Romance: The Billionaires Collection (Watched By A Billionaire, Stranded With A Billionaire, Caught By A Billionaire, Billionaire Stepbrother) (3 page)

Shit, what the hell is this about. My run in? I
suppose he knows I was fucking my boss then....but why is that
relevant?

“
Now, please don't take offense, but the situation
with your boss has enlightened me to your, how shall I put this,
sexual openness...”

My eyes narrow into a frown and I look at the guy as if
he's just murdered my puppy.

“
Excuse me...”

“
Please, Ashley, do not be offended. I understand you
are a girl who enjoys sex and isn't afraid to admit it. Is that
true?”

I'm wondering just how he knows that, aside from
speaking with my old boss, but nod my head anyway.

“
Well good, and that's fine. Women should be free to
enjoy sex and sleep with men freely, just like men are. Isn't it
unfair that men are labeled as 'players', while women are called
'sluts' when they enjoy various different sexual partners?”

I nod again, still shocked at the turn of the
conversation. Frankly, he's hit the nail on the head there. I agree
with that wholeheartedly.

“
Well, with all that in mind, let me explain to you
what the service I offer is.”

My breath seems to hold in my chest, the oxygen in the
air suddenly growing thin as I await an explanation. Given how this
conversation has started, I'm not expecting him to offer me a job at
his fashion magazine.

“
My clients like to watch two highly attractive people
enjoying a session of carnal activity...”

My mouth drops.

“
I can see from your expression that that's not what
you expected when I first arrived at the door. But, if you'll indulge
me, please let me finish before chucking me out.”

His manner is so charming it's impossible not to defer
to him and let him continue.

He nods reverently as I say 'go on', before proceeding
to continue with his story.

“
The two sexual partners are put into a room and they
simply enjoy each other's bodies until they both climax. Usually each
performance will last for 30 minutes. Trust me when I tell you,
Ashley, that each man and each woman used in these performances are
truly stunning. You, I must add, are one of the finest looking
creatures I've ever seen.”

I stay silent, not knowing what to say or how to react.
He takes my lack of speech as an invite to continue.

“
Now, the clients are not visible to those performing.
They are behind glass walls that only they can see through. So, while
they are watching the performance, the performers are not put off by
their presence. All they can see is their own reflection in the
glass, which is mirrored on the inside. Most performers love that
they can watch themselves having sex from all angles.”

I'm having a hard time processing all of this, and he
clearly knows it. It's obvious that he's had this conversation with a
hundred girls before.

“
Do you have any questions so far, Ashley?”

I slowly shake my head, still unable to form words.

“
Now, you will, of course, be well compensated for
your efforts. Like I say, my clients are special men, and I service
some of the wealthiest men in America and across the world. Trust me
when I tell you that this is all above board and legit. It is
incredibly high class and isn't seedy at all. Do you understand?”

“
Yes,” I croak.

“
Your compensation will depend upon the ratings your
receive during your performance. You will be paid a flat rate and
then will receive additional payment for doing a good job. Naturally,
if my clients like you, they will want to invite you back.”

“
Porn...”

It's the only thing I can think to say, the world
slipping from my lips.

“
Pardon me?”

“
It's....just live porn then?”

“
Porn is an ugly word in my estimation, Ashley, and is
suitable for the masses. The shows I put on are, as I said, high
class affairs for very wealthy men. They are akin to the shows the
Romans used to enjoy. That is the slant you should look at this
with.”

“
I don't think I could...”

“
I understand,
Ashley, I truly do. I've done this many times, and everyone says the
same thing –
I don't think I could do it
.
Well, I can assure you that this is no different from sleeping with
another handsome man in your own private room. The only difference is
that you'll know you're being watched, and you'll be getting paid a
lot of money for it. And, well, the men are some of the finest lovers
in the world. You'll never have sex quite like it...”

He's probing hard, pushing my buttons. I suppose he must
pick girls like me who he knows enjoys sex and, well, are struggling
for cash. Certainly, both of those apply to me...

“
How much money do you get paid?”

His face lights slightly at my interest.

“
As I say, it depends. But you get at least flat rate
of twenty thousand for the one night. Often, that can be many times
higher.”

My eyes widen.

“
Twenty thousand dollars?!”

He nods with a smile.

“
I told you, Ashley, this is a high class affair and
is very lucrative. As soon as you get past any moral barriers you
might have to face, I'm sure you'll make the right decision.”

His words draw a close to the conversation, and he
leaves me with his cell phone number and the knowledge that a week on
Friday, a performance is being planned for Manhattan to which I can
get involved if I so wish.

“
And, as long as you pass the medical,” he adds,
before walking out the door.

Once he's gone, I have to deal with my mother, who
reappears asking questions about the mystery man in the white suit.

Half dumbstruck by the conversation, I struggle to come
up with a suitable excuse, telling her that he was nothing but a
fashion designer who'd heard about my situation and might be able to
help me find work.

That sends my mom bouncing with glee and hope, but as
she hugs me all I'm doing is thinking about sex, me having it with a
beautiful man, men watching me from behind glass walls...

She takes my lack of speech for some sort of repressed
excitement, but I've already forgotten exactly what I told her when
she starts asking more questions. I extricate myself with a word that
I'm feeling ill, which she also puts down to the excitement, and
manage to escape to my room without further hassle.

And there, and only there, do I let my mind fully wrap
around the idea and digest everything that the enigmatic Randall
Taylor said to me.

But what sticks in my
mind most of all isn't the idea of prostituting myself or fucking
some random guy in front of people.

No. What really lingers is the promised base rate of
twenty grand, and the thought that, with a good performance, I could
get a whole lot more.

And then, suddenly, the dream of having my own design
studio, of crafting my own designs and starting my own label, starts
to stir once more.

Chapter Four

For the next few days, the conversation with Randall
Taylor festers in my head. I spend my time going back and forward
over it, at one time turning my focus back to finding a job, and then
at another being unable to concentrate on anything but the money.

Of course, the money itself would bring problems, not
least the questions I'd get from my parents. But then, since I keep
them in the dark about just about everything else in my life, why not
this as well?

“
I won the lottery,” I could tell them. Or maybe
just not tell them at all.

Frankly, there's no real reason why they'd find out,
especially because an influx of money like that into my bank account
would have me hightailing it straight out of here and back to the
West Coast where I'd gotten very used to the fine weather, fine
beaches, and tanned, muscular men.

Randall had, however, given me a deadline, and told me
that if I missed it he'd assume that I wasn't interested at all and
would never consider me again for future 'work'.

And after another fruitless week at the employment
search coalface, I'm all but ready to agree to his terms and say
'fuck it, why the hell not'.

So, that's what I do.

I pick up my cell, phone his number the morning of the
deadline, and listen to his mellifluous voice running down the line
into my ear.

“
Randall Taylor speaking.”

“
Mr Taylor...it's Ashley.”

“
Now, Ashley, didn't I tell you to call me Randall?”

“
Um, yes Randall, sorry...”

“
So, I assume you're calling to accept my offer?”

“
Yes,” I say weakly, still doubting my decision but,
obstinately, not willing to go back on it.

“
Excellent. Are you at home?”

“
Yes,” I say again.

“
Perfect. I'll have a car come and collect you within
the hour...”

“
A car...what for?”

“
Testing, Ashley. We need to test you for sexually
transmitted diseases and other such issues. The doctor, who is
female, don't worry, will also inspect your body. Our clients have
certain requirements and, well, they only like girls who appear fresh
and new, if you understand my meaning.”

I can only assume he's talking about the state of
affairs between my legs.

“
I'm very neat and tidy down there, Randall,” I
venture, slightly embarrassed for having to mention it to him.

“
Yes, well we'll just want to make sure of that. Now,
dress comfortably. You'll have to sign the contracts too.”

I wave of nausea pulses through me at the idea of all of
this. But then again, it does make it sound even more official, which
gives me some solace that this isn't just some big set up and that
I'm going to find myself in a crack den somewhere surrounded by sex
starved addicts.

I tell my mom that I'm going out looking for work again
when I leave the house, and find a black saloon care waiting outside.
The driver, who looks quite handsome with his hat on, takes me a
short way to a doctors office, where the tests are officially
conducted.

Then the doctor inspects my body, asking me to strip
naked and taking her time to prod and probe and take my measurements.
When she asks me to get dressed she tells me, in some sort of
clinical way, that I'm 'perfect', to which I don't quite know how to
respond.

Randall, however, appears delighted by the doctor's
report when he calls me later that night.

“
You're going to be just what our clients want,” he
tells me. “Now, all you have to do is perform well and both they,
you, and I will be extremely happy.”

The rest of the week goes like a shot, my mind now fully
absorbed in what I'm about to do. All I know is that the guy will be
handsome and dynamite in the sack, the sort of guy I'd happily go
home with if I'd met him in a bar or club.

So, the only thing I have to get my head around is the
idea that there will be a bunch of men watching me through the glass.
Sure, I won't be able to see them, but I'll certainly know they're
there.

And that's enough to ensure that my nerves begin to
build several days in advance.

By the time the big day itself dawns, I'm a bag of
nerves and considering jumping ship and doing a runner. Only I can't.
I've signed contracts. And now I'm committed to the performance.

It's late afternoon
when I'm picked up by the same car and driver as before. He gives me
a cheeky smile, the sort that suggests he knows exactly what I'm
going to be doing in a couple of hours, and we set on our way.

Within 30 minutes, we're in Manhattan and are parking
outside a grand mansion fairly centrally located a little to the east
of Central Park. The driver opens my door, and Randall greets me
outside, looking over me like a proud parent about to watch his
daughter in a school recital.

“
Ashley, you look stunning already, and we haven't
even got started on you yet.”

He takes me through a high arched entrance and into an
ornately decorated building, the sort of old Victorian structure
you'd expect to see in England or somewhere across Europe.

Inside, it's all plush reds and golds, and the entire
thing carries a Gothic feel that's a tiny bit unnerving. But still,
Randall's affable air and constant smile makes me feel a little more
at ease as he leads me through and into a dressing room.

“
This is Charlotte and Matilda,” he tells me,
pointing toward the two women waiting in the room. “They will make
you look even more fabulous. I will be back just before the
performance starts, OK?”

I nod, and watch him leave, feeling like a nervous child
pining after their parents as soon as he's left the room.

The two women, however, are incredibly polite and chatty
and set to work in designing my look as soon as I've had a shower in
the adjoining bathroom.