Billionaires Hook Up - A Standalone Novel (A Billionaire Office Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #8)

by Claire Adams

  "Well, you'll be happy to know that I did that today," I said glumly. It was my biggest fear that Mick was right, that it was my own refusal to sacrifice my moral integrity that was blocking my career, and not my lack of classes or experience.

  "Really?" Mick's face lit up. Somehow I had been hoping he would be jealous and want me to save myself only for him, but he wasn't like that. He'd prostitute me out if he thought he could get money for it, only I wouldn't let him.

  "Yeah, my bikini top fell off right in front of everybody. It was so embarrassing; I wanted to die."

  "No, baby. This is a good thing. Just wait and see. I bet you get called back, and when you do, make sure to give them all the nudity they want."

  "I don't think they'll call. After my top fell off, I accidentally knocked over the motorcycle I was supposed to be posing with. I probably broke it. The only call I'll be getting will be from the legal department billing me for the damage."

  "No, you'll get the job, and then you'll know I was right. Just wait and see." Mick jutted out his chin confidently.

  Just then my cell phone started to ring, and we both stared at it. The caller ID said Speed Motorcycles, Inc.

  Chapter Three

  Ethan

  "I want this one." I slapped my hand over the picture of Kayla Brandt, and slid it across the boardroom table into the hands of Keith.

  "No way, forget it. She has no experience. You saw her up there; she was a damn mess. She even knocked over the bike."

  "That's just because she was upset her top fell off. Your production assistant doesn't know how to tie a knot."

  "And, you don't know how to run a marketing campaign. This girl will cost us $10,000 in production costs just teaching her how to pose on the bike properly. We need a professional who knows what the hell she's doing. Like this one. She's perfect."

  Keith slid the picture of a dyed-blonde with fake lips across the table to me, and I grimaced. "No. I like Kayla."

  "The klutz? Forget her."

  "That's the thing. I can't forget her. She has a quality to her that really sticks in my mind."

  "Yeah, that's because her top fell off and you got to see her tits. She probably did it on purpose trying to get recognized. You won't believe how many models come to these auditions and try something like that."

  "No, it's more than that. She's fresh, clean, pure. She's not jaded yet by this city and pumped up with chemicals, spray tans, and plastic surgery. She's a real, all-American girl, and I want her to be the face of our new ad campaign."

  "She does have a certain charisma," one of the board members said, staring at her picture.

  "She's very sweet, pretty, and charming," an assistant chimed in.

  "Very girl-next door. Women will want to be her and guys will want to fuck her," Keith conceded. "All right. You're the CEO; if she's the girl you want, then she's the girl we'll get. I'll call her myself."

  "No, let me do it. I rarely get to deliver good news to anybody, and after having to fire the manager in our Tulsa distribution center this morning, I could use it."

  "You're the boss." Keith handed me her file as everyone started to leave the room.

  "You might try remembering that sometime. I won't forget that comment you made; I don't know how to run an ad campaign? You can count on me to be involved in this one every step of the way just to show you that I'm the boss for a reason."

  I slapped Keith on the back as we both chuckled. He was a good friend of mine, and I liked having someone in the company with the guts to stand up to me and tell me what they really thought. It challenged me and helped me to keep the company strong, unlike being surrounded by annoying yes-men. Still, there was a grain of truth in what I'd said, and I could see from the look in Keith's eyes that he knew it.

  I carried Kayla Brandt's file back into my office and sat at my desk. I felt strangely nervous about calling her. My palms were actually sweaty as I dialed her number, and I could hear my heart pounding as it rang. What would I say to her when she picked up? I couldn't wait to hear the sound of her gentle voice again.

  The anticipation was killing me as her phone rang for what seemed like forever before she finally answered.

  "Kayla, this is Ethan Colson with Speed Motorcycles. I want to discuss some things with you. Can you come to my office tomorrow at noon?”

  "Certainly. I'll be there." She sounded shocked, and I couldn't help but smile. She was so unpretentious; I could read her every emotion and could even picture the expression on her pretty face.

  She had the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen, like liquid pools on a tropical beach. Her skin was creamy perfection, and her lips were like the petals of a delicate pink flower. When she smiled, her entire face lit up, and when she laughed, it was like music. Most of all, I kept picturing those magnificent breasts of hers. The nipples had been taut, rosy nubs in perfectly round areolas at the center of wonderful plump, full breasts that jiggled and begged to be touched. I wondered what it would feel like to hold them in my hands and squeeze and fondle them, to brush my thumbs across the nubs of her nipples and taste them with my lips. Yes, she was the perfect model for next month's magazine cover, and the one every man would be obsessed with, just as I already was.

  Suddenly, my assistant came into my office and set a stack of papers on my desk.

  "Here are the end-of-the-day reports, Mr. Colson. Is there anything I can do for you?" She was wearing stiletto heels, a skin-tight black skirt, and a crème, silk blouse with the buttons down the front undone one too many to reveal her impressive cleavage. She leaned forward way too far as she set the papers down, giving me a thorough look, and the innuendo in her voice was unmistakable.

  A glance at my watch told me it was after business hours and everyone else in the company would be leaving the building now. It was the time of day Angela and I had been fucking in my office, but I wasn't in the mood. Sure, my dick was hard as rock, but my mind was on Kayla, not her.

  "No, thank you. You can go home, Miss Stratham," I stated simply. I turned to the reports, clearly indicating my lack of interest, but she wasn't so easily dismissed.

  "Is that what we're calling it now?" She sat right on the middle of my desk, grabbed my head, and kissed me passionately on the lips. She tasted like cigarettes, not at all like the fresh sweetness I was certain Kayla's mouth would have.

  "Knock that shit off." I pulled away from Angela, standing up at my desk and glared at her angrily.

  "You seem tense. Don't you want me to help you relax, like I always do?" She slid off the desk and got down on her knees in front of me. Before her hands could reach my zipper, I grabbed them and stopped her.

  "I don't have time for that. Now, go home. We have a long work day ahead of us tomorrow, and I want to be alone."

  "That's how you're going to end up in life: alone." Angela's green eyes sparkled with angry jealousy, but I didn't give a fuck. My face held a bored expression as I watched her leave. I sat down at desk and returned to the picture of Kayla, with her innocent face and demure personality. She was only woman I wanted to be with now and no one else would do.

  Chapter Four

  Kayla

  "Whatever you have to do to get this job today, do it," Mick dictated. He was laying on our bed in his ripped jeans and a dirty tee-shirt, watching me get dressed for my call-back at Speed Motorcycles. It was just making me more nervous.

  "How can you say that me? Most boyfriends want their girlfriends only for themselves, to love, cherish, and protect. They don't prostitute them out to any sleaze who wants to see them naked." I felt hurt that Mick was so eager for me to be ogled and groped by strange men. Didn't he care about me at all?

  "Hey, you're the one who wanted to be a model. What did you think modeling was? It's posing for men, with your tits and ass hanging out, so strangers can get off while looking at you."

  "Modeling is so much more than that. It's about beauty, grace, style, fashion, and presenting things in the best light. It's about creating an i
mage of something that melds fantasy with reality, want with desire."

  "Yeah, that's what I said: getting guys off." Mick grunted. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes at him. He didn't understand my career, and I was beginning to wonder if he even understood me. All Mick saw when he thought of my career was dollar signs and sleaze.

  A part of me wondered if he was right, though; after all, he had told me I needed to expose myself to get jobs, and the time my bikini top falls off is the one time I get a call back. Maybe I did need to sacrifice my morals to get the jobs — but I just didn't know if I could bring myself to do it. Feeling self-righteous, I put on my most conservative outfit: a white sundress with pink flowers embroidered along the edges, a cardigan sweater, and wedge sandals.

  "How's this dress look?" I turned to face Mick, and he scowled.

  "No. You look like a damn Sunday school teacher in that thing. Take it off, and put on that sexy mini-dress I bought you for your birthday."

  Mick's reaction settled it for me: I was wearing the sundress. I took the time to curl my hair so it fell to my shoulders in gentle rings that bounced lightly. I kept my make-up minimal, not wanting to look vampy or overtly sexual. I needed to make it clear in this meeting that yesterday's flashing of my breasts was an accident and I had no interest in trading my sexuality for the job. I was a good-girl, devoted to my fiancé, and just looking for an honest day's pay for my modeling services. Nothing more. Some pink nail polish on my fingertips and toes completed the look, and I left feeling sunny and bright, like a fresh, country breeze in the city.

  As I sat in the waiting room of Speed Motorcycles’ executive floor, I began to rethink my strategy. The walls were lined with framed photographs of the company's motorcycles, each with a model looking sexy as sin posing along with it. Their shorts were skimpy enough to show their ass cheeks and their bikini tops left little to the imagination. It was easy to speculate that any of these women would have been willing to sleep their way into successful modeling careers. As I sat there in my prim sun dress, I realized just how much I didn't fit into this world of fast bikes and faster women, where everything was flashy and built for speed.

  I stood up to leave, but just then a woman with fiery red hair and a skin-tight, black dress with red stiletto heels came up to me. "Miss Brandt, Mr. Colson will see you now."

  "Thank you. Is he the photographer?" I asked casually as I trailed behind her down a richly-carpeted hallway.

  "No. He's the owner and CEO of the company," the sexy redhead smirked at my naive ignorance, making me feel even more out of place.

  "Oh. He'll be sitting in on the meeting?" I was genuinely surprised. I'd only ever worked on small jobs with just a photographer and once a director. Never had I worked with a CEO, especially for one of the country's biggest companies. My stomach began to squirm, and I wrapped my arms around my waist, trying to squelch my nerves.

  "No, he is the meeting. It will just be you and him. Mr. Colson is a very busy and powerful man, so try not to disappoint him."

  The redhead opened a set of large, oak doors, and I found myself entering a vast office filled with expensive furnishings in an art-deco style, imported rugs lined the floors, and fine crystal lamps filled the room with light. A man was seated at the massive desk in the center of the room. I instantly blushed when I recognized him from being at the audition where I had humiliated myself.

  He strode towards me with a welcoming smile shook my hand warmly. "Miss Brandt. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat."

  He indicated a grouping of chairs and sofas at the east end of the suite, and I chose one, gasping with surprise as I sunk into the comfortable cushions. My host chuckled and sat in the chair closest to mine so our knees were nearly touching.

  He was a very handsome man, with dark black hair cropped close to his head, chiseled features, and the most incredible steel gray eyes flecked with specks of gold and blue. As his eyes peered into mine, I felt as if they could penetrate my soul and see into the very heart of me. Quickly, I averted my eyes, staring down at my hands as if my cuticles had never been more fascinating.

  "So, Miss Brandt, I have asked you here to discuss your audition from yesterday," he began, and I couldn't stop myself from interrupting him.

  "I'm so sorry. I'm so very, very sorry."

  "That I want to talk with you?"

  "No, I'm very happy about that. It was such a relief when you called. I'm sorry about everything else. Sorry about my top coming off. I did not mean for that to happen. And, I'm really sorry about knocking over the motorcycle. Did I break it? I'm more than willing to pay for any damages I caused to it. Is that why I'm here? Do you need me to sign some legal papers accepting responsibility for it?"

  "Settle down, Miss Brandt. The bike wasn't damaged. Speed Motorcycles are built to be tough. They can handle highway crashes at fast speeds, I'm certain they can survive being toppled over onto a carpeted stage while standing still. I didn't call you here personally to have you sign liability forms."

  His humorous smirk lightened my tension and made me see how silly I was being. Instantly, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and smiled. "Okay, good. So, why did you ask me here?"

  "I understand you want the job of being a model for next month's issue of Speed Magazine."

  "Yes, me and about a thousand other girls," I giggled nervously. Why couldn't I stop my hands from fidgeting?

  "Yes, that's true. We literally see thousands of women every year, all of them hoping for the chance to appear in pages of our magazine. After a while, they all start to look the same. I'll say one thing for your audition yesterday; you made it memorable." I wanted to apologize again, but he didn't give me chance and kept right on talking. "That's why I've selected you to be the model for the cover of next month's issue."

  "The cover! Are you serious?" I had never been so happy or excited in my life. This was an incredible opportunity, and would launch my career as a professional model. Clasping my hands to keep them from shaking, I cried out happily, "I'd been hoping for something on one of the inside pages; I never dreamed I'd be considered for the cover."

  "Yes, well it's a special honor, only 12 women a year ever get to have. There was a lot of debate in the boardroom over selecting a model with as little experience as you have, but I cast my vote for you personally."

  "Thank you so much. I don't know how to thank you."

  "Well, don't thank me yet. There is a catch. I'm going to need you to do something special for me first before I give you the job. Come with me. I'll have my assistant get a hanger for that dress. You won't want to get it wrinkled or dirty."

  "What?" My heart dropped and all my joy drained away. "My boyfriend was right. You only want me for this job because you think I'm willing to take off my clothes for you — and God knows what else. Well, I'm not that kind of girl. I don't care if it costs me this job. I don't care if I never work as a model in L.A. ever again. I'm leaving, Mr. Colson."

  "No, wait," he cut off my retreat with his ripped form, and I was more than intimidated as my heart thundered in my chest. If he wouldn't let me leave, I would fight him with everything I had. With trembling hands, I fumbled in my purse, pulled out my pepper spray and aimed the canister at him.

  Chuckling good naturedly, Mr. Colson held up his hands in surrender and said gently, "You misunderstood. I don't expect you to strip for me, pose naked, or have sex with me or anybody else in this office. I do, however, intend to teach you how to ride a bike."

  "What?" I was stunned and nearly dropped my pepper spray. "You want to teach me how to ride?"

  "Yes. It's the kind of thing you can't fake in a photoshoot, so I need you to learn how to ride before I can give you the job. It will be fun and easy, and I'll even teach you myself."

  "Why would you be willing to go through so much trouble just for me?"

  "You have the all-American look I want for this cover. I don't want anybody else except you, but you'll have to learn how to ride fi
rst. The fact that our models truly enjoy riding motorcycles is what makes our magazine stand out among the competition. It's what makes the models who appear on it resonate with the public. So, do you want the riding lesson and job?"

  "Yes!" I grinned joyously. This was a dream come true for me and my heart was bursting with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

  Mr. Colson went over the terms of the modeling contract with me, and it was incredible. Up until then, the most I'd ever made on a job was a thousand dollars. This was much, much more. I'd be featured in a story layout for the newest motorcycle they were debuting in the issue, and I'd appear on the cover. It was the most exposure I'd ever had as a model and sure to get me noticed in the industry. Many models that were now world-famous had gotten their start on the cover of Speed Magazine. It was an incredible opportunity, and the money was going to be a lifesaver for us. Now Mick and I would finally be able to have that wedding I'd always dreamed of and still have enough left over to rent a decent apartment and tuck away some money for later. It was a dream come true, and I was crying tears of happiness as I signed my name on the contract.

  "Oh, look at me. I'm a mess." I blushed, dabbing at my eyes with a tissue after catching a glimpse of myself in the reflective surface of the chrome on his desk.

  "Don't worry about it. The photoshoot isn't until next week. That gives us plenty of time to get you familiar with riding on a bike."

  He called his assistant into the room and told her to fit me with some riding gear. I found out her name was Angela, and even though she smiled constantly, I got the impression she didn't like me very much. Perhaps she was one of the objectors who thought I didn't have enough experience. Oh, well. It didn't matter. Mr. Colson wanted me for the job, and now it was mine.

  I'd never worn a riding jumpsuit before. I was surprised at how comfortable it felt, despite the extremely tight fit. The boots hugged my feet like they were made just for me, and so did the gloves. The helmet felt strangely snug, but I knew I'd get used to it.