Charmed by the Billionaire

by Jessica Lemmon

  Oh, right. The kitchen. Lights strung from wires spotlight the bar. The fridge and cabinets are shining wood and very modern. Off the kitchen are the patio doors, a patio covering, the in-ground heated pool, and a huge yard. A huge yard I could have been pacing rather than standing right next to the dang patio door so as to be overheard talking about Benji putting his—well, you’ve heard this. The side yard wraps around the house and opens to a large backyard with plenty of trees and garden beds packed with flowers. Mostly roses, cultivated by Lainey Owen.

  I walk past the kitchen and down a wide corridor to the left. There are several doors, one leading to the basement. The downstairs is cool and inviting. The perfect place for a wine cellar, outfitted with lots of tall wooden racks for bottles and a double-sided wine cooler. A table and stools sit in what he called “the tasting room” during the few times he invited me to belly up. There’s also a gym down there, a pool table, and another room he rarely uses with two arcade games and a poker table. Other than the wine cellar, of which I am a semi-frequent regular, and the gym, of which I am a regular-regular, he doesn’t spend his free time down there.

  Probably because like me, he doesn’t have much free time. Well, he doesn’t allow himself to have much free time. He’s a workaholic, and I suppose I’m guilty of that as well. As Manuel went off to college, and then Dennis, and now finally Timothy, I should have an increased amount of free time on my hands. I seem to have filled it with Things To Do. Usually those things are Benji-related. I like to be near him, and he always has things to do.

  Now, I have no boys at home, tons of time on my hands, and plan to avoid Benji, which will leave even more time on my hands. I’m sort of scared of what that will look like. My house used to be a bustling throughway of activity and noise, but is now a cavernous, empty vessel. I considered talking to Lainey about being an empty nester. She went from three boys at home to zero. If anyone can give me sound advice, it’s her.

  I wasn’t relieved when Timothy went off to college or when Dennis stopped needing me. Then there was Manuel, who took the role of oldest male in the house seriously. Like me, he grew up too fast. He’s independent and strong and appreciates how hard I worked to keep our family together.

  As I pass various rooms in Benji’s too-big-but-freaking-beautiful house, I call myself on my bullshit of “not having enough time.” I have time to have a life. I made time to go on three terrible dates and shop for clothes over the last month. I found time to lounge around with Benji after, regaling him with tales from the dark side of my dating life.

  Had I been lying to myself for years? Saying I didn’t have time because of housework or yard work? Doctor’s visits, college applications, workouts, repainting, changing the batteries in the smoke detectors… All those tasks were necessary, but did I turn life into a series of chores without allowing for the flexibility I so desperately needed?

  Here I am, a third of the way (or less) into a life lived. Have I lived it well? I will never regret raising my brothers. I’d do it over again. But I’m allowed to have romance too, aren’t I?

  And what is the real reason for my intact virginity? Did I truly “forget” about it? Did I slot it as unimportant? Or was there another, sneakier underlying reason for saving myself?

  I walk through Benji’s office on the way to my own. He looks up from his laptop and sends me an easy smile. In an instant, I realize what I’ve been doing for the last ten years. I wasn’t “too busy.” I’ve been waiting for the right man to come along. A man who sends heat to both my cheeks and my nether regions. A man whose smile lights up the room and my soul. Granted, he isn’t the smartest choice—and makes no logical sense—but I know in my gut I’m looking right at him.

  I’ve been saving myself for Benji.

  Chapter Eight

  Benji

  I heard the front door open and close and readied myself for Cris. Meaning, I muted the video conference call I am on and listened for her approach rather than to the team meeting.

  When she stops in front of my desk, I pop out one earbud and give her my attention. She looks different than she looked on Saturday. And I don’t mean because she’s wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt that says, “Que sera sera” instead of black dress pants and a sexy red shirt with the back missing. I mean she looks different.

  Her chin is higher, the set of her shoulders firmer. She’s decided something, and she’s come in here to tell me. I bet you a million dollars her speech is going to have to do with how she shouldn’t have kissed me.

  I let her have Sunday to herself. I didn’t text or call, figuring she’d like a day to regroup. And possibly to rethink my offer. An offer as sincere as it was exciting. Cris plus an orgasm? Sign me up. Twice.

  When my lips touched hers Saturday night, I wasn’t expecting her to turn me on. Don’t get me wrong, she’s sexy as hell. I just didn’t think of her that way. I couldn’t afford to. She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. She’s close friends with my family. She’s…Cris. And yes, I admit, overhearing her talk dirty on the phone riled me up. How could it not? Since when did my angelic best friend start suggesting I put my hands in her pants?

  I shift in my seat, aware of a certain part of me very much onboard with that plan. Thank God that part is hidden under my desk.

  “Morning, coach.” I paste on a (hopefully not lecherous) smile.

  Some of the fire in her eyes dims, but she recovers quickly, shifting her body like she’s preparing a speech. I glance at my screen where Josie is speaking about the effectiveness of a new software tool we’re testing out while using a lot of hand gestures. I turn my attention back to Cris to tell her I can disconnect from the call in five minutes.

  My life assistant coach starts talking before I can stop her.

  “On Saturday I decided that allowing you to, um, service me was not the smartest, best design for our future. I was so sure that when I visited Vivian and Nate on Sunday, I was singing the same tune. She argued, saying I was crazy not to take you up on the offer, but I stayed firm.” She makes a fist to illustrate. Damn, she’s cute. Even while turning me down. I fight a smile.

  “All the way up to the point I left their house, I was certain. Hell, all the way up until I walked into this room, I was certain. My plan was to come here with my coffee already made”—she holds up her travel mug—“and walk directly to my office, not bother you, and then keep busy enough so you’d be discouraged to bother me. Not that you bother me.” A pleat appears between her eyebrows. “What I mean is, I was planning to avoid you. In the hopes you would forget we kissed. And then we could pretend I never said I’d pay a thousand dollars for”—she motions with her hand—“you know.”

  I open my mouth again, but she holds up a hand to silence me. I press my lips together.

  “The thing is, I’m tired of sex being this big taboo issue. I never meant for it to be! I never meant to preserve my virginity in a jar of formaldehyde. I told myself I was too busy to think about it, which was sort of the truth. But it was also sort of a lie because I’ve thought about it, Benji. Especially lately. My house is boy-free for the first time in twelve years. I’m practically an old maid at age thirty. And if that’s the wrong word, then I am at least out of touch with reality. I was never waiting for marriage. I was never waiting for anyone.” She mumbles the next part under her breath. “Or so I told myself.”

  My mind is stuck on one word in particular, like tires in the mud. Did she say she was a virgin? Cris Gilbert, adorable, petite, fit, cute, funny, smart Cris Gilbert has never had sex? Like ever? I can’t wrap my head around it. The video call on my screen blurs into the background, Josie’s voice in my ear nothing but white noise. The only thing I can focus on is that Cris is a virgin and I recently offered her a free-of-charge orgasm.

  I swipe my forehead. I’m overly warm. More than a little confused. A tad regretful I offered so callously. I should apologize, at the very least.

  “I had no idea—”

&nb
sp; “Save it.” She stop-signs me again and continues. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m precious or clueless. I want to be treated the way you promised. Like a woman who needs what you have to give. You did say you were very good.”

  I stare at her and imagine crickets sawing away inside my ears. Or a high-pitched hum when a loud sound renders you temporarily deaf.

  “I did say that,” I admit.

  She walks toward me, cup of coffee and her bag in hand, the fiery determination in her eyes appearing hotter than when she first stopped at my desk. I thought she was going to tell me we were not going to do what I offered. I’m not sure that’s the case anymore.

  “You don’t have to have sex with me, Benji.” She says it so earnestly, I choke on a sound that might be a plea in the making. “But I would like to have some experience before I do it for the first time with someone. If—” She points at me, scarily serious before qualifying, “If you keep your word that things will not be weird between us. And if they do, promise you’ll let me off the hook and we’ll go back to being best friends and coworkers. I need to move on to the next stage of my life. I’m stuck. Maybe this will loosen me up.”

  “Oh, I guarantee it,” I murmur, still in awe.

  While she’s been talking she’s walked closer and closer. Now that she’s next to my chair, her eyes snap to the screen where four of our company’s team members are partitioned into squares. Josie notices Cris standing there and waves. In my ear I hear, “Hi, Cris!”

  Cris doesn’t wave back. She turns ghost-white, her gray eyes growing wider. I stand from my chair as she backs toward the door.

  “Cris, wait—”

  “Seriously?” she hisses before she runs from my office. By the sounds of the footsteps growing farther and farther away, and the answering slam of the front door, I assume she’s not planning on coming back.

  “Guys—” I start but realize the video conference is still muted. I click the button to unmute, say a prayer of thanks for the foresight I had to mute myself in the first place, and try again. “Guys, I had something come up. Go on without me. Josie, can you email me anything I miss?”

  “Sure thing, Benji.” Everyone looks as bored as before. I was definitely on mute. If I wasn’t, I’m relatively certain not all of them could keep their expressions in check after hearing what Cris admitted. As bombs go, the one she dropped was Hiroshima in scale.

  I make it out the front door as she throws her car in reverse. I move to her open driver’s side window and put both hands on top of the car’s roof as if I can physically prevent her from leaving. I bend down and lean on her open window. Tears shimmer in her eyes. She cries when she’s angry. Not my favorite look on her, by far.

  “You’re an ass!” she shouts. “How could you let me say all that?”

  “You were on a roll,” I explain, backing up an inch when she taps the gas and almost runs over my foot. I move to the window again and shout, “It was on mute!”

  She blinks at the steering wheel, then at me. “What?”

  “The meeting. It was on mute. No one heard anything you said. By the time I turned back to tell them I had to go, they couldn’t hear me because I was still muted. I was going to tell you good morning and ask you to give me a few minutes, but you started talking before I could.”

  She blinks back the mist of tears beginning to form. Embarrassment takes over and her cheeks go ruddy. Then her eyebrows slam down. Her expression shifts back to anger so fast, I step away from the car just in case. “And you let me think they heard everything? You are an ass!”

  I let out a light chuckle—carefully, as she’s not yet put the car in park. “Like I said, you didn’t give me a chance to interrupt. They didn’t hear anything. I, on the other hand, heard every word of what you said. By the way, I have a few follow-up questions.”

  She licks her lips, and I feel a twitch in my pants again as I remember how she tasted Saturday night. How she kissed me back. She just propositioned me in my office. I’m not sure I can successfully go back to spreadsheets and email after her offer. I’m not sure any straight man could.

  “Can we talk about it?” I approach her open window while she studies me warily.

  “I don’t know…”

  “I’ll make you coffee.”

  “I have coffee.”

  “I’ll make you better coffee.”

  She sighs. I can tell a yes is forthcoming. She shakes her head and gives it to me. “Fine.”

  “Fine” isn’t a “yes,” but it’s the best I can hope for. No way am I letting her leave my house before we have exhausted the topic at hand. Which, unless I hallucinated the last five minutes, was Cris asking me to give her an orgasm—possibly more than one—before she bequeaths her virginity to some other dude.

  And that, my friends, requires a lengthy discussion. With as many details as I can wring out of her.

  Cris

  He’s taking this well.

  Not that I tried to guess how he’d react. I decided on a fresh tactic while standing outside his office, which gave me about .02 seconds to react to the news myself.

  Did I really proposition my best friend and boss?

  “One oat milk cappuccino,” he announces, sliding a foamed-to-perfection mug over to me.

  “It’s hard to believe you don’t cook. You can be so fancy when it comes to drinks.” We’re not exactly in a comfort zone, but this feels normal. Sitting at Benji’s bar in the kitchen and joking about his rad drink-making skills isn’t new territory. Unlike the other territory we’re tiptoeing around like un-sprung bear traps.

  “You said a lot of things while I was on that call.” He sits, resting his expensive shoes on the stool’s rungs. “I was trying to tune out Josie and pay attention to you, then you said something that grabbed every last ounce of my attention.”

  I gulp. I know what that “something” was.

  “You’re a—a virgin?” His entire face screws into an expression I’ve never seen on him. It’s one part confusion, two parts disbelief, and one part excitement. I’m not sure what to do about the excited part.

  “It’s not a big deal. Or it wasn’t. Until recently.” Quite recently, I think as I sip my cappuccino. Perfection. Of course. Like any orgasms Benji would gift me. If he accepts my offer I’ll be doomed to wander the earth alone, scarred forever after having the perfect guy’s hands on my body and never again finding his equal.

  Or maybe I’m being dramatic.

  “Where I come from, being a virgin is a big deal,” he says.

  “Virginity is a big deal in Idaho?”

  “No idea. I was only in Idaho until the fifth grade. I was still wearing superhero pajamas.”

  “You could still totally pull off superhero pajamas,” I tease. His expression shifts into one I’ve seen before but never had directed at me.

  Sliding one elbow along the counter, he leans closer, his eyelids heavy. He tips his head to the side and in a seductive voice murmurs, “Role-play is an advanced level, coach. We should probably stick to the basics.”

  I was melting toward him, but now I bristle. “Can you not call me that?”

  “What? Coach?”

  “Yeah. It’s…sexless.”

  “It’s a nickname.”

  “It’s not a sexy nickname.” My voice is a whisper.

  His gaze is cunning and knowing. “Would you like a sexy nickname?”

  I exhale, breathless at the offer. “I don’t know why I said that. Ignore me.”

  “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

  I’m overwhelmed. When I’m overwhelmed, there’s one surefire way to combat it. Control.

  “We should lay a few ground rules.” Before he can argue, I go on. “I can call a halt at any time, and you have to agree to forget everything we did up until then. We go back to being best friends and coworkers and never speak of it again.”

  “I agree to everything but the middle part.” He shakes his head. “No way I’ll forget it.”

  Good po
int. I won’t forget the offer, let alone the kiss a few days ago. I imagine anything more will be seared into my brain like grill marks on a Fourth of July hot dog.

  “I say we do it now. The buildup is hard on everyone.” He literally rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing strong forearms with a dusting of dark hair. He wiggles his fingers and then winks. “I’ll be gentle.”

  “You’re insane.” I make a defeated sound that might be a laugh. “Ugh, I don’t think I can do this. I am insane.”

  “You can.” He takes both my hands and gently squeezes my fingers. “And you’re not insane. You’re horny.”

  “Don’t act like this is normal.”

  “Fuck normal. What’s normal? Do you think it’s normal for an orphaned kid to be shuttled from Idaho to Ohio and adopted by billionaires? To become one himself at a crazy young age? To be this good looking and exude so much charm that every female in a one-hundred-mile radius faints dead away at the sight of him?”

  I shake my head. He’s incorrigible and completely desirable. “You are too much.”

  “I am just right. As you’re about to find out.” He stands, tugging me up.

  “Not at work. That’s my other rule,” I argue. “I can’t do sex stuff during work hours.”

  “Why not?”

  “My head is in work mode. I have to check my schedule and yours. I have to return the fifty emails I know are sitting in my inbox. I have a report to finalize. I have office supplies to order because I ran out of time to do it last week.”

  “We’re not having no-holds-barred fun in your pants because we’re out of Post-its?” he asks, droll.

  “Pen refills, actually.”

  “Oh, well in that case.” He wears sarcasm as well as his clothes, which he wears damn well. “Come on, Cris. You’ll be glad you did.”

  “Nope. I mean it. I need to compartmentalize my day.”

  “Okay.” He gives in with a full-body sigh. “When is the sex compartment?”

  The questions stumps me. “I…I’m not sure. I’ve never had a sex compartment.”