The Billionaire's BBW Secret

by Griffin, Mallorie

  The sky was an overcast, steel gray when she stepped out of the car and rain began to fall in fat drops while she manhandled the pizzas and soda out of the other side of the BMW. With a full load, she made her way up the concrete steps and through the doors of the well-worn steel and glass building.

  Larson was waiting for her in the lobby, looking thoroughly incensed.

  “Where have you been? You were supposed to be here at a quarter to!” he said sharply. “And what the hell did you bring?”

  Denny flushed. She was certain he said noon. “Pizza, sir,” she said, not able to add what she thought about the time.

  “Pizza? Pizza?” he fumed, snatching a box out of her hands and lifting the lid. The aroma of fresh dough and tangy tomato sauce hit Denny full in the face, causing her stomach to do a back flip. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, slamming the lid down and shoving the box back in her arms. “I have models here. Do you really think they'll eat that?”

  Denny's flush grew deeper and traveled down her neck. “I'm sorry sir, but you didn't-”

  “I didn't, I didn't,” he said, his lips curling upwards in a sneer. “It's your job to do the footwork. What am I paying you for? So I can baby-sit you? It's not rocket science. Models like healthy fare, not greasy fast food!” He stormed around the expansive lobby of the building, his dress shoes clacking against the granite floor. “Jesus.”

  “I could get something else,” Denny offered, but Larson waved her off.

  “Don't bother. You've done enough damage.” He turned his head and shouted. “Carlo!”

  “Yes sir!” a distant voice called, and a young, slight Hispanic man, barely more than a boy, popped out from behind one of the expansive white walls.

  “Here.” Larson grabbed all the boxes from Denny now and hefted them into the young man's hands. “Take these back. If they complain, tell them to fuck off.”

  “Yes, sir!” Carlo said brightly, gazing at Larson with pure adoration before trotting off with his load.

  “Disappointed. Very disappointed,” Larson muttered, pacing back and forth.

  Denny wasn't certain whether she was supposed to hear what he was saying. “Sorry, sir?” she ventured, her voice quiet and wavering.

  “This is just completely unacceptable.” He pulled out his phone and began to jab his thumbs at it, apparently composing an e-mail. Most likely to Lola. Probably to arrange her firing. Denny felt despondent, but she could only stand there as Larson paced and jabbed.

  Before long, he finished, and her phone suddenly buzzed. “Sir?” she said expectantly.

  “Read it,” he said shortly, then turned a heel and made his way back. To the photo shoot, she presumed.

  She whipped out her phone as soon as he disappeared, and was slightly stunned to see another list of things to be accomplished before the end of the day. Quite a long list, in fact, with items ranging from picking up his dry cleaning to purchasing gifts for assorted nieces and nephews for Christmas.

  She sighed, and made her way back out. She had no idea how to feel.

  All she knew was that she sure she wasn't going to last long in this job.

  *****

  The rest of the week was the same. Every morning Denny went into Larson's office, and by the afternoon she felt despondent and dejected. Not only was she doing seemingly nothing up to Larson's standards, but he insisted on somehow surrounding himself with beautiful women nearly all the time. First there was the photo shoot, then some sort of charity event with bikini models, then a re-shoot of the calendar.

  She sighed as she saw her reflection in the shiny glass of the double doors on the huge building. Every day she became more and more aware of her own body. She felt like a lumbering hippo next to the sleek and svelte figures of the women Larson surrounded himself with.

  She was fat. She knew it. She got it. So why did Larson insist on rubbing it in her face, day after day?

  Not today. Today was Friday, and after a full week on the job, Denny had made her decision. Despite the salary, despite the comfort and the perks of the job, she was going to quit. No amount of money was worth going through the ridicule she endured day after day. It wasn't worth the insults, the chiding, and the derogatory comments. She could and would find another job elsewhere.

  Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and pounded her way past the glass doors, her high heels clicking on the cold marble floors of the lobby. She felt more purpose in her stride, in her very body, than she'd ever felt before. She knew what she wanted now, and that helped her against the cold stares of the gorgeous brunette receptionist. She lifted her chin and swept by the girl. She wouldn't be afraid.

  Despite her new found courage, she felt her nerves begin to rise with she stepped into the elevator. She could see her reflection, her plump face looking back at her with disdain, her cheeks still rosy from the brisk weather outside.

  Her skirt looked good on her, damn it all. It hugged her plentiful curves in all the right places, and she looked beautiful.

  From that moment on, Denny resolved to not let those thin bitches get to her. She wasn't going to let Larson get to her. She was going to quit and get out of this toxic work environment.

  She felt a flutter in her rib cage when the elevator dinged and the door opened at the proper floor, though. She was still nervous.

  Nerves or no, she stepped out and into the short hallway, making her way to the door marking Larson's office. She was going to do this. Come hell or high water, she was going to stand up for herself, and then leave.

  “Oh. It's you,” Lola sneered as soon as Denny walked into the room. “I should have known. It sounded like a herd of elephants out there.”

  At first a flush began to rise in Denny's plump cheeks, but she steeled herself once again. What did she care what Lola thought of her? Why was she trying so hard to earn the woman's respect? What did she have to lose if she was snippy right back at her?

  “I'd rather be an elephant than a shambling skeleton,” she said in a biting manner. For just a moment, Lola looked surprised, but she quickly composed her features into the prude shrewish look she always wore.

  “You look like you just ate a lemon,” Denny added before stepping into Larson's office, shutting the vast wooden doors behind her. She may have gotten to the woman, but she didn't care. This wasn't about insulting people. It was about standing up for herself.

  Lola was easy enough. Standing up to Larson would be quite a bit more difficult, on the other hand.

  He wasn't even there yet, and his office was dark, and seemed very cold at the moment. Denny shivered and pulled her coat a little closer before flicking a light switch on. Then she sat down in the very chair she was interviewed in not a month ago, and waited.

  She heard him before she saw him, so he had a little time to compose herself, but not much. Before long, Larson was busting through the wooden doors, a huge grin on his face.

  “Ah, good, good. Lola said you were here already.”

  “Sir?” Denny asked, feeling off-kilter already. Larson had that effect on her and everyone else in his immediate vicinity.

  He turned around and pushed the doors shut now. They slid like silent monoliths, hovering above the carpet before clicking shut, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

  “So, it's been a few days now,” he said, striding around her to stand behind his vast desk. “How do you like things here so far?”

  “Sir, about tha-” Denny said, trying to get her thoughts out. But she was quickly interrupted.

  “I know I've been a little hard on you. More than a little hard. But I had a feeling you would be up to the challenge.” He leaned forward now, his palms flat against the desk as his eyes glinted in an almost predatory fashion. Denny felt her skin burn. He hadn't shaved in a day or two and stubble dotted his broad jaw. He looked so powerful, so handsome...

  She shook her head. Now wasn't the time for that. “Yes, sir, about that,” she said weakly, trying again. “I'm not sure that I am up to the chal
lenge.”

  “Nonsense.” He stood up again and made his way around the desk, standing close to Denny. Very close. “You've been exemplary. I couldn't have picked a better assistant.”

  He was so close to her, she could practically feel the heat of his body rolling onto her skin. She swallowed and shifted her stance, unsure of what to do or say next. This was always how it was with him.

  “To be honest,” she said faintly, “I haven't been getting that impression from you. And to be frank, but I haven't felt very welcome here.”

  He laughed. “Of course you haven't. Every damned girl in this building applied for this job and it kills them to see you with it. Even Lola out there tried. She must hate your guts right about now.”

  “I – oh – I see,” Denny said. It hadn't even occurred to her that this position would be so coveted.

  “It's why I'm so mean to you in public,” he said lightly, backing off now, rounding his desk yet again. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping at it as he continued the conversation. “Hopefully seeing how terrible the job is will make them not regret getting it quite so much. Regardless, they'll warm to you in time, I'm certain. Now.” He jabbed his index finger on the screen of the smart phone. “Your list of chores for today. And I have a favor. A personal favor.”

  “Oh?” Denny said even as her phone buzzed with his text. She felt even more off-kilter than before.

  “I need you to stop by my apartment tonight. I have something personal I'd like you to take care of. Very personal.” Just then, his voice seemed to drop an octave as his eyes smoldered.

  Denny felt very weak at the knees for a few long moments, but then she collected herself and stood taller. “What's the favor?” she asked, feeling a little bolder.

  “You'll see. Here's the address. Meet me there at seven.” With that said, he brushed by her as he made for the door. Sharp tingles of excitement raced up her body where he connected with her, but she shoved that feeling down. This was work. This was work.

  But if it was work, why did it feel like he was making pass after pass at her this morning? Denny wasn't stupid. She saw the signs. It couldn't be right though. Larson had every beautiful woman in the building, in the city, hanging off his arms and on his every word. Why would he choose her and disregard all those other model level beauties?

  “Yes, sir,” she said quietly as he opened the doors and left the room. She was alone again.

  And somehow all thoughts of quitting slipped out of her mind, snatched away by the unstoppable hurricane that was Larson. He had that effect.

  *****

  Throughout the entire day, Denny wondered if she had been imagining things back at Larson's office. After all, once they were out in public again, he turned into the same demanding monster that he always was. He pointed out every single thing she did wrong and never praised her.

  The only thing keeping her going through that day was the conversation that morning, and the smoky stares he'd given her in that office. Indeed, every time they ended up alone, whether it was in his car or in the elevator, he began flirting with her again. He would look at her a little too fiercely, or stand a little too close to her. He would brush a hand against her waist and let it linger there.

  And the teasing was driving Denny insane. She had no idea what his goal was, or what his plans were. Was that all this was; just teasing? Or was there more? She felt certain that she would find out that night, in his home.

  So she endured through that agonizing day, suffering through half an hour of being dressed down, then ten minutes of seduction. Her heart raced for different reasons every minute, and she could feel her skin flush with embarrassment, then anger, then lust.

  She couldn't help herself. Larson wasn't a man, he was a force of nature. No woman could resist him, least of all her.

  Finally, the day ended. At least, the work day ended. Now would come the late evening 'favor' that Larson spoke of to her this morning.

  They had separated during the day – Larson had an appointment with his financial adviser and tax preparer, while Denny was charged with arranging the pick up and drop off of his latest toy, a Lamborghini Reventon.

  It was a surreal experience, being behind the wheel of that car, but there she was. Even as Larson was going over the numbers on his charitable deductions for the year, she was watching the car being offloaded from the delivery truck. She observed as the driver carefully unwrapped the beast, pulling away white protective plastic and revealing the slick, metallic gray paint job. And before she was even aware of it, she was squeezing her body into the rather cramped cockpit.

  How had she gotten herself into this mess? She waved off the delivery driver and started the engine. It roared to life quickly and responsively, making her entire body vibrate with the power of that engine. Denny shivered at that feeling. She loved the power in this car already, but she also feared it. It was like Larson – powerful, wild, and untamed, and most likely too much for a woman like her.

  She supposed she would find out if that was true soon enough.

  Denny only had to drive the super car a few hundred feet, from the back of the delivery truck and into one of Larson's private parking spots in the parking garage of his luxury apartment. It should have been an easy enough job, but she still felt her body shiver and tense with nervousness as she popped the car into drive.

  Slowly, ever so slowly she inched forward and turned into the dark belly of the parking garage. For a moment she panicked when darkness engulfed her. She had no idea where the switch for the headlights was, but after a few moments of fumbling, she found it.

  She rolled through the garage now, going lower and lower as she peered out the window, looking for the appropriate parking spot. It was on the fifth level, so she drove on. Down, down, down she went, lower and lower into the garage. The Lambo purred, almost growled through every level. She could feel its power underneath her foot, its desire to be going much faster than it was, but it wouldn't. Denny might have wielded the beast, but she was afraid to use it. She was afraid that she couldn't control it. She would only just barely tap the accelerator at all.

  Finally, she found the spot and pulled in, careful not to scratch or ding the Lambo or the cars on either side of it. They were two more low-slung super cars, cars that Denny couldn't even begin to recognize.

  They were Larson's, she supposed with a sobering realization. He was richer than God.

  A flush ran up and down her body, a warm heat that spread quickly. Power, wealth, good looks... and here he was, pursuing her. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was of it.

  But just because she was certain of it didn't mean she understood it. As she climbed out of the low-slung car, she was painfully aware of her size, her weight, and her complete lack of grace because of those two things. She was no catch. She was the washed-up result of a messy divorce, certainly not a woman of the caliber that Larson looked for.

  She was curious though, and she had nothing to lose, so out of the car she fell, and then she made her way up to his apartment.

  It was a penthouse apartment, naturally, at the very top of the huge building. She used Larson's keycard to get into the elevator, and rode it all the way to the top. Her nerves were on fire the entire way there. He probably wasn't there yet. It was only six and he'd instructed her to meet him at seven. It couldn't hurt to be a little early, though.

  Denny gasped when the elevator door opened after it's long climbed, for it opened directly into the apartment. Apparently Larson had the entire floor to himself. From what she could see, his place was expansive, a work of modern architectural art. New York's skyline glittered brightly in the vast windows, and everything was all lines and angles, so sharp and precise and modern. A leather-wrapped dark brown couch faced a massive television, while a glittering white and square lighting fixture dangled from the ceiling. The walls around the television were painted brown as well and faced in marble, making the place look a little smaller and cozier than it actually
was. There was a rich, luxurious white carpet placed over the ebony floor.

  Her jaw dropped at the sight of sheer opulence. This place must have cost him a fortune.

  As much as she wanted to explore further inside the bowels of the apartment, Denny stayed where she was, only venturing far enough in to sit on the very edge of the couch. Like with the Lambo, she was afraid of damaging or destroying something in the apartment. She didn't want to give Larson any reason at all to discipline her, or even fire her.

  She nearly jumped a foot when she saw him walk around the corner. She stifled a scream, but it wasn't enough. Larson's lips curled upwards in a smile when he saw her shock and fright.

  “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” he said. He was dressed in a burgundy robe, tied around the middle, and holding not one but two glasses of red wine.

  “No, no, it's quite all right,” Denny said, breathing heavily. Her fingers dug into the edge of the couch. Why did he have two glasses? Did he have company? “It's just that I wasn't expecting you until seven.”

  “Ah.” He took a slow drink of wine out of one of the glasses. “My little meeting ended a little earlier than I presumed, so I thought I might give you a little surprise.”

  Denny swallowed. “Surprise, sir?”

  He laughed. “Call me Bran. Here.” In half a dozen steps he crossed the expansive room and thrust the other glass in her surprised hands.

  “Si- um, Bran?” Denny said blankly, staring down at the glass.

  “Yes?”

  “Y-you said you have a favor to request of me,” she continued, taking long, slow breaths, trying to calm herself.

  “Oh yes, that. I wanted you to try this wine. I hand picked it for a charity dinner, but I'm not sure the bouquet is quite right.” After he said that, he dipped his nose in the glass and took in a great breath, smelling the wine. Denny followed suit, but she wasn't certain at all what to say. She had next to no experience with wine, and she couldn't even begin to guess why Larson wanted her opinion.