The Billionaire's Student: A BBW, Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Sana Chase

  The bright red dress seemed to accentuate every curve, and she wore lipstick to match. She looked me up and down, and her mouth pursed as if she’d just sucked on a very sour lemon. Apparently, I didn’t pass muster.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I have an appointment. My name is Katie Darling.”

  “You’re Ms. Darling?”

  She didn’t even attempt to hide the sneer.

  “Yes.”

  She made a harrumphing sound and picked up her phone.

  “Ms. Darling has arrived.” She paused for a moment. “Yes, but I thought you might want to see her before that was done.”

  She put the phone down, and a few moments later, the door to the inner office opened. The woman who walked out could’ve been a model of years past. Despite her silvered hair, her skin remained unwrinkled, and her body trim and tight. The white dress she wore fit her like a glove.

  Holding out her hand to me, she introduced herself.

  “Ms. Darling. I’m Ms. Henderson.”

  I took her hand and shook it while she studied me. The intensity of her gaze as it swept up and down my body made me squirm.

  “Hmm.”

  She walked a slow circle around me, nodded at her secretary, and then motioned to me.

  “Follow.”

  She led me into her office, which continued with the theme of stark white. Her desk was also polished glass, and two over stuffed white chairs sat in front of it. She gestured for me to sit in one.

  It was firmer than I expected, and I didn’t sink down it when I sat. Nervously, I twirled a strand of auburn hair between my fingers. When she frowned at me, I quickly dropped my hand into my lap to join the other one.

  She sat in the white leather chair behind her desk and gazed at me with dark brown eyes.

  “Tell me about yourself, Katie. Where do you come from? What are you studying in college? Why did you call the number on the card?”

  The starkness of the office, and the severity of her gaze made me uncomfortable, but I found myself spilling the story out. I don’t know why I told her so much except maybe I needed someone to confide in.

  My mom had always been that for me, and she’d been gone for three months now. When I finished, I bowed my head and fought the tears that threatened to spill as quickly as my words had.

  Ms. Henderson gave me a moment to compose myself before she spoke.

  “I see now why Becky gave you my number. She knew you wouldn’t be able to complete college without help.”

  I swallowed and then looked up at her.

  “I’ve tried everything I could. I got some grant money, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get any loans.”

  Ms. Henderson tapped a pen on the surface of the desk.

  “Normally, if a girl comes through my door looking the way you do, I don’t even talk to her. I just send her on her way.”

  I felt shame burn my face. Did she mean the way I was dressed or the fact that I was not the model type? In fact, short and dumpy fit me better than anything. Oh, I wasn’t what you might call obese, but I had extra pounds on me. I started to get out of the chair, but she held up a hand to stop me.

  “However, I think an exception can be made just this once.”

  She got up and walked around her desk to stand in front of me. Putting a fingertip beneath my chin, she lifted my face up.

  “You have remarkable eyes. Such bright green. Quite unusual.”

  She let go of my chin and fingered my hair.

  “And your hair, though it could be styled better, is just divine.”

  My eyebrows bunched up in question. What did my eyes and hair have to do with being able to do a job?

  She must’ve noticed my quizzical expression because she explained.

  “My clients are some of the wealthiest men in the state. Some of them even the world. They expect their employees to look as if they fit in with high society. You are not the normal cookie cutter blonde, but in this case, I think that’s a plus. With some help, I believe we can get you up to par if you are accepted.”

  She walked back around to her desk and sat.

  “First things first. There is a questionnaire you must fill out and then we need to take some pictures.”

  She picked up her phone.

  “Delilah, you may proceed with Ms. Darling.”

  The receptionist entered the office and beckoned me to follow her. Her face remained devoid of expression as she handed me a clipboard and a pen.

  “Go fill this out. We will take the pictures once you’re finished.”

  Some of the questions seemed awfully personal. Like what was my sexual orientation, was I a virgin, and how many lovers had I had if I wasn’t? I had a growing suspicion that Becky had lied when she said it wasn’t a call girl service. I looked up to find the receptionist had momentarily disappeared. I got up from the couch and knocked on Ms. Henderson’s door.

  “Come in.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a question and Delilah is not at her desk.”

  Ms. Henderson looked up from her computer.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I’m, I mean, is this…”

  How did you ask a woman if her business was prostitution? If you’re me, you just blurted it out.

  “Is this a call girl service?”

  My voice squeaked. I couldn’t help it.

  “I am not in the business of providing sexual playthings for my clients. You are applying to be a personal assistant. Some of my clients can be quite…demanding. The actual terms of your agreement will be conducted with your employer should you be chosen. Whether you accept them is entirely up to you.”

  She returned to her work, and I took it as a dismissal. I quietly closed her door and returned to my couch to finish the questionnaire. I felt as though there was an underlying message to what she’d just told me, but I wasn’t certain if it was a tacit admission to my question or something else entirely. She did state emphatically that she didn’t provide sexual playthings to her clients.

  Delilah returned as I was finishing up the questionnaire. She took the clipboard from my hands.

  “Come with me.”

  I followed her down a short hallway into another room and was surprised to find another person waiting for me behind what looked to be a salon chair. Hair products and accessories and make-up littered a counter beside him.

  “Sit. Monroe will take care of getting you ready for the pictures.”

  Monroe wore grey slacks and a bright blue silk shirt, which shone vibrantly against his pale skin. His black hair fell in waves to his shoulders.

  “Well, come on! Sit!”

  I did what he said and sat in the chair. He spun me around in a circle as he studied my hair.

  “Girl, who did such a hack job?” he tsked.

  “My hairdresser.”

  “Hmph, you need to fire that person, pronto! Hiding such gorgeous hair with such an awful cut!”

  Monroe grabbed a burgundy smock and flicked it open before swirling it over the front of me like a backwards cape. He tied it around my neck and spun me so that he could tilt the chair back to the sink that had been hidden under part of the glossy, black counter top.

  Panic set in, and my heart started to race.

  “What are you doing? My hair is just fine!”

  I just needed to get my college paid for; I didn’t sign up to have my hair massacred.

  Monroe patted my shoulder.

  “Relax, honey. You’re in good hands. I promise you’ll love it.”

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and attempted to enjoy having my hair washed. It was always my favorite part of getting my hair cut. Having strong fingers massaging my scalp as they worked the shampoo through my hair relaxed me in a way not much else could. There was just something about lying there while someone else took charge of you.

  Deciding it was a good idea if I didn’t watch Monroe as he snipped my hair with scissors, I kept my eyes closed while he wo
rked on it. The only problem with that was that I kept imagining what horrible things he might be doing to my hair.

  Still, I remained in the dark, not watching, as Monroe had his way with my hair. Even when the blow dryer started up, I didn’t open them. I didn’t want to see anything until it was done. Why make it worse?

  After several minutes of drying, plus a few extra using some other accessory that I guessed was a curling iron, he announced he was finished.

  “You can open your eyes now, honey. I’m all done.”

  What I saw in the mirror made my mouth fall open in shock. Holy crap!

  “It’s beautiful!” I gushed.

  I couldn’t tell where he’d actually used the curling iron as I had naturally curly hair, but whatever he had done, it looked gorgeous. Soft curls surrounded my face and fell to my shoulders. It was a little bit shorter than I was used to, but I still loved it.

  Normally, I had to struggle in order to wrestle it into some decent semblance of normalcy, but Monroe had managed to make it behave with what seemed to be minimal effort.

  “Now, I’m going to send some of this product home with you. All you have to do is squirt some in your hand and then run it through your hair. If you don’t feel comfortable using an iron on the front, just style it with your fingers while you blow dry it on low. That means low heat too. It takes a little longer, but it keeps your hair from being one big frizz ball.”

  He handed me the can of mousse. I’d seen the stuff in the store and wondered if it would be worth laying down the big bucks it cost. Now I knew it would. Apparently, when it came to hair products, you really did get what you paid for.

  He walked over to the make-up kit and pulled out a bottle.

  “Let’s see what we can do with your make-up. You don’t have any on, do you?”

  I shook my head. I knew it was probably a bad idea to go to some kind of interview with no make-up on, but I was a low maintenance kind of girl, so I only wore make-up on special occasions.

  “You’re going to have to get used to wearing it and putting it on properly,” Monroe admonished. “If one of Ms. Henderson’s clients accepts you, you must wear it whenever you are with him or her. Do you understand?”

  I nodded meekly.

  “Good. Now, let me show you how to make yourself look even more fabulous than you already do.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Monroe walked me through the process of how to diminish dark circles under my eyes, how to make them seem less puffy, the proper way to apply everything, and the best colors to use. I had to admit, when he was finished, I did look pretty good. So much so, that between the make-up and new hairdo, I barely recognized the girl who stared back at me from the mirror.

  “I guess you can work miracles, Monroe.”

  I hadn’t even noticed that Delilah had come back into the room. She held a green dress in her hand.

  “Here.”

  She shoved the dress toward me.

  “Put this on. I had to guess at your size, so hopefully it will fit.”

  There was a screen in the corner of the room, so I ducked behind it and changed clothes. The dress did fit…barely. It clung to my skin so tightly, it showed curves I didn’t even know I had. When I came out from behind the screen, Monroe whistled.

  “Whew, sexy mama!”

  I couldn’t stop the blush from spreading across my face. Sexy was not a word I’d ever use to describe myself.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Stand over there in front of the blank space on the wall.”

  Delilah motioned to an area near the screen. I moved into place, and she strode over to stand in front of me. I didn’t notice the camera she held until she raised it in front of her face.

  “Do try your best to look alluring,” she said.

  What I really wanted to do was smack that smug look right off her face. Instead, I did my best to smile and hide the murderous thoughts swirling around my brain. Who did she think she was anyway? Just because she was stick-model thin didn’t make her any better than me.

  “That’ll do,” she said after taking a few pictures. “We’re done now. You are to take the dress home with you in case you get called for an interview with one of our clients. Ms. Henderson will expect you to wear it.”

  She smiled maliciously.

  “I wouldn’t expect a call though, if I were you. Our clients are rather…picky.”

  She stalked out of the room, and I resisted the urge to pick up a nearby vase and throw it at the back of her retreating head.

  “Don’t mind her,” Monroe said. “She suffers from stick disease.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Stick disease?”

  “Yeah, you know…she perpetually has a stick up her ass.”

  I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. It was probably the first time I’d laughed since losing my parents.

  “Thanks for that.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I strode back behind the screen and changed back into my clothes. Grabbing the hangar and plastic garment bag Delilah had left behind, I covered the green dress and got ready to leave.

  “Don’t forget what I showed you,” Monroe gently chided.

  “I won’t. Thanks again.”

  If nothing else came of this, at least I knew how to make myself more presentable for job interviews. If this fell through, I had a feeling I’d be going to a lot of those.

  3.

  I sat on my bed in my dorm room, the day’s newspaper that I’d swiped from the Commons in my hands. It had been a week since I visited Carrington Acquisitions, and I’d not heard from them. Sighing, I circled another ad that started at minimum wage.

  Unfortunately, with just one year of college under my belt, I wasn’t qualified for any job that paid more. After I finished looking at the want ads, I was going to check to see if there were any ads for people needing roommates to share rent and utilities with. The end of the semester was coming up fast, and if I didn’t find a job soon, I’d be homeless.

  The buzzing of my cell phone interrupted my search for a place to work. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Darling, this is Delilah.”

  Well of course it was. I’d recognize that snooty tone anywhere.

  “Yes?”

  “You have an interview tomorrow at 5pm with Mr. Jace Weatherton. Ms. Henderson wanted me to remind you to wear the green dress. And don’t be late. Mr. Weatherton is quite a stickler for punctuality.”

  She gave me the address and disconnected.

  My heart fluttered in my chest, and I laid the paper on the desk that separated my bed from that of my roommate. Maybe I wouldn’t need the classifieds after all.

  ***

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  I turned the key again, but all I heard was a pathetic whining sound. The engine refused to catch. I checked my watch. I was going to be late. This was not good. I jumped out of my car and ran back into the dorm. Luckily, my roommate, Mandy, planned to stay in and study for the night.

  “I thought you’d left for your interview,” she said as she looked up from her World History book.

  “I did, but my car won’t start. Can I borrow yours?”

  She screwed up her face and chewed on her bottom lip.

  “I don’t know, Katie. My dad told me to never let anyone else drive my car.”

  I tried not to let my impatience and frustration show. I knew she let her friends drive her car all the time.

  “Please, Mandy, this is important. This interview could decide whether or not I get to stay in school.”

  She sighed. “Okay, I guess I can let you borrow it just this once.”

  I shuffled from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to hurry her up as she dragged herself off the bed and loped over to her desk to rummage through her purse.

  “Now where are they?”

  After what seemed like forever she pulled them from the bottom of her purse and tossed then to me.

  “Here you go. Now be c
areful!”

  “I will!” I shouted as I ran down the dorm corridor. I knew without looking at my watch that I was late. I hoped that I hadn’t botched the interview before I even arrived.

  ***

  When I pulled up to the gate bearing the address I’d been given, I marveled at the fact that I couldn’t even see the house from where my car sat. Huge trees lined the drive that curved up a hill and disappeared around a curve. I could see a large green expanse of closely trimmed lawn and quite a few beds of colorful flowers.

  Rolling down the window, I hit the buzzer attached to an intercom beside the gate.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Katie Darling. Ms. Henderson sent me for an interview.”

  After a moment of anxious silence, the voice in the box squawked, “You may leave your car in front of the house.”

  The gate trundled open, each heavy side rolling open with surprising quietness. I drove my car through them and surveyed the beautiful grounds as I approached the house. When it finally came into view, my mouth gaped open. Holy crap! I could probably have fit at least fifty, if not more, of my parents’ old house into the mansion that sprawled before me. Talk about some serious money.

  I did as instructed and parked the car on the drive in front of the lavish door which marked the front entrance to the house. Windows surrounded both sides and the top, but they were frosted to maintain privacy. Instead of the expected doorbell, there was a heavy brass door knocker attached to the bright, red door. I lifted it and slammed it against the door three times, hearing the echo booming inside the house as I did so.

  The door opened quickly to reveal a butler attired in formal uniform, complete with tails. His lips pursed in distaste at the sight of Mandy’s car. I cringed. If her car made him look that way, I’d hate to see how he’d react to my several years older clunker.

  “Come in please.”

  I followed him into a large entry way with a marbled tile floor and rich, wooden walls which were adorned with ornate mirrors and framed art that probably cost more than I would make in my lifetime.

  “Wait here while I see if Mr. Weatherton is ready for you.”

  I nodded and stood still while he disappeared down the hall. As each second ticked by, I felt more and more anxious. I didn’t belong in this fancy hall of this hulking mansion, and I could see my future at college fading away.