Boxed Set: Rocked by a Billionaire – Vol. 1-3 (6 page)

Tired of not being able to work out any answers to my questions, I put my headphones on and watched
Magic Mike
, a wonderful film about strippers, for the simple pleasure of looking at good-looking, half-naked guys for an hour and a half. Anyway, whatever Sacha Goodman’s intentions, I for my part was going for professional reasons only. At least that’s what I had been trying to convince myself ever since Mr Dufresne had ordered me to accompany them to New York to finalise the agreement between the two law firms. Sacha Goodman wanted me to make the journey. So be it. But I had no intention of losing control of either my body or my heart in the Big Apple.

I was tired, and I fell asleep. When the stewardess gently woke me, we were flying in over New York and I had to fasten my seat belt. I didn’t even have time to freshen up before we landed.

Once through passport control, I ran to get my bags and then went into the toilets. I hardly had time to brush my teeth… It was not a good idea to keep Sacha waiting as soon as I arrived – best to keep him sweet from the outset! I picked up my suitcase and went into the enormous arrivals hall, looking for his imposing figure and jade eyes. Right. Left. Nothing. Then a man in a dark suit and immaculate white shirt came towards me slightly stiffly.

– Miss Lanvin?

– Er, yes!

– Please follow me.

Follow me? What? Who was this guy?
I didn’t move a muscle and stood rooted to the spot while I tried to organise my thoughts!

– Miss Lanvin? I'm Mr Goodman’s driver. Please follow me, I have to take you to the company headquarters…

– Oh! Yes. Of course, I stammered, falling into step with him, still reeling with shock.

What an idiot I was!
I had thought
he
would come and meet me at the airport. In person. I absolutely had to stop dreaming. Sacha certainly wasn’t an amorous suitor. Shit. He was so good at constantly moving the goalposts. Why had I come? To hand myself to him on a plate? Well I wasn’t going to do that. I felt a lump rise up in my throat. Did he take some kind of malicious pleasure in belittling me all the time? I instinctively grasped the folded piece of paper in my pocket. Jess had written, in capital letters, the name and address of her aunt who lived in New York. When I had told her the full story just before I got the plane, she had pulled a face which spoke volumes about her disapproval.

– Lisa darling, don’t trust this guy. It won’t end well with this great lawyer… he must be used to bedding any girl he wants! You're worth more than that, Lisa, you’ve got everything going for you: beauty, intelligence... but you just haven’t had enough boyfriends! This idiot will take advantage of you. Listen, my aunt lives in New York and if things go wrong, promise me you’ll go and see her – she'll look after you like a mother, you’ll see. I’ll call her this evening and tell her you might turn up. Ok?

– Ok.

Steven, the driver, put my suitcase in the boot and opened the limousine door for me. I got in mechanically, but my thoughts were still in Paris with Jess. At the time, I had taken the address primarily to please my friend. But as I sat down on the huge leather seat, I felt comforted by the idea that I had a fall-back option in the event of problems.

The car moved off. For the first few seconds, I felt terribly alone on the cold leather seat, but as we drove I couldn’t help feeling excitement at my new surroundings building up inside me. I pressed my face up against the window and watched the streets pass by and the dazzling, incredible, teeming city reveal itself. My doubts faded and I tried to banish Sacha Goodman to a distant corner of my mind. Suddenly, the tinted window separating the back of the limousine from the driver was lowered and Steven informed me that there was a small parcel for me in the back. And indeed, when I looked down, I saw a stiff paper bag to my left bearing a famous brand logo. I took out the contents: an A-line skirt, a white blouse and a sleeveless pullover. In a small packet, wrapped in silk paper, I discovered a pair of flesh-coloured stockings and some crimson lace suspenders, the perfect accessories for a high-class hooker. Next to them was a box containing a pair of beautiful stilettos… but with heels a good 10 centimetres high. I was reminded of Sacha’s words, “I love women in heels. They shouldn’t be allowed to walk in anything else.”

I tapped softly on the window, which opened to reveal Steven’s sympathetic smile:

– Aren’t we going to the hotel?

– No, Miss. You are expected at Goodman & Brown. We're going straight there…

– Expected? But… er, how long will it take to get there?

– Fifteen minutes, Miss.

Ooh. Everything was happening at once. A small card fell out as I removed the skirt. Bewildered, I had to read it twice before a lump caught in my throat!

The perfect uniform for a future lawyer! Don’t wear any knickers.
S.

The perfect uniform for a schoolgirl, more like! Apart from the underwear, obviously. I was vexed and looked at my rinse wash jeans, Converse and sailor’s t-shirt. I obviously couldn’t turn up looking like this. I didn’t have much choice! On the other hand, there was no chance I was going without knickers. Mr Sacha Goodman would just have to learn that I didn’t take orders from him! I put the suspenders on over my lace knickers. That way, it would be impossible to take them off. I felt energised by this small act of rebellion. As for my top half, on the other hand, I was stuck. I hadn’t put a bra on so I would be more comfortable on the plane. The material of my blouse was pretty much transparent and its slim fit clung to my breasts and waist. Luckily, the sleeveless pullover saved the day. I didn’t have time to do anything else, since the limousine stopped almost as soon as I had put on the pullover. I quickly rolled my own clothes into a ball and put them in the bag. Steven promptly opened the door and held out a reassuring hand:

– Here you are at your destination, Miss Lanvin. Don’t worry about your things, they will be taken to the hotel.

I smoothed down my skirt, adjusted the pullover and walked nervously towards the huge steel and glass door. We were in the very heart of the City and I could feel the salty air of the bay tickling my nose. I took a deep breath and entered the building. I introduced myself at the reception desk, and was given a badge to go through security and told which floor I needed: Goodman & Brown occupied three floors of this tower, 42, 43 and 44. I dived into the lift, hesitated for a moment and then pressed number 44, preparing myself mentally for what was to come. On the 44th floor, the doors opened directly onto a reception desk staffed by a blonde with perfect make-up, hair and nails.

– Hello! Elisabeth Lanvin, from Courcelles Investissements. I.. I think I’m expected.

The blonde barely raised an eyebrow, and pressed a button on her telephone. She stood up very straight and, with a forced smile, invited me to follow her. She opened a door onto a sort of cloakroom, and closed it immediately behind me. I was alone in a room lit only by neon lights and furnished with armchairs, a sofa and some green plants. A large frosted-glass door revealed light shining through from the other side. I put my bag on an armchair and began to study a watercolour hanging on the wall, to give myself an air of composure, when the glass door opened behind me.

His sturdy physique was framed in the doorway, then the door closed with a muffled sigh. Strength and gentleness. His entrance was just like him. I had forgotten how good-looking he was… His jade-coloured eyes undressed me. I could not tell what his incredibly intense look meant.

– Hello Elisabeth. I am delighted to welcome you here, he said in his suave voice as he came closer.

What was he going to do? Shake my hand? Kiss me on the cheeks? No, that would be ridiculous. I barely had time to understand what was happening to me, before he had planted his hand on my back, tilted me backwards and kissed me on the mouth. I stepped back, with my back coming up against the wall, and returned his kiss instinctively but against my will. The taste of his lips, his scent, his skin… it all came back to me in a powerful succession of waves. I could no longer break away from him, as my tongue found his and they joined together with a delightful sensation of union. He could have led me straight to a bed (or even the sofa in reception) there and then and I would not have put up a fight. He pulled on the elastic holding my ponytail and my red mane tumbled down onto my shoulders; he buried his hands in my curls. He broke away from my lips, inhaled the perfume of my hair and then went back to nibbling on my lower lip.

– My god, how I’ve missed this scent! He said without further ado, while I was still trembling from his kiss. Your mouth is an invitation to sex. Let’s see if the rest of you feels the same!

He hitched up my skirt, sliding his hand up my tights, pulled the suspenders so they snapped, and then stumbled across my knickers.

– No, no, no, he said, without losing his enigmatic smile, yet shaking his head from side to side. He slid one thumb under the material, ripped the side stitching with one tug and then pulled on the torn section forcefully. My underwear fell to the floor, having dug into my flesh and forced me to cry out. My butt, which was now uncovered, quivered and received a sharp slap.

– It is forbidden to disobey, he whispered into my ear.

But far from seeming angry, everything about him exuded desire and eroticism at that moment: his lips, his eyes and the bulge in his trousers. He had a hard-on. Rather than putting me off, the slap aroused me even more. I arched my back a bit further, ready to receive his tongue again. But instead, he thrust a finger into my vagina with a force which made me cry out again. I lifted one leg from the floor. I wanted more.

– You’re wet, of course! You’re always ready, aren’t you? He said, mockingly.

I stood up, annoyed and suddenly aware of where we were and the graphic scene I was taking part in.

– No, not at all, I said, not daring to look at him as I lowered my skirt. I have absolutely no desire to…

But Sacha caught me off guard and went for my nipples, which were already hard and swollen with arousal and protruding under the two thin layers of material. Sacha came close in and pinched one of them. Then he raised my arms and removed the pullover. My breasts were completely free and standing to attention, barely contained by the blouse.

– That’s much better! He said, sounding satisfied as he took a step backwards. We can go now.

He had barely finished his sentence when he pushed open the glass door.

I just had time to pick up my torn knickers and stuff them in my bag. He had already disappeared into the room next door.

Luckily, I instinctively held the pullover over my chest as I entered the room. Eight pairs of eyes turned towards me at the same time. Everything about me exuded sex. Not to mention my most intimate of places, which was naked under my short, flared skirt, so that the slightest careless movement would reveal my nudity to everyone present.

– I would like to introduce you to Elisabeth Lanvin, my intern, he announced to the assembled company, whilst I entered hesitantly, consumed by shame.

– Please, have a seat, replied a blond-haired man with sun-weathered skin, while he stared at my butt and cast a knowing look at my chest, which jiggled with every step I took in my stilettos.

At the end of the room, I saw two faces I recognised: Mr Dufresne, his face buried in his files, and his son Arnaud, who was staring at me as if the sky were falling in on him. I left Sacha and the blond-haired man (a client? A colleague? An underling?) behind me and slipped into the only free seat, next to Arnaud Dufresne, trying to make myself as small as possible. Arnaud placed a file in front of me, with a visibly disgusted look on his face.

– Well, Richard, can we get back to the subject at hand, please? Said Sacha to the blond-haired man, suddenly much cooler and annoyed now.

Had the joke gone on long enough? Did Sacha not like the effect I was having on the other men? I would doubtless have savoured this moment if I had not been so embarrassed!

The meeting lasted a good two hours. We reviewed the common interests of both law firms, particularly in the high-growth conditions of the Asian market. Of course, Goodman & Brown already had an established international presence and was well ahead of our Parisian company, but Mr Dufresne was very persuasive and there was no doubt that our collaboration would end in a merger, since it would be a win-win situation on both sides of the Atlantic. Aware of how privileged I was to be taking part in this top-level meeting, and fascinated by the subject, I immersed myself completely in the work. By the time the meeting ended, I had almost forgotten my shameless session in the lobby. But Arnaud brought me straight back to reality by looking disgusted again when my bra-less chest ended up in his face as I stood up. I immediately pulled my pullover down in front of me, but the damage was done, and I was instantly consumed by embarrassment again, a feeling which was exacerbated when I had to pull myself up on my 10-centimetre heels and I felt an unusual warmth in my crotch.

My god, it was so sexy to not be wearing any knickers. I carefully avoided meeting Sacha’s eye, but anyway he was busy talking to a statuesque, brown-eyed brunette who he was devouring with his eyes. She punctuated every sentence with a smile which revealed her astonishingly white teeth. She was a pure Latin beauty, extremely classy and wearing a figure-hugging cream suit. All of a sudden I felt ridiculously vulgar in my outfit, without underwear.

I returned to the hotel with the Dufresnes without delay. I didn’t say a word in the taxi, lost in my lewd thoughts and my doubts. What did he want? Who was this brunette? Why? Why? Why what?

I was still brooding over these questions when we reached our luxury hotel, which was comfortable, if rather soulless.
But what the hell! I was here now, so I might as well make the most of the trip.
We were all due to meet for a drink in a panoramic bar in central Manhattan and then have dinner in one of the hippest restaurants in New York. I chose an appropriate dress, sober and chic… and sexy, I told myself as I checked my reflection in the mirror. But not too sexy! I exchanged Sacha’s stilettos for court shoes with a more reasonable heel.