Ella's Easter Eggs (BBW & Billionaire) (2 page)

After drinking one more beer, Daniela and I decided to call it a night. We said good-bye and then I commenced the walk home to my apartment, which was only about a half-mile away. Just as I was settling into my couch with Ruby -- to catch up on all the
Vikings
episodes I hadn't seen yet --I noticed that my phone was lit up with quite a few text messages. I had a nasty habit of forgetting to turn the volume back on after class, so this was something that occurred frequently to me after dance class.

When I saw that the texts were from Carlo Catelli, I had to catch my breath. Carlo was a man that I "saw" (polite way of saying "banged") whenever I was in New York or he was in L.A. We'd met at a bar the prior year, when I was visiting friends in Manhattan. One thing led to another, and I'd ended up back at his place. And thus began an interesting -- albeit animalistic -- bi-coastal romance.

Carlo Catelli was probably the most gorgeous man I'd ever slept with. With perfect olive skin and jet-black hair, he'd caught my attention immediately. We were around the same height (five-foot-nine), which was unusual for me at first. Normally I dated guys who were over six feet. But Carlo easily made up for the lack of height in other...ahem...areas.

He was very New York, very dominant in bed...very fun. The problem with Carlo was that he was also, quite likely, very Mafia. At this point, I had no confirmation of this...but there were stories in the media, mentions here and there. He always told me that he was in "construction" but he had a hell of a lot of money for some random New York guy in construction.

The other odd thing about Carlo was that he didn't like to go down on girls...something about it not being "macho" or whatever. Now, oral sex had always been one of my favorite things about hooking up...or one of my favorite things about life in general, as it were.
 

Nothing made me happier than the feeling a talented tongue snaking its way up my leg. But, again, I was somehow willing to forego my usual rules when it came to Carlo. He was so handsome, so good at making me explode in bed, that I was willing to overlook this transgression. And a few others. Carlo Catelli had made it clear that he was not interested in having a steady girlfriend -- as fun as our encounters were, he was determined that our relationship not progress past the "casual" phase.
 

Although I appreciated his honesty, a tiny piece of me was sad that our relationship could never move forward. Obviously, Carlo was Mr. Wrong. But in all the right ways. He was all of my sexy bad boy fantasies, wrapped up and embodied in one sizzling hot package and topped off with an impossibly thick head of black hair.
 

I mean, there were so many barriers to our relationship that it was ridiculous, anyway. He lived on the east coast, I lived in L.A., he possibly had some crime connections, I was more of a good gal...There was a lot to give one pause.

But the body wants what the body wants. And the most efficient way to make my heart start pumping wildly -- aside from Stripper Class -- was to look at my phone when there was a text from Carlo. This one did not disappoint.

The first text said, simply:

*Missing you, Luscious...

"Luscious" was Carlo's nickname for me. The text was accompanied by pictures of his gorgeous cock. Normally, this kind of thing -- sexting with pics -- turned me off. But for Carlo, who was such a real man, full of vigor and lust, it never bothered me. In fact...okay, I'll admit it...
 

I liked it. I liked knowing how much I was wanted, how much I turned him on. As always, I wrote back instantly.

*Miss you too! Was picturing grinding on you during our lap dance class tonight. XO

Immediately, Carlo shot back with:

*Naughty, naughty, Luscious! Send me a pic of your panties!

Carlo was the only man in the world who could convince to me to sext. Within minutes, I found myself digging into my underwear draw to find the appropriate pair (I certainly wasn't going to send him a picture of the gross workout underwear I was wearing). After taking a shower, I settled upon a sheer peach pair of panties. I put them on and snapped a masterful shot, then settled back into bed and texted Carlo.

*Why oh why can't you live here? Would love to feel you between my thighs right about now.

And then I fell into a deep sleep, with visions of the most gorgeous Italian-American man in the universe, hovering over me as he took me over the edge, again and again...

CHAPTER THREE

GOOD FRIDAY

The email was annoying. But, then again, when weren't Karina's emails' annoying? They were a cesspool of caps lock, underlined, and bold instructions, guaranteed to infuriate anyone with common sense.

HEY GUYS!

Thanks so much for taking part of this weekend's AMAZING catering event with Katrina's Katerers. I'm sure you're all grateful for the $$$!

First and foremost, I wanted to remind everyone to come looking well-groomed and FABULOUS. This is an upscale event for a VERY RICH client in the Hollywood Hills. Not telling you who, but you are guaranteed to be impressed, so come looking as *perfect* as you possibly can.

Directions to the parking lot are attached. Be sure to give yourself PLENTY of time to get there. As you know, Katrina's Katerer's is a company for punctual people (hey, I should trademark that line!). My standard motto applies here, as always. "On time is late!" That means that anyone who is less than fifteen minutes early will be given a spanking. (Not really LOL, but you get my drift!)
 

Anyway, once you arrive at the parking lot at the bottom of Mulholland (2:45 or earlier!), the shuttle will arrive to take you up the hill to our client's home.

Black pants, white button-down shirt for both girls and guys. Ladies, be sure to wear your hair back.

Now, remember to be on your best behavior. Like I said, there will be a lot of VIPs during the next three days. Let's make sure we start this thing off on a good foot.

Toodles!

KATRINA

"Argh, Ruby! What did I do to deserve this?" I griped, while I desperately tried to track down my black pants in the closet.

I'd never really been a "black pants person," preferring my clothes to be more colorful. But I did have one pair of black pants, which were always hiding somewhere mysterious. After locating them, hopping into them,(and breathing a huge sigh of relief), I gave Ruby a kiss, then ran out the door.

Traffic was a bitch, but luckily the random rich person's house wasn't too far from my apartment. I made it to the parking lot with five minutes to spare. Of course, Katrina had to make a little comment at the check-in desk.

"Ella, you're late!"

"Uh, last time I checked, you guys start paying us at three...so actually, I'm early."

"Whatever!" she snapped, handing me a wristband. "You'll be in the last group to go up!"

She must have been having a bad day. Even Katrina wasn't usually that snappy. What was the world coming to? I joined the line in front of the check-in desk, behind a dozen other people. Some of them looked vaguely familiar. All crazy, for the most part.

There is an interesting niche of people in Los Angeles, and this niche exists mainly to support the wealthy. Working as caterers, drivers, assistants, gardeners, and the like, this group of people helps to ensure that our Los Angeles slice of the one percent...remains there.

Now, this would all be fine, if most of the people in this niche hadn't initially moved to Hollywood with dreams of becoming the next big director, executive, actor, etc. -- you know, joining the ranks of the jet-set themselves. When you think about it that way, their lot in life becomes rather...depressing.
 

Which was why I really found myself missing Daniela as we waited for the shuttle. Having a friend to work with was crucial. It made me feel sane, like this was just a temporary situation.

As the white van approached, I said a silent prayer that the gig would be okay. It was Good Friday, after all. I figured someone up there ought to be listening. We piled into the van, and I was forced to sit next to a stand-up comedian I'd met on a couple of previous catering gigs.

"Hey! Ella, right?" he asked, sticking out his hand.

"Yes," I smiled, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "What's your name again?"

"John!" he grinned. "Hey, I haven't seen you in a long time! Why haven't you been picking up shifts?"

Talk about nosy.

"Uh...well, I'm primarily an actress, so I audition a lot and stuff."

"Huh. Really? Haven't seen you on anything."

"Yeah..." I sighed, as the van whipped around corners.

"This has got to be some crazy big event," John whispered. "Fifty of us have already gone up here."

"Fifty? That's a lot. Damn." I groaned, as the van navigated yet another hairpin turn.
 

It was enough to make us all carsick. Finally, after ten more torturous minutes, we arrived at the top of the hill. A huge compound loomed in front of us. We had arrived.

The house, if you could call it that, was truly extraordinary. It was so huge I couldn't even see where it began and ended. It felt as though we were suspended in the clouds above Los Angeles.

One of Katrina's minions was waiting for us as we exited the van. I was looking up at the compound when I was jarred out of my reverie.

"Ella?" she barked at me.

"Yup," I nodded.

"You'll be working the patio, giving out wine and beer. Follow Travis here."

An awkward, gangly-looking guy led me to the patio area. It seemed as though we had lucked out, as the patio did not appear to be nearly as bustling as the rest of this house.

"I got everything ready before you came," Travis said. "So all we have to do is wait."

I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed as though (as catering co-workers went) Travis was a gem. It would make my life a million times easier. Way better than being assigned to work with stand-up comedian John, who would no doubt be messing around, testing out his material and not doing any work. Working with aspiring stand-up comedians was almost always brutal.

"Awesome," I nodded. "So...this place is unreal."

"Totally," Travis smiled. "I guess it's some fashion designer's place. Anyway, I'm just glad you're normal."

"Tell me about it!" I laughed. "Me too! Sometimes these dumb little jobs can be so hard. Too many crazy folks."

"Yup," Travis agreed. "Like doing extra work -- oh wait, I'm sorry -- the people who do it professionally call it 'background work'!"

"Ha!" I cackled. "So true. Like, what's the damn difference? No matter how you slice it, you're not the lead actor. Get a grip!"

This small exchange obviously made Travis feel more comfortable with me.

"Hey," he whispered, looking around. "Do you wanna share a beer? We're not starting for like forty-five minutes."

"I would love nothing more," I assured him. "Please, for the love of God, open up a beer."

Travis opened up a fancy microbrew bottle, and we hid it under the bar area, each taking discreet swigs whenever we saw that the coast was clear. Almost thirty minutes had passed when I saw the woman inside the house take notice of me. And I was fairly certain that she'd seen me drinking the beer.

When she came out of the house, I started cursing my luck. Why did I always have to get caught? It was so unfair. Worse, I would have to fabricate a way to excuse poor Travis from this whole mess. And then try to figure out how I'd make rent, without acting work or even stupid catering work.

These were the thoughts that were running through my mind when the thin, impeccably groomed blond woman in her forties approached us. She gave me a once-over, and I found myself hoping that my black pants weren't impossibly wrinkled or something like that.

"Hi, I'm Debra," she grinned, sticking out her hand.

"Ella."

This didn't seem so foreboding. Shaking Debra's hand, I figured that maybe she was one of those people who had to prove how "down-to-earth" they were by bonding with the staff. But it quickly became clear that Debra had other intentions.

"Hey, Ella" she said in a stage whisper. "Can we go in the corner for a sec and chat?"

Now I was super confused. Was she hitting on me or something? Not that there was anything wrong with that, but I didn't swing that way. Well, not since college, anyway.

"Sure," I smiled cautiously. "Let's go chat."

Travis looked at us curiously, but I simply shrugged and then followed Debra to the corner of the patio, right next to an impossibly gorgeous fountain and koi pond. Crazy rich people.

"Okay, I know this is going to sound super odd," Debra said, "But bear with me a sec. Do you know about this event?"

"Uhhh...not really. They didn't want to share too much."

"Listen, Ella, I have a really unorthodox proposal for you. And if you're completely offended by it, please feel free to forget I ever said it, and just go on with your day."

"Alright..."

"So, this is Dash De Maio's house, the sporting apparel designer."

"Ah, okay," I said, my synapses finally starting to fire.

I recalled that Dash De Maio was the designer who'd recently made the crappy comments about plus-sized women. It was so odd that I'd just been listening to the news story about him. Daniela would have a field day -- she was always harping on and on about the "law of attraction." I was yet to be convinced, but this coincidence certainly was kind of strange. And I still didn't know what Debra wanted from me.

"Okay, so...we're kind of in a pickle," Debra continued. "Part of the reason for the party this weekend is to bring some people together from the line, and hash out a plan for our new plus-sized athletic apparel, swimwear, and lingerie collection."

"Wait, isn't the whole thing that they don't
want
to cater to plus-sized women?" Now I was confused as all hell.

"No," Debra shook her head emphatically. "His comments were completely made up by the media. Anyway, now the planning for our plus-sized line is more important than ever."