The Billionaires Club

by Sky Corgan

  “Oh, yeah.” He averts his eyes, smiling shyly.

  “So you're not part of the penis buffet, I take it?” I joke with him.

  “No,” he laughs.

  “It's nice to talk to somebody real for once.”

  “You aren't enjoying your time here?” He gazes up at me with concern.

  “No. That's not it. This is all just kind of weird for me. I'm not really into the whole rich guy fantasy. I mean, I thought I was. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I was.” Oh God, I'm rambling. “But I think I'd rather be spending my time with someone real.”

  “Oh.” The look in his eyes changes and so does his stance, as if some new-found confidence is taking over. “Well, I get off work in about an hour if you want to hang out.”

  For the briefest of seconds, I wonder if I was wrong. Maybe he is part of the fantasy. But then I wipe the thought away.

  “Is that even aloud?” I ask, not wanting to threaten his job security.

  “I think so. I mean all the other employees flirt with the clients. I wouldn't think I'm barred from it.”

  I blush at his words. Flirting. Is that what he's doing? I never would have been able to tell. Still, I'm thankful for this opportunity.

  “I'll see you in an hour then,” I say with a smile. “Do you want me to meet you back down here?”

  “Yeah. That will work.”

  I go back up to my room and wait out the next hour by blow drying my hair and watching television. My heart is pounding in chest, and I don't know why. It's hard to believe that I'm actually excited to talk to someone normal. It's a dumb thing to be excited about. Ryan is in my league though. A working guy around my age. He's not devastatingly attractive like Anders is, but he's still totally hot. Maybe I'll finally get the romance I've been dreaming of. It's too early to jump the gun, but I can't help but get my hopes up.

  I don't bother changing before I go back downstairs. I don't want to seem too desperate. We're just going to spend some time together talking. I have absolutely zero intentions of sleeping with him. Hopefully, he doesn't press for it.

  Ryan's face lights up when he sees me round the corner. He's finishing up his duties at the front desk, shuffling paperwork.

  “I'll be out in a minute,” he tells me enthusiastically, and I wait until he clocks out and comes to join me.

  We walk to this lounging area a little past the main lobby. It's not intimate, but it's better than bringing him up to my room. The area is set up like a freestanding living room, with two recliners and a sofa circling a coffee table and facing a flat-screen television that's currently playing some soap opera. I take one of the recliners, and he sits on the sofa, looking a bit exhausted.

  “Long shift?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I've been here since eight this morning.”

  “Wow. Twelve hours. That is a long shift.”

  “One of the guys called in sick, so I'm splitting his shift with someone else.”

  “That's nice of you.”

  “It wasn't voluntary, trust me.”

  I let out a short laugh, soaking in his honesty. It's nice to be around someone so open about their life. All the other men here are tight-lipped. They don't tell you more than what you need to know.

  “How long have you worked here?” I ask, genuinely interested.

  “It's going on two months now.”

  “Oh, so you're still fairly new.” They haven't corrupted him yet. I hope they never do.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think of it so far?”

  “It's interesting.” His eyes widen and he bobs his head. I can only imagine what makes him say that.

  “Ryan,” an authoritative voice comes from behind me, making my blood freeze in my veins. I know who it belongs to without even having to turn around. How does he keep sneaking up on me?

  “Yes, Sir,” Ryan addresses him courteously, giving him the same frightened look that the blonde maintenance guy did.

  “Your shift is over, go home.”

  “Sir, I was just—”

  “I know what you were just doing. Beat it.”

  And suddenly my vision goes red with anger.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “What in the hell is wrong with you?” I practically shriek once we're out of earshot. I'm absolutely mortified. How could he just come up to me like that and chase Ryan away? This is beyond ridiculous.

  “Come upstairs with me.” He tugs gently on my arm.

  “No.” I pull out of his grasp. “I'm not going upstairs with you.” I know what will happen if I go upstairs with him. I'm ten times more vulnerable up there in his suite than I am down here in the safety of the lobby. If I go upstairs with him . . . “Wait. Why are you even here?”

  “I came here to see you.”

  His words stop me dead in my tracks, and I just stare at him like an idiot for several seconds before finding my voice, “Why?”

  “Because I needed to see you again. I told you I need you.” He steps into me, trying to dominate me with his gaze. One of his hands wraps around my waist, and I quickly pull away from it.

  “Just stop, okay. I'm not buying this bullshit tonight.”

  He sighs, taking a step away from me to rake his fingers through his hair. “Please tell me you didn't fuck him.”

  “What?” I'm taken aback by the genuine look of worry on his face. “You're not allowed to get jealous. We talked about this already. That's not part of the deal here.”

  “I know.” He frowns at me. “But I can't help how I feel.”

  “How you feel?” The words sound alien to me. Up to this point, I didn't even think he had feelings. He was just a beautifully designed fuck machine, void of any emotion. Maybe that's not really the case. Still, I can't allow myself to believe that he actually feels something for me. I'm only a possession to him, a client he doesn't want to share. There's nothing real here. There never has been. “Fuck your feelings.”

  “Fuck my feelings?” He furrows his perfect brows.

  “Yes. You fuck a different woman every night of the week for free. I paid to come here. You can't act like you own me.”

  “I never intended it to seem that way.” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking offended.

  “You know what, I really don't think I can do this with you anymore?”

  “Do what?”

  “Sleep with you.”

  “That's what you paid for, isn't it?” his words sound bitter.

  “I told you from the beginning it wasn't what I wanted.”

  A woman walks by and casts a wary glance in our direction. I feel almost guilty for causing a scene next to the elevator, where so many people can see and hear us. It seems more logical to take things upstairs, but I seriously don't want to end up trapped by him.

  This is over. It has to be. I can't see him again, especially if he's going to act like this.

  “You never complained when we were fucking,” he says with a sneer.

  I can't believe his arrogance. “You know what? We're done. This conversation is over. Get a new client, because I'm finished with you.” I slam my finger against the up button for the elevator so hard that I nearly sprain it in the process.

  My entire body is hot with anger as I stand there. The tension is going nowhere either, because Anders is standing right beside me, waiting for the elevator too.

  The door opens, and we both step inside. I press the button for the sixth floor, and he presses the button for the twentieth. Just the thought that I have to be trapped with him in the same small space for the next few seconds makes me feel almost nauseatingly uncomfortable. So much can go wrong in the matter of a few seconds. All I can do is hope he behaves.

  Of course, nothing is that easy. We reach the sixth floor, and before the door even has a chance to open, he's leaning forward and hitting the button to close the door.

  “What are you doing?” I bark at him.

  “We're going upstairs for a drink.”

  “I already told you I'
m done with you.” I try to push my hand around him to open the door, but he blocks the buttons with his imposing frame. All I can do is scowl at him as the elevator continues its ascent to twenty-story hell. “I don't want to talk to you,” I insist, knowing exactly what his talking will consist of. If he gets me in that room, I'll be lost. He'll take advantage of me. I'll melt. It will be all over.

  “You're going to talk to me,” his voice is firm and unyielding.

  I get as far away from him as possible in the elevator, pressing my back against the wall and crossing my arms over my chest. My eyes never leave him, anticipating his next move. He'll pounce on me soon. He always does.

  When we reach the top floor, the elevator door opens, and he steps aside, gesturing for me to exit. I rush past him, then continue to keep my distance while he goes to open the door to his suite. Every time I've come up here before, there's been a strange rush of excitement coursing through me as I wait for him to open the door. Now there's just dread, like I'm knowingly walking into a losing battle.

  “You've already come this far,” he says to me as he holds the door open, his tone surprisingly gentle for the heated argument we just had.

  “Just talking. No sex.” I keep rooted in place, showing him that I'm strictly business tonight.

  He sighs, “Alcohol and talking.”

  “No sex,” I repeat. “No sex or you go in there alone.”

  “No sex,” he relents finally.

  Reluctantly, I step through the door. I don't trust him one bit. The word 'no' doesn't exist in his vocabulary in a sentence where the word 'sex' is involved. I've likely just walked into a trap.

  “What would you like?” he asks while I make my way to the sectional sofa.

  “Bourbon on the rocks.” I'm going to need something strong to temper my anger, though drinking around him probably isn't the best idea.

  He returns several moments later with two glasses, handing one over as he sits across from me. The distance he puts between us surprises me, but I'm glad. It will be easier to resist him if he's not constantly on top of me.

  “I like you, Tessa,” he begins, swirling the ice in his glass before taking a drink. I don't know how to respond to that, so I just sit there, staring out the window, avoiding his gaze. “Do you like me?”

  “If this is the part where you try to convince me that it's fine for us to keep fucking, then it's not going to work.”

  “What do you want from me? What would it take to make you more comfortable with me?”

  “I want to know why you're so jealous.” I turn to him and immediately regret it. The way the moon casts a glow on his face makes him look breathtakingly handsome.

  “The answer to that is simple. I don't like to share.”

  “We've been over this already,” I sigh, exhausted with the broken-record conversation we're having.

  “You asked me a question. I gave you an answer. It's not my fault if you don't like it.”

  “I don't belong to you, Anders,” I say as if he's dense.

  “No, you don't, but maybe I want you to.” He takes a long sip of bourbon, staring over the glass at me. The look in his eyes is pure seduction, and I'm feeling strange stirrings. Stirrings I shouldn't be having in the middle of such an intense conversation. I want him. So badly. Every second that we spend together is a second that my resolve slips away.

  “I don't get what you mean,” I stutter.

  “I don't want another man putting his hands on you. Not here. Not when you leave. I want you to belong to me.”

  It feels like my heart has stopped. Is he actually talking about after I leave The Billionaires Club. He can't be serious.

  “When I leave here, we'll never see each other again,” I say, though it sounds more like a question.

  “It doesn't have to be that way.”

  “I'm not sure I understand.”

  “I looked at your paperwork. You live here in San Francisco. I live here in San Francisco. There's no reason why we can't keep seeing each other.”

  I can't believe what he's telling me. He actually wants to see me after my time at The Billionaires Club is up. My head is spinning at the prospect of what that could mean.

  “If that was the case, you'd have to shed the disguise,” I say, feeling a bit suspicious.

  “The disguise?” he lets out a short laugh.

  “Anders. You said it's a nickname.”

  “I'd rather wait until after our time here is through before I give you details about myself.” He takes a sip of his drink and looks out the window as if me even asking about his name makes him uncomfortable.

  “How do I know you're not trying to trick me?” I stare at him.

  “Why would I trick you?”

  “It's easy for you to say this now, have fun with me until it's time for me to leave, and then never make good on wanting to see me afterward.” It's not until I finish speaking that I realize how incredibly pathetic it sounds.

  “One question.”

  “What?”

  “You get to ask me one question, and I'll answer it now. The rest we'll save for later. Is that sufficient enough for you?”

  I think for a minute, then nod in agreement. “What's your real name?”

  “Anderson. Anders is short for Anderson.”

  “What's your last name?”

  His face broadens into a grin as he gazes at me over the top of his glass. “One question, not two.”

  “It's the same question. Still about your name. When I asked for your name, I meant your full name.”

  “Then you should have asked me what my full name is. But you didn't. You asked me what my name is. I gave you my name. Whether it's my first or last name is irrelevant.”

  “Ugh. You're horrible.” I pout, setting my drink down and crossing my hands over my chest to glare at him.

  “I really do enjoy your company, Tessa. You're absolutely delightful.”

  It's odd to share a conversation with him like this, entirely devoid of sex. I can still feel my body on edge, as if I'm waiting for him to make a move. Maybe I am. Now that we've had this small bit of honest intimate time together, I think I'm rather ready for things to progress. My hormones are on overdrive from the thought that he wants to continue seeing me after I leave The Billionaires Club. My attraction to him has risen tenfold in the span of just a few minutes inside his suite.

  “You're . . . interesting,” I tell him, not knowing what else to say.

  He guffaws at my response, continually amused by me, which is a bit irritating. It's like he gets some sick pleasure out of bending and twisting and shaping my emotions.

  I watch him down his glass of bourbon before he sets it on the coffee table and stands up. Here it is. He's going to make his move. My body screams jubilantly in anticipation.

  “Shall we.” He gestures to the door, and I give him a confused look in return. “You said you just wanted to talk. We talked.”

  I almost forgot about my no sex clause. Never in a million years did I think he would actually respect it.

  Reluctantly, I stand, setting my glass down on the coffee table and following him to the door. My body is hesitant to leave, now yearning for his touch more than ever. I want him to fuck me on the floor. To pound between my legs while I scream his name and rake my fingers through his hair. I want him to drive me to the heights of pleasure that he's so capable of doing.

  He opens the door for me to leave, and I stand on the threshold, staring at the elevator. I don't want to go. I want to stay with him all night. I want to sleep in his bed and wake up in his arms. He probably doesn't want that though.

  “Are you alright?” he asks.

  “Do you want to have sex now?” my voice is small and sheepish.

  An arrogant grin crosses his face. “I thought you just wanted to talk. No sex.”

  “We did talk.”

  He bends forward, and I feel his hot breath on my ear. The sensation of it sends a wanton shiver throughout my body. “How can I ever
expect you to trust me if I go back on my word tonight?”

  ***

  “So you didn't fuck?” Stephanie asks me, sounding genuinely surprised.

  “No.” I shake my head, looking over at her where she's sitting under the hair dryer next to mine.

  “He just brought you up to his suite to talk?” She can't seem to force herself to believe me.

  “Yeah. We just talked. I'm completely blown away too.”

  “That is odd.”

  “Is it normal for the billionaires to see their clients outside of The Billionaires Club?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  “I've never heard of it before. Then again, I'm not as young as you either. None of these young rich men would want to spend their spare time with an old bat like me.”

  “Don't say that about yourself,” I chastise her.

  “What? It's true.”

  “He said his real name is Anderson,” I continue, feeling stupidly happy that he even gave up that much information.

  “I can see why he didn't want to tell you anything else,” Stephanie says dryly.

  “Why is that?” I give her a confused look.

  “Because this whole place would know.”

  “Oh.” I scowl. It seemed alright to tell her, because we're friends. I guess she's right though. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut. He told me his name in confidentiality because he thought I would keep it a secret. Perhaps he was right not to tell my anything else. Not yet.

  “You're so naive it's almost adorable.” She rolls her eyes at me.

  “I'm not following.” I don't understand why she sounds so grumpy and bitter today, but it's starting to piss me off.

  “While I don't doubt he has an interest in you, I wouldn't hope that it will turn into anything more. Guys like him enjoy variety.”

  “Variety,” I repeat the word before what she's trying to tell me sinks in. “Oh, you think he just wants to keep seeing me for the sex.”

  “I just don't want to see you get hurt. You're such a sweet girl.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” I say with a smile. “If I do start seeing him outside of here, I promise I won't get too attached.”