was so ludicrous Michael told him that he could have whatever profit they made if he could sell the properties within a month. He almost had a heart attack when the properties both sold for double the price only two weeks later. All Dominic had done was pay a few hundred pounds for his friends to help him clear the debris!

  “Wow!” Chantelle loved property and home improvement shows. She’d seen it happen, but it was rare.

  “His father talked about it for weeks! Dominic made thirty seven and a half thousand pounds in less than two week. When I asked him how he knew that he would be able to resell the properties, he told me if he was looking for a property with a girlfriend or wife, he would want one that he could buy cheaply and spend the bulk of his money fixing it up to his taste. And the eerie thing was that both properties were bought by young couples—one already married with a baby on the way and the other tying the knots in months.”

  “The Wikipedia article called him ‘The Man with the Midas Touch’,” Chantelle mused aloud.

  “I don’t know about a magic touch.” His mother laughed at the idea. “But he’s got good instincts and reads people well.” The woman topped up her tea from the dainty teapot in which it had been served and took a sip before she spoke. Chantelle got the distinct impression that the woman was deliberately taking the moment to compose herself. “Last year during a conference call with his dad from the Bermuda, Dominic noticed that he didn’t look well. I was right here in the UK with him and I…I didn’t notice a thing. He called me right away and said, ‘Mum, I don’t like how Dad’s looking. I’m flying home tomorrow to take him to the doctor.’ As soon as he arrived he bullied Michael into going to Harley Street with him. And thank God! It was the very early stage of prostate cancer. Once we got the diagnosis, Dominic insisted on the best treatment. He saved his dad’s life.”