Sleeping with a Billionaire - Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story)

by Nella Tyler

  Asher had predictably chosen yet another restaurant for our practice date. That seemed to be the only thing that he ever wanted to do for our sessions, in spite of my careful advice to him that when he moved onto dating women for real he should think of different things that might be interesting to his paramours: museums, poetry readings, art exhibits, pottery classes. He was the quiet, shy son of an old money family, a couple of years younger than me and recently out of college. Since he had a trust fund to rely on for his income, he didn’t have to worry about a job. He wanted a wife and a settled family life so that he could dedicate himself to his writing and academics.

  I sat at the reserved table and waited for my client to arrive. Asher was chronically about three or four minutes late, but I always made sure to arrive to our dates ten minutes early, just in case he chose to show up on time. I perused the menu while I waited for him, and thought about the fact that Zeke had shown greater improvement between date one and date two (or technically, considering the “virtual” session, date three) than Asher had in five dates. Where Zeke had demonstrated—probably purposely—that he’d heard my feedback and wanted to apply it to his manner, Asher was always full of excuses as to why he couldn’t do something I suggested.

  Finally, I looked up when I saw movement in the corner of my vision and saw Asher approaching the table with the hostess. At least he’s better dressed this time, I thought as I took in the sight of him. Asher was average height, with messy curly brown hair and eyes. He had a heavier frame, which he did nothing to help with his clothing choices, usually poorly-fitted designer sweaters and jeans, maybe the occasional blazer with worn elbows in off-fashion fabrics like corduroy or tweed. He somehow always managed to look like he had borrowed his clothes from one of his grandparents, in spite of the fact that he had plenty of money to dress himself properly and well.

  “Good evening, Asher,” I said, standing up from the table. I shook his hand—still slightly clammy, in spite of the number of times that he’d met me—and we both sat down at the table.

  “How has your week been?” Asher’s gaze shifted from my nose to my forehead without quite hitting my eyes before he glanced down at the menu.

  “It’s been good,” I replied. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” he said, with a faintly Eeyore-like whine in his voice. “When do you think I’ll be ready to go on real dates?” I bit back an impulsive, teasing retort.

  “You’ve been hard at work, and I know it’s probably starting to get frustrating to keep the training wheels on,” I said instead, keeping my voice carefully level. “But I can’t clear you for dating until I start to see some progress on the things we’ve talked about.” And talked about, and talked about, and talked about, I added very, very quietly in my mind.

  “I just don’t get it,” he said, finally looking up from the menu. “I can’t understand what you’re trying to get me to do.” I took a quick deep breath and reviewed the list of cocktails that I’d perused while waiting for my client to arrive.

  “The goal I have is to make sure you’re able to make the most of any dates that you have with the women the agency sets you up with,” I told Asher—for what felt like the hundredth time. “Once you’re in a position to maximize your chances, then you can go on dates and find someone who can help you form a meaningful relationship.”

  “I’m starting to think my dad was right,” he said morosely. “Maybe I should just buy a wife from Russia or something.” I took a deep breath and counted to three in my mind.

  “The trouble with that is you need to be able to form a meaningful bond with even a wife you’ve bought or else you won’t be able to have the serene, comfortable home life you’re looking for,” I pointed out. “So let’s get started. What are you working on lately?”

  The waitress came and took our order, and I made sure to get one of the stronger cocktails on the signature drinks list. Asher talked about his projects, and I made every appearance of paying attention, asking questions and feigning interest as he detailed the research he was compiling for a longer essay. As the meal went on, in spite of the fact that I had told myself on multiple occasions that I wouldn’t think of Zeke at all—and despite my general rule not to compare specific clients against each other—I couldn’t help but remember the dinner I’d had with the other client with the meal I was sharing with Asher. While Zeke had started out displaying a kind of blithe disregard for the process of “learning to date effectively,” he had a kind of innate charm that I was certain was a major factor in his success as an executive.

  Then there’s the fact that he actually dresses very well and takes care of himself, I thought, surveying Asher’s general appearance. My client had managed to clean himself up a bit for our date, more so than he had on previous occasions, but there was still something faintly dusty-looking about him: his hair wasn’t cut in the most flattering way, and the stubble on his cheeks looked less rakish and more unconcerned. I had suggested on the second or third session with Asher that we could use one of our dates as an opportunity to go shopping for a “dating friendly” wardrobe, and he had countered mildly that he didn’t see the point in buying clothes specifically for going out in. I didn’t think that Zeke did, either; but then, his wardrobe seemed to be geared towards looking clean-cut and successful anywhere he went, and he also seemed to know what colors and cuts looked right on him.

  Asher went on about another project of his—a story he was writing under the guidance of one of his former professors—and I tried to keep myself engaged. I knew that his work was basically the only thing in life that excited him other than online gaming, but somehow none of that enthusiasm translated to any kind of exciting description or engaging conversation. From previous sessions with the man, I knew that if I let him go on, Asher would take up the entire session with nearly-monotonous recitals of details for this story or that one, backstories for characters, world-building exercises he’d done, and philosophical questions that his stories were supposed to both pose and answer.

  Zeke, on the other hand, could make even the relatively boring subject of brokering agreements and contracts for charities seem like a fascinating subject. It was obvious to me that both men threw themselves completely into their work of choice, but that Zeke was somehow better at getting the people he spoke with to understand his enthusiasm and feel it. Probably because part of his work is essentially sales-driven in mindset, I thought to myself idly. I wondered if Asher would have more polish to his manners and presentation if his father had—somehow—forced him to work for part of his life, to be a salesperson or to at least get involved with a company. Everything for Asher seemed cerebral and remote.

  “What do you think of that?” Asher’s question cut through my abstracted thoughts and I forced myself to try and think of what he’d been talking about when I’d gone on my mental tangent.

  “It sounds very interesting,” I said to cover my inattentiveness. “What else do you have going on in your life these days? It seems like you’re loading yourself down with a lot of work. Have you taken the time to try some of the activities I’ve suggested?” I’d hoped that by getting him into activities where he’d have to interact with other people on the basis of something other than games or writing, he might get a more varied conversational style.

  “I tried,” he said with a sigh, pushing around a bite of fruit tart on his plate. “But I just couldn’t make myself go to any of them. It seemed too boring or too tiring or too…just not me, you know?” I suppressed my urge to sigh at yet another excuse from the man.

  “Well, certainly I didn’t expect you to try all of them in one week, Asher!” I smiled as broadly as I could. “But trying one or two of them—even if they’re boring or too tiring or whatever—could give you a new perspective. Hell, maybe you’ll be rewarded with another idea for a story.” I kept my smile plastered on my face in spite of the fact that what I really wanted to do was give him a good shake and tell him that if he kept rejecting advice from
me, we were both going to be stuck practice-dating each other forever.

  I went over the same list of items to do with Asher as I had at our four previous meetings and left the restaurant feeling disappointed in both my client and myself. How was it possible that I could have one client who got the gist of what I was trying to explain to him almost before I finished explaining it, and another who showed every sign of at least comprehending the words out of my mouth but not the meaning or the use of my advice?

  Unbidden, the memory of kissing Zeke floated up into my mind, and I pushed it ruthlessly aside. I was not going to dwell on how much more charming Zeke Baxter was than any other client I had, and I certainly wasn’t going to ever let him get past my defenses again. We are going to nip that “practice the goodnight kiss” thing right in the bud. No more of it. It was obvious that it had only made things worse, at least when it came to me managing my other clientele. I couldn’t let Zeke jeopardize my professional life.

  Chapter Ten

  Zeke

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Baxter?” I looked up from my computer screen to see Trevor coming through the door to my office. I frowned until I remembered that I had texted him, asking him to come by as soon as he was done at the drycleaner’s.

  “Have a seat, Trev,” I said, sitting back from my desk slightly. “I want to make some plans.”

  “What kind?” Trevor took out his notepad and sat down across from me, slipping his phone out of his pocket to consult it in case there were conflicts in schedule.

  “I want to get the ball rolling on the next few dates I’m supposed to be taking Natalie on.”

  “I can definitely put together some preliminary plans,” he said, opening up my calendar on his phone. “What did you have in mind?”

  “One of the things Natalie wants to see is me paying attention to the things my dates like,” I explained. “So I want to try and schedule some future dates for the kinds of places she would like to go.”

  “Well, what ideas do you have?” He glanced up from his notepad and phone.

  “She likes movies and music—see if any of her favorite bands are on tour or have concerts in the area in the near future. I think I already gave you the list on that, right?”

  “I think so,” he agreed.

  “Especially Hot Hot Heat or Franz Ferdinand, or Yeah Yeah Yeahs,” I told him. “I remember her also saying she likes Radiohead, Muse, and OK Go.” Trevor wrote the list down.

  “Other than concerts—movies maybe?”

  I frowned. “We’ve already been on a movie date. If I took her to see a film again, I’d want it to be more special. Check and see if there are any good comedies that are scheduled for a premiere—any event-type movies.”

  “I can absolutely do that,” he told me, nodding his head. “Should I look for movies in general, too?”

  I shook my head. “Comedies and romances,” I told him. “Create a sub-list, too—horror movies. But nothing too gory.”

  “Okay,” Trevor said, nodding again. “What else?”

  I took a deep breath and considered. “Look at art openings: galleries, exhibits, things like that. Also check out events going on in the parks—festivals or meets.” I remembered that Natalie had mentioned taking Brady to the park often and how much she loved the events they had there.

  As I continued on down the list, I was actually surprised at the amount I knew about Natalie. I’d put her tips and advice to work on our dates together—all two of them that we’d had since the first—but I hadn’t realized that I had actually filed away the bits and pieces of information she’d given me until just then. I knew that she liked going to poetry readings, even though I’d never really considered it a great use of my time. But I told Trevor to check those out, as well. I also added water parks, mini-golf courses, arcades, and other things that I would never have thought of unless Natalie had mentioned them to me as possibilities. I could remember with complete clarity the advice that had come along with that list of places where I could take women on dates: “The basic idea is that you want to have a list of places you can take someone to spontaneously. People in general love spontaneous, fun things. Be lighthearted. Don’t be so businesslike. You can get to know someone just as much on a bumper car as you can in a restaurant.”

  By the time Trevor left to look for leads and begin to tentatively schedule the future dates, I thought that I might—might—just be letting Natalie’s advice affect me too much. I knew that her job was to get me ready for dating women that the matchmaker would set me up with, as well as anyone else I might meet and want to ask out, but I’d bought her flowers. I’d kissed her. I was looking for dates that she, specifically, would enjoy.

  Face it, I thought wryly, trying to get back to a report that I had to finish by the end of the day, she’s in your head now. Every decision you make about dating is going to be informed by her. I shook my head, thinking of how that had come about. I had to admit that even above and beyond her expertise, she had a lot of knowledge in her mind. There was something about the way that she reacted, the way that she took a deep breath and made herself pause before saying something, and how she coached me, that told me that no matter how much education she’d gotten, a lot of her ability was pure talent.

  She’s a mother. She’s got that mother’s instinct. I smiled to myself, thinking of the picture of her son that she’d sent me when she’d had to cancel our original second date. The three-year-old looked both completely like his mother and nothing like her at the same time and I wondered how it was that Natalie had become a single mom. I’d wanted to ask, but of course, I knew better. It was rude to ask a woman who was doing her best by her child how it was that she came to be parenting alone. If she wanted me to know about it, she would tell me. Until then, I would have to be content with knowing only that she was single and that she had a son.

  The night that I’d kissed her, I’d gone home to my apartment alone. I had told myself that what I’d done was stupid and that I should put it out of my mind as quickly as possible. I’d acted on impulse. The fact that it had ended up with be being able to kiss her didn’t mean anything. She was my coach, not my girlfriend. She would never be my girlfriend.

  But no matter how many times I tried to put it out of my mind completely, it rose to the top. Something about kissing Natalie had felt so good, so completely right. I’d gone to sleep the night of that date with the memory of it still bouncing around in my head and had the most intense sex dream that I’d had in years—maybe in my entire life. I had dreamed of waking up with Natalie in the bed next to me, already naked, curled up under the covers. In my dream, I woke her up with another kiss, and in a matter of moments, we were going at it, touching each other everywhere, teasing each other. I was hard as a rock and struggling to hold myself back. I kissed Natalie everywhere in my dream and went down on her for what seemed like forever, devouring her over and over again until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  I woke up from that dream still hard, my cock aching and throbbing in my pajama pants. I took a long, hot shower and got myself off, trying to think of anything at all except for Natalie.

  But it seemed like no matter what I did or how often I told myself that I couldn’t entertain an interest in her, that I had to direct my attention elsewhere, my thoughts kept circling around to that one kiss. I’d had sex with women; I had had sex plenty of times, even when I wasn’t dating anyone—one-night stands, most of them—but something as simple as a kiss had completely stuck in my brain. There had been a part of me that had wanted to take it farther; I had been right on the point of suggesting that she could let me walk her to her car, that we could kiss more there. I had been right on the point of suggesting that we could go home together.

  I definitely wanted to. Natalie was gorgeous and easy to be myself around, pulling me out of my shell and teaching me in a way that I didn’t think anyone else I had ever met or dated could have taught me. God, she had to be absolutely, stunningly hot underneath those carefully
professional clothes she wore. It was only too easy for me to picture what she had to look like naked. The clothes that she’d worn were tailored to her body—I had been with enough women to have an idea of what that silhouette would look like. But I knew that no matter how many times I pictured it, it wouldn’t ever happen.

  I imagined the possibility of suggesting to Natalie that we could have practice sex as well as a practice kiss, but that sounded too much like I was trying to turn her into some kind of prostitute. I was already paying her—technically—for going on dates with me, through the company. I was paying for her to teach me how to be a better date, how to make things work with a woman I actually wanted to eventually marry. It was supposed to be strictly professional and I had already screwed that up a little bit by kissing her. I thought that if I suggested we have sex, Natalie would—rightfully—fire me as a client, maybe even report me to her boss, and I would end up not only missing out on what she could teach me, but also missing out on the possibility of using the service to find a woman I could love.

  As I got ready to leave the office for the night, I tried to make myself imagine the kind of woman I would want to marry. She would have a lot of the same traits that Natalie had shown, but she would be a completely different person altogether. The woman I would eventually find for myself wouldn’t have any kids already; we would build our family together. She would be smart and funny, professional and insightful, and she would challenge me the way that Natalie did, but it would be more playful—less businesslike. We’d go on dates, but they’d be equally split between the things I liked to do and the things that she liked to do, instead of me investing time in figuring them all out.

  No matter how hard I tried to picture my ideal woman in my head, though, the image of kissing Natalie swirled right back up to the surface of my brain. It was as if she had some kind of drug on her lips that would make me only think of her, although the fact that she hadn’t wanted to kiss me at all at first—in addition to her general professionalism—made that theory impossible. How was it that I could meet countless women every day that made no impact on me at all, but the one woman that I knew I couldn’t have stuck around in my head like a bad pop song, repeating over and over again? I decided right then and there that I would get out of the coaching sessions as quickly as possible and put my energy towards something I knew would pay off eventually. There was no sense in dwelling on Natalie when she would probably forget me weeks after our sessions ended.