Most Eligible Billionaire CEO, page 12
She’s tall, thin, drop-dead gorgeous, and extremely confident. The kind of woman that can get any man she wants.
We’re at the opposite spectrum of the beautiful scale.
In many ways, she reminds me of my sister. But, of course, I love my sister.
“Bryce, you not introduce me to friend. Or she new wife? That why you not call?” The tall blonde takes us both off guard, and for the first time since she called out his name, Bryce seems to remember I exist.
He fumbles all over his words, and says, “Amanda Hardy, please meet Anastasiya Melnichenko.”
I extend my hand, but she simply waves hers to avoid touching mine.
All righty, then.
We wouldn’t want you to catch a deadly disease by touching a peasant.
“Why not talk? Sorry for few years ago. I make mistake. I follow career and see Linden Corp has big value—a lot, a lot billions dollars. You very rich man now. Like Russian mogul.” She sneers as she speaks those words, and flings her perfect long, blonde, silky hair back to accentuate her point. “Now you good to marry Anastasiya. I say yes.”
What a fucking bitch.
I can’t believe Bryce is allowing this woman to cut him up like this in public.
Anastasiya nags Bryce to death with, Why this? Why that? Talk now. We together again, yes? You rich, Anastasiya like rich mogul.
I just want to put my hands over my ears and pretend she doesn’t exist.
With each passing second, she becomes more and more the focus of attention.
With an exasperated grunt, Bryce stands up, excuses himself from the table, grabs her by the arm, and marches her out of the bar.
I could die right then and there.
I don’t have to look around to know that all eyes are on me.
I’m mortified.
Bryce proposed to this rich bitch. I’m nothing like this Anastasiya woman. I’m simply the escort he’s paid for, and now he leaves me sitting in the middle of a crowded room that’s eyeing me with such pity.
I sit there, staring at the plate of assorted French pastries for twenty-three minutes until Bryce storms back in, grabs my hand without a word, and drags me outside of the bar.
“Let’s get out of here.” He’s speaking to me, but he avoids eye contact.
“Is everything okay?”
Why am I asking such an obvious question?
“I don’t pay you to be my shrink. Let’s get back in the car.” A slap across the face would have hurt less.
Tears sting my eyes. Each step is a struggle. My heart hurts too much.
When we get to the car, I sink into the leather seat and look out the window to avoid crying.
Is Bryce still in love with Anastasiya? Does that explain his violent reaction to the leggy blonde?
My head is spinning with unanswered questions, and my heart is bleeding. I’m willing to admit it to myself. I fell for Bryce.
Todd’s words are ringing in my head as we drive back to Paris in silence. “Don’t fall in lust or love with your client.”
Too late.
The tension is so thick between us I could cut it with a butter knife. I fear I’ve lost him to this Russian tycoon’s daughter who he obviously still has feelings for.
As soon as the chauffeur turns the corner, and I see the hotel at a distance, something inside me snaps, and the words escape my mouth before I know it.
“You didn’t have to embarrass me that way.” I glare at him. “You don’t have to keep reminding me why you pay for my services. I’m clear on the reasons why I’m here and I know my place. I understand the terms of our arrangement and I got into it with eyes wide open, but I genuinely was worried about you and wanted to make sure you were okay. Perhaps it came out sounding a bit awkward, but it came from a sincere place.”
He runs a hand through his hair before running it over his face. “I was out of line. I acted like a jerk.”
Our Benz is approaching the hotel where I’ll end up sulking in our rooms.
“Take us around to a quiet place where you can park the car and allow us to talk,” Bryce says, and we whiz right past the hotel.
Several minutes later, he finds a quiet street and parks the car on the sidewalk.
“Give us forty minutes or so,” Bryce says. “I’ll text you when we’re ready.”
The chauffeur meets Bryce’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Monsieur, I stay close to car. Smoke a little cigarette and look at football news. French police ask questions why a car is parked this way in the middle of Paris. I open hood, they think we have mechanical problems. Better that way.”
“Great idea. Thank you,” Bryce says. He waits for the chauffeur to get out of the vehicle before speaking. “I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”
“What do you mean by this sort of thing?” I don’t allow him to respond, my fury is too over-powering. “I’m not stupid. I know you had a life well before hiring me for this job. You made me feel cheap and dirty in that bar by walking out with your Russian ex-girlfriend and leaving me there alone.”
He lets out a sigh. “I acted like a hotheaded fool. Anastasiya does that to me. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
I cross my arms over my chest, shooting him a side gaze.
It must be clear from the unimpressed expression on my face I’m still not buying his story, so he continues. “Anastasiya Melnichenko belongs to one of Russia’s richest families.” I got that much. The woman was dripping in diamonds. And three Hermes bags in one shot? Shit. That’s at least forty thousand dollars. “She’s beautiful, extremely smart, and incredibly manipulative. I dated her for a while after my three failed marriages, and she swept me off my feet with her charm and wit. I got her a big pear-shaped engagement ring—her favorite diamond shape—of exceptional clarity, because I knew her enough to know she wouldn’t have accepted anything less. I was a multimillionaire back then, not quite a billionaire yet. When I proposed, she looked at the ring, raised her green eyes, smiled, and said, ‘Oh, Bryce.’ I was so excited I didn’t clue in. She hadn’t said yes to my proposal.”
He keeps talking. “We had a passionate night after the proposal, and the next morning I woke up to an empty bed. When I went looking for her inside my home, I stumbled upon a note where she dismissed my proposal on the basis that I wasn’t rich enough to afford the lifestyle suited for a woman of her status. I was only a multimillionaire, after all. She must’ve been keeping tabs on me. As my fortune grew, she started calling to remain friends. I was uninterested in returning her calls.”
What a story.
“Are you still in love with her?” The words fly out of my mouth.
I shouldn’t have asked the question.
That was a faux pas.
My heart bangs against my chest as I wait for his answer.
“No. It’s male pride that made me react the way I did. Anastasiya Melnichenko is a cold-hearted bitch and she doesn’t deserve me.” He spits those words out.
I hate how I’ve allowed myself to fall for Bryce, knowing there’s little chance anything will develop past our arrangement.
I close my eyes, the weight of this realization heavy on my shoulders. The moment his hands touch mine, the tide of emotions trapped inside me escapes. I don’t want to cry in front of him. I can’t do this to him. It’s not his fault I fell hard, but this day is more than I can bear.
With a tender touch, he wipes away the first tear, and the next one.
I open my eyes. “I’m sorry for crying.”
“Don’t be.” He pulls a tissue from his pocket and wipes away my tears. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you since we got back from our first visit at Mariella’s, but I wasn’t quite sure how to put it.” He leans in to gently kiss the tip of my nose. “From the moment we met, I knew I’d do whatever it takes to book you solid so you wouldn’t be able to be with any other man.”
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I’m in shock.
He continues. “I know we have this arrangement, but I’m starting to fall for you, Amanda, and I don’t know how you feel about me.”
I’m still unable to find my voice.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, you didn’t. I’m simply taken aback. I didn’t think men like you could fall for a woman like me.”
“I’m usually all business, but when I’m with you, I feel alive. You remind me there’s more to life than just negotiating and closing deals. Seeing Paris through your eyes this week has allowed me to fall in love with this city again. I like everything about you—almost everything…”
I give him a suspicious side look, waiting for him to continue.
“You’re not going to finish your sentence?”
“I like almost everything about you except your name. I’m sure you’re not an Amanda, and I’d love to know your real name.”
My heart is pounding like a drum.
“I fell for you since our first time together. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“I’m happy you couldn’t help yourself,” he says. “What’s your real name?”
“Silly me.” I’m floating on a cloud. “My real name is Sofia. Sofia Herrera.”
“Sofia.” He nods. “I like that. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“I’m forty-four.”
“I know.”
“Google or Todd?”
“Both.”
“I love being with you for so many reasons, Sofia—I especially love how you allow me to have my way with you. You submit so beautifully.”
“You bring out a part of me I had never explored before, and I’m grateful for the gifts, I can’t thank you enough for the clothing, and I’m glad I was able to help by playing the part of translator, but what I love the most about this Parisian trip, is spending time with you.”
“I know this might seem complicated given our initial arrangement, but I’m sure we can figure things out together when we get back to Manhattan.”
“I agree, let’s think of this when we get back. Right now, I’m dying to kiss you.”
He pulls me onto his lap, and I straddle him. He grabs my face with both hands and kisses the living daylights out of me.
It’s the kind of passionate kiss you feel all the way down to your tippy toes.
After so many crushing setbacks, something wonderful happens in my life.
He breaks the kiss.
His hungry eyes stay on me as he rips open my white linen blouse, releasing my engorged breasts, still trapped inside the white lace bra he selected for me that morning.
His gaze drops before pushing aside the fabric and grabbing my nipple with his mouth. He sucks and bites it hard.
I whimper, push my breast against his face, and the sparks are flying, even more so when a couple walks on by. Thank the dear Lord for tinted windows.
I reach down, unzip his pants, grab his hard cock in my hand, and stroke it.
He bites the top of my shoulder hard as my hands slide up and down his cock. I’m so glad I opted for a skirt instead of jeans. His hand is quick to tug my panties aside and his fingers toy with my clit.
I work his cock faster and he grunts louder with every stroke, and I moan as his fingers slide into my wetness.
“Harder. Please, harder!” I beg.
He responds to my plea by finger-fucking me like it’s his mission in life.
He grabs my hair and pulls my head back until I meet his gaze. “I need your mouth on me.”
“What about the chauffeur?”
“He works for Pierre. He knows better. He’s paid handsomely for his discretion.”
Noted. “Then I want you in my mouth.”
We rolled into bed in the wee hours of the morning, and we didn’t have the energy to get down and dirty. This morning, we had to forgo morning sex because not only did we have an early start, but we were still feeling the effects of Mariella’s party. That’s what happens when expensive champagne is flowing all night long. In other words, I haven’t had my lips wrapped around his cock in far too long.
He drops me on the seat next to him.
I lean forward and take his beautiful cock into my mouth.
He grunts when it hits the back of my throat.
He yanks my head back, forcing his cock to slide out of my mouth, leans down, and whispers as he kisses my lips, “I want to come in your mouth. Will you let me, Sofia?”
I love hearing my name on his lips.
I nod. “Yes.”
I return my attention to his massive cock, tease the head with my tongue as I grab the base of his erection.
He squeezes my nipple.
I groan.
“Take me deeper,” he commands.
I lift my eyes as I bob up and down, swallowing every inch of him.
The way he twists my nipple between his fingers is driving me out of my fucking mind.
He lifts his hips off the seat, clamping a hand at the back of my head.
“Fuck!”
His cum hits the back of my throat, and I swallow every last drop.
I sit upright, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Damn, you’re so good at this.”
I beam.
“You asked me to make you come inside my mouth. I did. I’d say, I’m ticking off all the boxes on that handwritten contract.”
He shakes his head.
I’m being cocky.
“I need my mouth on your pussy.”
Yes, please.
He pushes me until my back is resting on the seat.
He lifts my skirt. His eyes taking me in.
Meeting my gaze, he says, “I’ll have to replace these before we leave Paris.”
Rip.
I gasp.
And… there goes my white lace panties.
The man is an animal.
I love it!
Bryce leans forward, slides two fingers into my pussy while his tongue laps at my engorged clit.
Holy fuck.
He’s so ravenous, it won’t take me long to come.
“Please don’t stop, Bryce.”
He has a firm grip on my thighs as he presses his tongue against my clit.
I squirm underneath him, his hold tightens.
He switches things up. His lips massage my clit and I sink into it with a glorious moan.
That ninja move is always my demise.
The build-up blossoms at my core.
When he curls his fingers inside me, I close my eyes shut.
And I’m done.
My climax washes over me like a tidal wave.
“Oh— God—”
He clamps his hand over my mouth, silencing my cries of pleasure.
It takes me a few long breaths before I float back down to the seat.
Bryce doesn’t rush me. He caresses my thighs in languorous strokes.
I’m utterly satisfied.
“Your mouth should come with a damn warning,” I say in a feeble voice.
“Now you know how I feel about yours.”
Bryce rests his head on my stomach, and I exhale a deep sigh.
I can’t help the smile of contentment that stretches my lips.
I’m in heaven.
Chapter 11
Sofia
Our last day in Paris is crammed with final meetings with two of the six companies we met this week. Bryce feels confident he’ll be able to tip the pendulum in his favor with the other three companies, but it might require another trip to Paris.
By the time we’re comfortably seated on the private jet, heading back home, we’re both exhausted.
The staff is fussing around us with champagne and appetizers.
Around a bite of mini quiche, I say, “I loved spending time with Mariella. I hope I’ll meet her again.”
“What do you mean, hope?”
“I’m not sure if there will be a future opportunity to meet her.”
“Mariella adores you. She’s disliked every single woman I’ve ever introduced her to and has a particularly acute disdain for Anastasiya, but you charmed her with your wit and charm. The fact you speak Italian didn’t hurt.”
“I’m happy to hear that, because I like her and enjoyed spending time with her. If you have to come back to Paris in the next few months to conclude the deals with the other tech companies, I’d love to come back and help. Obviously, if you’d rather hire a professional—”
“That’s a given. You’re coming back.”
“Oh. Um. Wow.” I didn’t expect that. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“I have big news to share.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’ve been thinking about this since before we left New York. I’ve been looking at the many opportunities that came from the galas we attended a few weeks ago, and after a number of conference calls with my team of executives, I’ve decided to reopen an office in New York. I’ll move a small team that I’ll oversee personally at first, until I get an upper management team in place. The European clients need a different level of service than our American ones. A trip from Silicon Valley to Europe is a bitch. I can catch a redeye from New York, and it won’t be as punishing on my body.”
“You had an office in New York?”
“Yes,” he hesitates. “I did before shutting everything down five years ago.” He avoids my gaze, and feigns being preoccupied by fictitious lint on his well-cut pants.
There’s something more to this story.
When he lifts his gaze, his eyes are stone cold. “I had to get out of New York after an unpleasant divorce, riddled with drama. Starting fresh on the other side of the country was the only way to prevent me from doing something I might regret.” That sounds heavy. “It’s water under the bridge now. I’m ready to settle back in New York.”
I’m not the only one who’s experienced a string of bad relationships. The mighty Bryce Van Der Linden has also had his share.
He breaks the moody vibe. “I have a little something for you to thank you for this past week.”
He switches back to boardroom Bryce. He sounds so corporate, I assume he’s going to give me something practical like a new briefcase or a new iPad, but from the size of the small box, I know my assumptions are wrong.
