Rendezvous with the Billionaire: A Billionaire Workplace Romance

Rendezvous with the Billionaire

by Eve Adrian

That Fateful Night

I should have stopped after the third martini. A more responsible person might have cautioned me after the second, but why would I go out on the town with responsible people? They never knew how to have any fun. Andrea, best friend and errant guardian of my virtue, was meant to make sure that I didn't do anything I would regret. After all, a girl needs friends. Unfortunately, she found the most utterly delicious piece of man candy in the place and couldn't be relied upon to both look out for me, and make out with him. I couldn't really blame her, I would have taken him if she hadn't.

But with no Andrea to keep me company, and both Kimberly and Dixon flitting about and dancing together, I was left alone at the bar with two very dangerous things.

My fourth martini and my cell phone.

Sure they both looked innocent enough, though the martini glass had those dreadful curves that suggested she was up for a good time with all the wrong people. The cell phone, on the other hand, was terribly outdated, from more than two years ago, with a sturdy and colorful case applied just to hide the shame of its age. Maybe a two and a half year old smartphone didn't sound shameful, but this was New York, Manhattan as a matter of fact, and a girl looking to set trends couldn't be expected to tote around something that an old person could understand.

I didn't do the math on how much the martinis cost, couldn't care that much since they went down so smooth.

That dreaded cell phone, center of my life for all the wrong reasons. Work email, work texts, work documents, all of it got forwarded there and everyone expected me to answer within thirty freaking seconds of getting anything. Ugh, who wanted to do that? It wasn't like I ran the place, no, I made copies, fetched drinks, filed reports. I mean, pretty much everything would halt around me if I didn't do my job, but you wouldn't know that from my paycheck.

And as for the guy who did run the place. Well, he didn't know I existed.

But speaking of sexy new models, well, he was enough to make a girl's panties wet. Not, of course that I ever thought that way at work. But get a few drinks in me and I was ready to have my wicked way with him. Hands down, he was the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. Wavy dark hair, well over six feet of deviously toned muscles that just looked like they would swell under a girl's grasp. He had these eyes, they were just so green that I sometimes thought they were real emeralds. But they were just eyes. And he always had that perfect kind of tan that made it look like he spent every day at the beach in the French Riviera or someplace like that. He looked like a million bucks, all the time.

Or, rather, a billion.

Rumor had it that he was an honest to God billionaire with a capital B.

And I had his number in my phone. How many girls, even girls with awesome new phones who didn't live with four roommates in what had generously been called a two bedroom apartment, could say they had a real live billionaire on speed dial?

I brought up his contact details. The program we used had a little picture of each person right next to their name. Really, no one should look so disgustingly attractive in so few pixels, but he wore the hell out of the very top portion of that suit and looked ready to do battle in any board room.

I wondered if he looked just as sexy with the shirt off. Well, not exactly wondered. It was obvious that he would, he liked wearing the tighter cut, European suits to work, the kind that just screamed out to let a girl run her hands all over one of them.

None of the guys at this club wore those kind of suits. They all had on jeans or khakis or other boring bro gear that dominated the colleges.

Would Evan Daringer - oh God, even his name was hot - ever let me see him naked? I typed it into the little text box by his name. If he wanted a little quid pro quo, I was pretty sure we could work something out. I even added a little smiley face next to it. And click the little arrow button to save. I laughed and stuck the phone back in my pocket.

I tried to see if Andrea or Kimberley or Dixon were anywhere to be seen. I had carved out the tiniest sliver of space by the bar and my pal Gus, the cute bartender, kept sending drinks my way whenever I asked. But not three feet away from me started the mass of writhing bodies that spilled out off of the dance floor. The lighting in the club was so dark that they were almost just shadows and impressions of people, but occasionally a sparkly outfit or particularly bright hair color stood out, setting a person outside the crowd.

Dixon crept up behind me, soft lips kissing me on the cheek and giggling when I jumped. Her name made her sound like she should be completely tough and manly, but Dixon Martinez was anything but the butch girl. I figured the proper term was pixie. Barely hitting five feet, spiky red hair, and a face always shown to perfection with makeup tricks that would make runway models jealous, she bounced through life. And her girlfriend, Kimberly Jackson, bounced right along with her. All six feet of her, with her long dark brown hair and brown skin. They made it work.

Kimberly threw an arm around my shoulders. "Come on, Amy, it's time to get you home."

"I'm fine." I giggled. And those words might not have been as clear as they sounded in my head. "And where's Andrea? Can't leave without her!" Even if she was with that super hot guy. First rule of going to the bar: never leave a woman behind, unless she wants to get left behind. Then all bets are off.

But clearly Kimberly and Dixon had not gotten the go-ahead to leave without Andrea. Forcing me away from my prime spot at the bar, but not before I quickly drank the last few sips of the martini. Kimberly waved at the bartender to make him close my tab and handed me my credit card after a minute.

Oooooh, that number in front of the 9.99 was unpleasantly high. I had really hoped it would be less than a five. Whoops, something to worry about when the credit card bill came.

Kimberly took my arm, the dark skin contrasting with the shining white super-short dress I wore. I looked down over myself. Still super cute, all the way down to my value store heels, and no stains on the dress. A successful night, for my clothes at least.

After searching the club, Dixon and Kimberly trading off who led me, we found Andrea dancing with another hot dude, grinding up against him and having a lot of fun. I wanted to leave her to it, but the other girls insisted that we check with her. Fine, whatever.

Clearly the dude wasn't hot enough, Andrea joined the three of us, claiming that she had to work in the morning - clearly a lie, it was Saturday night and we all had office jobs - and giving the guy a peck on the cheek.

The bracing night air was just cool enough to start to sober me up, just enough that the walk to the subway station involved more walking than carrying. We passed a few people on the street, mostly other club goers hopping from place to place. The streets were safe enough in this neighborhood, especially with four of us all together, even if we were all at least a little drunk.

Once on the platform at the subway station, my feet started protesting the cute heels and I sat on the bench next to Andrea, we leaned against each other, half dozing as we waited for the train. Dixon and Kimberly had escaped to a secluded corner somewhere, done with babysitting us and wanting to have a bit of time to themselves.

A train blew by, whooshing past the platform and rustling my long brown hair. It felt so good, even in the chill that I stood up, letting Andrea slump down on the bench and took a few steps forward.

I was one of those weirdos who loved riding the subway at night. The other girls used it just as a tool to get them from place to place, but I always felt like I was going on a little adventure.

Even if that adventure was just trying to ignore the scary people and weirdos that sometimes bothered me.

But a few minutes later our train came through, doors opening to let us on. At this time of night it was only us girls, free seats for all and a quiet ride home. Dixon and Kimberly got off first, their apartment located three stops before me and Andrea. But they made sure we were both in a condition to make it the rest of the way by ourselves before they left, always the good friends.

And then Andrea and I were alone. We made it the rest of the way home without incident. Andrea was one of my four roommates, but she slept in the other room with Cameron and Marcie. I only shared my room with Maricela, but she was conveniently out of the apartment at her boyfriend's place this weekend. And for once I had the room to myself.

Heaven.

I slipped out of my shoes and wrestled myself out of the dress. Sure, it looked cute on, but once I tried to pull it over my head, it struggled against my breasts and arms, suddenly holding onto me for dear life.

The room was tiny. Both of them were, as a matter of fact, but Maricela and I shared the smaller of the two since there were only the two of us in here. Andrea, Cameron, and Marcie had about ten more square feet. But Cameron and Marcie slept in bunk beds. Maricela and I each had our own twin beds pushed up against opposite walls with a tiny sliver of the window in between us. I couldn't quite reach out and touch her bed with my hands when I lay down, but when I stuck out my feet, I could set my toes right on top of her sheets. And I didn't even have to strain for it. By mutual agreement, we didn't let our boyfriends stay over whenever we were both in the room. Well, she didn't let hers stay over. I hadn't had a boyfriend in a quite some time. Not since way before I started working at my current job, or since I graduated from college, or really at all since before my senior year. As far as dry spells went, this one was depressingly long.

Though thinking of work...

Evan Daringer was more than welcome to bring this spell to an end.

I stood naked in my room, dress on the floor with shoes beside it. Maricela was gone, and the door was closed. Complete privacy for the first time in so very, very long. I let my mind drift back to Evan, to how he looked every morning when he walked into the office. He always wore a suit with a light colored shirt and a tie. Usually dark colored, rarely black. His hair was just long enough to let you know that it would be more than satisfying to run your hands through, and by the end of the day he had the perfect amount of shadow on his face. Why he had chosen to be a Vice President when male model was so clearly the perfect career choice, I would never know. But I had to be thankful for it each morning when I saw him sitting in his office.

Some days he even said hi.

And his voice was pure dark chocolate, I could roll around in it for days.

My hand drifted across my breast as I thought of him. Normally I tried not to fantasize about people I saw every day. It felt so dirty, forbidden. And I was always sure they could see it on my face the next time we saw each other. But right now I was drunk, and he was so sexy it would be an insurmountable chore to say no.

He wouldn't ever have to know.

And who could a little fantasy hurt?

I set the scene, laying down onto the soft mattress of my bed. It may have been a small bed, but it was beyond comfortable.

It would happen at work, in Evan's decadently large office overlooking the city. Maybe I'd be delivering a report or a coffee. Didn't matter what. But he would tell me to close the door behind me and make me sit down. At first I would just look at him while he talked, mouth damn near watering from the fit of his suit and the delicious smell of his cologne. Faint, really only detectable when you're up close.

He would walk right up to the chair, put his hands on each arm rest, and kiss me. No preliminaries. No talking, this was a fantasy, no need for stupid logic.

I dipped one hand low, brushing up against myself and inhaling in delight and the stab of pleasure. My fingers circled right on that dot, bringing it higher and higher to a crescendo before trailing away. I didn't want to end this too soon, pleasure is only worth it when you let yourself work up to it a bit.

I imagined Evan taking my breast into his mouth, lapping hotly at the nipple until it stood at attention, aching for more, for any contact. My hand followed my mind, rolling that hardened flesh between two fingers and moaning quietly as I massaged it.

He would have rougher hands, callused from whatever weights he lifted. From playing polo or something equally rich and masculine. I tried to imagine that harsher feel compared to the softness of my fingertips and rolled over to my side. I hitched my leg up, my free hand circling the tender flesh of my inner thigh, just barely swiping up to brush against my clit. My fingertips were drenched from my wet pussy.

Evan seemed like exactly the type of guy who would take his time there, setting his mouth on me and feasting, using his tongue, his lips, everything, until I was squirming around him and crying out in pleasure, more drunk from him than I'd ever been drunk before.

I dipped a finger inside, rolling around once more on the bed and plunging in and out, a sheen of sweat spreading all over me and heat rushing to my face. But in my mind they were his fingers exploring me, finding every inch and discovering every move to bring me to the height of pleasure. My hips bucked once, scraping past something delicious within. I pressed up once more, my nipples tightening even further and cunt convulsing just once.

My finger slipped out of my slit, sliding back up to tease that little bud at the seat of my pleasure. I moved my hips back and forth along with my hand, wishing for something more substantial to help me along. Wishing for Evan's cock to plunge into me and take me to new heights.