The Billionaire's Ultimatum: His Absolute Need (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novel) (Book One) (3 page)

"Yes." 
I gulped.  The way he said it, the way the words just came out, indifferent,
made the whole situation worse.  He didn't even know my name and yet he'd
tossed me on his table like it was nothing?  Done all of that to me, and... No,
I shouldn't think about that.  "Jessika Fevrier."

"Fevrier?"
he asked.

"Yes, it's
French."  I spelled it out for him, since this was a common confusion and
I'd learned to do it unthinking.  "Pronounced Fev-ree-ay."  The fact
that the cleaning manager had screwed it up earlier still frustrated me.

"Yes,"
he said.  "French for February."

I frowned, but
he didn't notice.  It did mean that, but he didn't have to make it sound so
ordinary and uninteresting.

"A pleasure
meeting you, Jessika."  He reached over his head and held out his hand for
me to shake.  Awkwardly, I took his hand in mine and shook it lightly.  That
seemed to satisfy him.

Moving from the
chaise, standing, he looked me in the eyes.  I hadn't noticed before, our
initial meeting not really being a great comparison for heights, but he was a
good deal taller than me.  Not towering over me like a giant, but when he stood
next to me and looked down at me I felt smaller.  Smaller but... safe? 
Protected?  Odd, since he'd been so angry before, but he had a certain guardian
type of air about him, too.

He moved closer,
put his hands around my waist, and brought his face almost even with mine.  I
wasn't sure what I should do, so I lifted one arm up and put it around his neck
while the other just hung there, loosely.  My God, this was confusing.  Were we
going to... was he going to?  He looked like he might kiss me.  The smell of
his cologne intoxicated me; jasmine with a hint of vanilla and a sensual,
leathery musk undertone.  My mouth opened slightly, preparing for his lips to
touch mine.

"Jessika,"
he said.  "I'm sorry about before.  I'll buy you a new shirt, you don't
have to worry about that."

"No,"
I said, confused.  "It's fine.  Really."

"I'm
married and I feel like my behavior was out of line."

"No!"
I said again.  "It's fine.  I enjoyed it, I..."

"You're an
attractive woman and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it, too, but that
wasn't the point.  I got carried away, and..."

Argh!  I wanted
to press my lips against his, kiss him, make him want to pull me close and do
it all over again, except the only thing I managed to do was say, "If you
think I deserve more punishment then I accept that and you can do it again if
you'd like."

"Oh,
Jessika."  He laughed, but there was some undeniable twinkle in his eye. 
Or, I thought there was, but when I tried to figure it out, it was gone just as
quick.

And then he
asked me, "I know this is sudden, but would you consider becoming an egg
donor for me and my wife?  I'll need to discuss it with her first, but I
believe she'll accept the idea.  You'll need to carry the child, too, but I'll
make certain you're comfortable.  I can arrange for you to have suitable living
quarters in my home for the duration of your pregnancy."

"There's no
need to donate," I blurted out.  "We can just have sex..."  I
realized what I'd said before I finished, and the words hung there, awkward.

He stared at me
for a brief moment, stared into me, and then he laughed again.  Moving his
hands away from my hips, he stepped away and walked to his office door.

"I..."
I said, trying to think of something to say.  Something witty, or sexy, or
funny, or intelligent, but I couldn't manage any of those.

"Are you
busy tomorrow?" he asked.  "Let's arrange a lunch date.  I'll let you
know what Beatrice thinks, and you can let me know if you'll agree, too. 
Consider your answer ample repayment for the book, whether you agree or not. 
Those are my conditions.  I won't accept anything else."

And, he left.

I stood there,
stunned, staring at the door to his office.  Did he just ask me out on a date? 
Not a real date, I guess, but...

I scrambled to
clean the rest of his office, completely forgetting about my clothes.  When I
finished, I retrieved my outfit and put it on as best I could, but the shirt
was ruined.  Before I could worry about it, someone knocked on the door, opened
it a crack, and slipped a package through and onto the floor before closing the
door again and leaving.

Curious, I
walked over to the package.  On the top, written in a hasty scrawl, was a note
that said, "Ms. Fevrier, courtesies of Asher Landseer."

I opened the
package.  Inside was the most beautiful silk chemise dress I'd ever seen.  I
held it up to get a better look, marveling at it.  It was shorter than anything
I usually wore, the skirt stopping at the middle of my thigh, but it was
wonderful. 

I pinched the
soft, silk fabric between my fingers and gawked at the lovely pattern colored
into it; a cloudy sky on the left side, going from collarbone to hip, with a
rich, red rose blooming up towards the right breast, and a deep green field
from the waist down.  A lighthearted but fashionable piece of clothing, the
sort of thing I could wear to a casual spring ball(if I were ever invited to
one).  Had he really just replaced my cheap blouse with an expensive dress? 
When I turned it around to look at the back, two pieces of paper slipped out of
the sleeve and fell to the ground.

One was a
receipt, with a price I thought couldn't possibly be right.  It was a beautiful
dress, but was it really that pricey?

The other was a
personal note from Asher Landseer: "If you don't like the dress, feel free
to return it.  I'll see you tomorrow at noon.  Meet me at The Simple Path. 
Reservations are under Asher Landseer.  Don't be late."

I
didn't know
what to wear for my meet up with Asher.  He'd called it a date(or a lunch date
to be specific), but I had a hard time thinking of it as such.  That's what the
upper class called these things, wasn't it?  A lunch date wasn't anything more
than a business meeting at a restaurant for someone like Asher Landseer.

He'd made
reservations at The Simple Path, one of the fancier Japanese restaurants in the
city.  I'd never been, though I'd always wanted to go.  The food was supposed
to be amazing, with the caveat that everything on the menu had an equally
amazing price tag.  I could afford it on occasion, if I really wanted, but it
definitely wasn't an everyday affair.  And lunch at The Simple Path meant I'd
need to put off saving for a weekend vacation or some similar extravagance, so
I'd never bothered.  An hour of lunch, or a trip to Maine's beaches for a
couple of days?

My God, I really
wanted to go, though.  I absolutely loved Japanese food.  Sushi, sashimi, pork
and chicken katsu, and even the occasional vegetable tempura.  I dabbled in
other entrees, but stuck with the basics most times.  There was something
utterly divine about a fried piece of sweet potato. It was indescribably
amazing.

I wasted
precious minutes contemplating food options, and wondering how exactly The
Simple Path prepared them differently compared to my typical jaunts to Yi's
Hibachi Grill & Buffet.  I couldn't leave Asher waiting, couldn't leave him
sitting in the restaurant wondering if I'd show.  Sure, he'd been a jerk to me
the other day, had done some outrageous things, but...

I imagined it
all over again.  His hand grabbing me, my heart beating fast, his fingertips
pressed into my wrist and able to feel each pulse of my veins.  Him gently
tossing me on his private meeting room table and stripping me down, throwing my
clothes onto the floor, scattering them around like the pages of his antique
book that I'd accidentally destroyed.  And my subsequent arousal at all this. 
How could I find it attractive?  I had no idea, and still couldn't fathom it,
but Asher had removed my distraction rather quickly, now hadn't he?  With his
fingers, he'd...

Except a
temporary solution didn't solve everything.  After, when I finished cleaning
his office in only my pantyhose, I'd wanted him to want me, to take me again,
but this time with something more than his fingers.  And...

He barely spared
me a glance.  Barely wanted to notice I was cleaning or that I was in his
office.

Then, later, why
did he ask me what he'd asked?  I knew the answer, understood his logic.  His
wife was infertile and disliked the idea of having children in the first
place.  Most likely any kids they had together would grow up under the watch of
a live-in nanny as opposed to having real parents.  That's how rich families
did things, right?  I honestly didn't know, but it sounded correct.

Asher, though,
he sounded like he wanted children.  He'd even asked me if I would consider
being an egg donor for his wife.  Except she wouldn't want to carry any child
to term, so I'd need to do that, too.  Was that really donating, then?  There
were obviously ways to do something like that, but the situation seemed so far
out there and strange that I couldn't wrap my head around it.

What would I
say?  What was my answer?  I'd put off thinking about it, unsure how to respond
to him, except I needed to meet with him for lunch in...

Crap!  Too much
daydreaming, Jessika, I told myself.  With nothing proper to wear to a classy
place like The Simple Path, I snatched the chemise dress Asher gave me
yesterday and put it on.  Perhaps it was a little more casual than their
typical patron's garb, but it was the best I owned at the moment.

The dress was
patterned silk, with a picture of a cloudy sky on the topmost part, and a
grassy green field from the waist down, ending at the middle of my thighs where
the skirt stopped.  A beautiful, vibrant red rose bloomed from the grass and up
towards the sky at my right breast.  It was eye-catching and amazing.  I
hoped, for whatever reason, Asher found it the same.

There
had
to
be a reason he asked me on a lunch date, right?  Something more than needing to
hear my answer to his question about bearing a child for him and his wife.  The
way he talked, it sounded like they had a rocky relationship.  But could I be
content in acting like some mistress to him, if that was the case?  He hadn't
even offered a situation like that.  I couldn't accept it, anyways.  I had standards
and morals.  If he tried to convince me of it, I'd have to turn him down. 
Except, maybe if...

I shouldn't
think these things, and I knew it, but it was hard not to.  I was always a
dreamer at heart, loving books and becoming lost in them.  That's what led me
to this in the first place.  My terrible choice of college degree brought me to
a temp agency for work, which resulted in me cleaning
the
Asher
Landseer's office, and...

He liked
literature, too, though.  And maybe...?

Dammit!  If I'd
left five minutes ago, I might arrive on time.  "Might" being the key
word.  Now I was definitely going to be late, and I still needed to finish my
makeup.  Why was I wearing sexy makeup to a casual lunch date?

I couldn't
understand it, myself.

Asher stood in
front of the mirror, checking himself over.  He had an appropriately casual
suit; dark blue with a silvery undershirt.  A matching blue tie collared him
and kept him from putting on properly casual airs, so he slipped it off and
tossed it to the floor.

He wondered,
really wondered, why he was going through with this.  Why had he asked Jessika
to father his children?  Not that he required her to do much more than be a
donator for his infertile wife, but to help sweeten the deal with Beatrice he'd
asked if Jessika might be willing to carry the child to term, too.

And her answer? 
Well, why didn't they just have sex!  She said it more shyly than that, a
certain sense of demurity in her manner, but the audacity of it.  Or, what
others might think as audacious, at least.  Asher had thought quite long and
hard about her proposal.

Really, why had
he done what he did yesterday?  Yes, he was upset about her destroying his
book.  Granted, he knew it wasn't really her fault, and an antiquarian might be
able to restore the book to its previous, undestroyed appearance.  It wasn't
even about the book, though.  He loved the book, appreciated
Dante's Inferno
and Dante's intent behind writing a work of that nature, but...

There were more
books in the world.  More copies of Dante's Inferno, too.  Probably even a copy
exactly like the one she destroyed.  It was expensive, but he could afford it.

He'd been on
end, though.  Nerve-wracked.  Beatrice's trip to the doctors kept him anxious. 
He knew what she wanted out of it, and she'd gotten exactly that, but what did
he want?  He wanted a family, children, a normal household, somehow, amidst his
wealth and otherwise abnormal life.

Jessika was
normal, in a way, but then again, she wasn't.  Asher recognized it in her
immediately.  He had a flair, some otherworldly knack, for understanding
intelligence, and Jessika definitely had what he wanted.  Women cared so little
for reading these days, or so it seemed.  Perhaps he only based his judgments
off of Beatrice and her callous disregard for anything bookish.  They had a
magnificent library at home, with every sort of book imaginable, and yet she
rarely bothered to go in there.

And, truth be
told, she rarely bothered to remain at home, either.  How many years had it
been now since they'd started trying for a child?  Only one, but it seemed far
longer.  They'd tried, seriously tried, only a few times during that year,
too.  He'd almost chalked it up to unavailability, but in some scheme of hers
she'd suggested a visit to the doctors.

He understood
the reason immediately.  She didn't want children, but felt obligated as his
wife.  He could respect that.  With this, with medical confirmation, she'd
absolved herself of those marital requirements, though.  But then, he thought,
what else was there?

He'd met her
through an arrangement between his mother and his mother's associate.  He and
Beatrice hit it off fairly well from the start, but she always kept herself
reserved.  At first he thought it was a privacy issue, where she was guarded
and cautious, but after four years of marriage he'd learned that was just how
she was.

Not with
everyone, though.  With most, and with Asher, but she had acquaintances who she
acted more sociable around.  More... herself?  Asher wondered sometimes if he
actually knew her.  He knew things about her, knew what she liked and disliked,
and other tidbits of information that lovers knew, but he didn't know if he
really knew Beatrice.

And he
absolutely knew he didn't know Jessika.  Jessika seemed more... real...
though?  He chalked it up to a fascination.  In all likelihood, she was more
attracted to his money than him, and he understood that.  Nothing wrong with
it, per se, since he realized that was the life he lived.  It was difficult to
find people who appreciated the smaller things in life as opposed to those who
desired a higher monetary existence.

Silly for him,
the CEO of a multi-billion dollar enterprise, to think this way, but he didn't
care.  That was how everyone rich thought, wasn't it?  Woe is me, everyone only
wants me for my money.

Suck it up,
Asher, he told himself.  No one cares about your ridiculous billionaire
problems.

He fetched his
cufflinks from a drawer in the top of his dresser and pinned them into the
cuffs of his silver dress shirt.  Perfect.  He had just enough time to arrive
early for his and Jessika's lunch date at The Simple Path.

I scrambled out
of the taxi after tossing the driver a twenty.  I was about to rush off, to
hurry towards The Simple Path and apologize profusely to Asher for being late,
but some part of me held off.  I only owed the driver eight dollars, and a
twelve dollar tip seemed excessive.  His wide smile turned into a miserly scowl
as he doled out my change.  To be fair, I handed him a few bills back, but he
still looked annoyed at being shortchanged from his previous generous tip.

Oh well, I
thought, can't please everyone, right?  I was on a roll with that today and it
seemed like I wasn't going to please anyone, though.  I reached into my purse
and checked my cell phone for the time.  Nine minutes late for my noontime
lunch date with Asher.

I hurried into
The Simple Path.  A man greeted me at the door, stopping me with a friendly
smile and a hasty shuffle to block my way inside.  I reminded myself this
wasn't a typical restaurant.  I couldn't just look through the tables and head
over to my friends, moving past the front door man with hardly a word.

He kept up that
friendly smile while talking to me.  "May I help you, miss?  Do you have
reservations?"

I nodded fast. 
"I'm here for Asher?"  I wasn't sure how this was supposed to go, but
that seemed like enough information.

"Asher?"
he asked.  Turning to a ledger on his podium, he gave it a cursory glance. 
"Can you be more specific?"

Really now? 
Asher wasn't the most common of names.  If he had more than one on his list,
I'd be surprised.  "Asher Landseer?" I offered.

The man nodded
and looked up from his listings.  "Alright.  Will you wait here a
moment?"

I nodded.  Yes,
of course, where else would I go?  He called someone else over and whispered
into the other man's ear.  They both gave me a strange look.  Why?  I didn't
know.  Maybe this was what they did in fancy restaurants?  Part of the appeal? 
It really didn't strike me as all that appealing, but who was I to judge against
tradition.

When the other
man walked off, leaving me alone with the man at the front desk, it suddenly
dawned on me.  Yes, Asher was here, and I knew this, but they didn't know he'd
invited me.  For all they knew, I was some deranged stalker, or a seductive
assassin, or who knew what else.  Paparazzi?  I had no camera, except... no, I
had my cell phone, so I technically did have something I could take discrete
pictures with.

The idea amused
me.  I was Jessika Fevrier, essentially no one of particular importance.  I
mean, I thought I was important, but compared to someone like Asher, to these
people I was nothing.  But they didn't know that, and so I had my current
status upgraded to a suspect for possible trouble.  I amused myself with those
thoughts while I waited for the other man to return.

I expected this
all to be taken care of in short order, and it was, except...

Along with the
other man who'd ostensibly gone to question after my authenticity, Asher
returned, too.  He gave me a bright, brilliant smile, then patted the man
behind the ledger desk on the shoulder.

"This is my
guest for the afternoon," he told the man.  "The lady, Jessika
Fevrier.  Sorry for the confusion.  I should have waited for her before seating
myself, but it must have skipped my mind."

"Oh, Mr.
Landseer," the man said.  "No, no.  My apologies.  I didn't recognize
your...?"  He stumbled, clearly thinking I must be someone of importance
that he'd failed to notice.

"Acquaintance,"
Asher said, rather more firmly than I thought necessary.  "Ms. Fevrier? 
Shall we?"

He held out his
arm.  I was too dumbstruck and confused to realize I should take it.  Not to
mention disappointed.  I knew I shouldn't expect anything, but being relegated
to acquaintance?  That was barely better than "a random woman I met off
the street."  In fact, I might've liked that one more, since at least it
had an air of mystery about it.