The Billionaire's Curvy Conquest - Complete (4 page)

“Shit. Did she say I was fired?”

Fay shrugged. “All she said was to tell you that she’ll be waiting for you in her office.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I was kicking myself for being late again, convinced that the Wicked Witch was going to use it as an excuse to let me go.

Then another thought crossed my mind. Was Mr. Reed having me fired because of my behavior in his office yesterday? 

Knocking on the Wicked Witch’s door, I poked my head in. “Hi Laurie, Fay told me that you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, come in.” I took a seat opposite her desk and saw my personal affects sitting in a box in the corner.

“I don’t know what you did yesterday—“

“Let me explain!” I pleaded, cutting her off. She raised her eyebrows, which meant that I should pipe down and let her finish.

“As I was saying, I don’t know what you did yesterday, but Mr. Reed and Alice were very impressed with your work.”

My jaw dropped. “They were?”

That’s not what I expected to hear.
Not at all
.

“Yes. They were so pleased, in fact, that they have promoted you to the Special Projects team. Effective immediately.”

“They did?” I couldn’t believe what Laurie was telling me!

“What did you do up there, anyway?” My now ex-boss asked, leaning over her desk and eagerly waiting for my response.

“I wish I could tell you, Laurie,” I said with a vindictive smile. “But everything Special Projects does is confidential.”

“Right.” She sat back, clearly disappointed. “I guess you should grab your box of personal items and head on up to Special Projects.”

Laurie stood and held out her hand, a gesture she had never made toward me, even when I was first hired. “It was a pleasure working with you, Cassie.”

“Thank you, Laurie,” I responded, shaking her hand with a satisfied smile on my face.

Then, I picked up my box and left without another word.

~~~

I
set my box on the Special Projects reception desk.

“Cassie James reporting for duty,” I said a bit too cheerfully.

The receptionist was on the phone and waved me toward the chairs. Covering her headset microphone she whispered, “Someone will be right with you.”

That someone was Greta.

“Cassie! So good to see you again.” Impeccably dressed, just like yesterday, she led the way to her office where I took a seat. “Are you excited to become a fulltime member of the Special Projects team?”

“Oh yes,” I replied enthusiastically. “But I have no idea what to expect. I don’t even know what my new title is.”

“Let’s see,” Greta said, reading from the paperwork she held in her hands. “Your new title is Personal Communications Specialist.”

“What does that even mean?” I wondered out loud.

“Honestly, I don’t quite know. It seems to be a new position developed just for you. With your English degree, my guess would be that Mr. Reed wants you to handle his person correspondence, although there isn’t a detailed job description here.”

I nodded. That sort of made sense.

“The paperwork does say that you should anticipate spending quite a bit of time in Mr. Reed’s office, working with him one-on-one,” Greta continued. “Your position also has a dress code with a very generous wardrobe allowance. Ten thousand dollars has already been direct-deposited into your bank account. Mr. Reed has taken the liberty of drafting a shopping list for you.”

She handed me a sealed envelope marked
Confidential
and a delicious shiver ran up my spine. I was beginning to realize what, exactly, my new position entailed.

“You’ll have a more formal Special Products orientation in a few days that will get you up-to-speed on how we operate. For now, you should probably focus on Mr. Reed’s shopping list. Do you have any questions, Cassie?”

“Not so far,” I replied, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Well then, let me show you to your desk!”

Greta took me down the hall, but instead of stopping at the cluster of cubicles, she turned right into a private office with a giant window that offered a panoramic view of the city below. “I hope this meets with your approval.”

“I’ll say!” I exclaimed, twirling around in a space that was large enough for a desk, an easy chair and a loveseat.

“Well then,” Greta smiled, “I’ll let you get settled.”

“Thank you,” I said, giddy with excitement as I closed the door to my very first office.

Sitting down behind the desk, my heart skipped a beat as I opened the confidential envelope from Mr. Reed. This time, I had a pretty good idea what to expect - and I knew exactly where to shop for the items on his list!

~*~*~

“P
atience, my beautiful, curvy Cassie. Let me savor your silky warmth, revel in your arousal.”

T
he backseat of David Reed's luxury town car was more comfortable than any couch I had ever sat on. For a girl who was used to riding public transportation, this was traveling in style.

While the smooth leather hugged my body, I reviewed my billionaire boss’ latest list of demands.

Even though I had read the confidential memo more than a dozen times, and knew I had followed Mr. Reed's directions to the letter, I was still worried that I had missed something.

Tonight, of all nights, I wanted everything to be perfect. It was the first time that Mr. Reed had invited me to his home.

Well, maybe
invited
wasn’t quite the right word.

It's not like we were dating or anything like that. Billionaire David Reed was my boss and I was his Personal Communications Specialist. Although it sounded like a fancy title, it was really just a code phrase for
concubine
.

Don’t get me wrong; I did do some actual work at Reed Technologies. I opened and sorted through Mr. Reed’s personal and business mail. I managed his company email inbox. I transcribed his personal correspondence, which he dictated into a digital recorder. And I returned dozens of phone calls on his behalf.

But I must confess: My favorite part of being David Reed’s Personal Communications Specialist was opening the confidential memos that he had delivered to my office.

~~~

W
ear your long, blonde hair down so that your soft curls drape your creamy, perfectly curved shoulders.

Apply minimal makeup. I want to see your natural beauty.

Wear a red lace negligee, mid-thigh in length. Make sure it’s scandalously see-through and skims your body to perfection.

Slide matching crotchless panties over your freshly waxed mound. Brazilian, of course. I want you bare and glistening when I slip my tongue between your dewy petals.

~~~

C
rotchless panties were always a Mr. Reed requirement so far. Frankly, I didn’t see the point. Without a crotch, they were useless as an undergarment. Then again, they did give him easy access during sex while providing some semblance of coverage, which I appreciated. So I guess
that
was the point.

That last part about waxing was something new. I have to say that getting a Brazilian bikini wax was not a very pleasant experience, although the esthetician assured me that the first time was always the worst.

Not only was the process painful, but I wasn’t a skinny girl, so it was kind of embarrassing exposing my privates to a stranger. I did like the smooth effect, though, and how extra-sensitive my clit was without any hair down there...

~~~

S
lide your manicured toes into black Christian Louboutin stilettos. Not the platform style. I want you raised onto your toes when I kiss your full, luscious lips.

Cover yourself with the black coat, buttoned neck to calf, so I can savor the unveiling of your delectable body.

~~~

I
was the one with an English degree and several published essays to my name. But I had to admit that Mr. Reed had a way with words. Reading his directives nearly made me swoon!

The memo also stated that Mr. Reed’s town car would pick me up promptly at 9 PM. I tried to be ready on time.

Really.

But this was
such
an important night and I wanted to look my best.

When I finally dashed out my door at 9:20, the town car driver didn’t bat an eye. He just smiled, greeted me by name and opened the door to the back seat so I could slide in.

We had been traveling for nearly half an hour when the driver lowered the privacy panel that separated the front and back seats of the town car. “We’ll be arriving at our destination in just a few minutes, Miss James,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied nervously.

Knowing that it wouldn't be long before I stepped into Mr. Reed's home for the very first time made me wet with anticipation. I shifted awkwardly and cursed the crotchless panties under my breath. I hoped that I wouldn't leave a noticeable wet spot on my coat!

With a final glance at the memo, I assured myself that I had ticked every box and tucked it back into my handbag.

Looking back in wonder, I could hardly believe how much my life had changed in such a short amount of time. One month ago, I was a lowly administrative assistant at Reed Technologies. Then, after completing a very special assignment for Mr. Reed, I was promoted to his Special Projects team and given an office on the fifth floor with a view to die for. 

The Special Projects division of Reed Technologies managed every detail of Mr. Reed’s personal and professional life. What we did on the fifth floor was completely confidential. And now that I was an
intimate
part of the team, I knew why.

When I was given that first project, I had no idea that Mr. Reed’s intention was to get me alone in his office. Or that I would soon be blindfolded and practically
begging
him to fuck me.

Just thinking about that first time made me even wetter, and I felt my sticky thighs rub together.

Since then, Mr. Reed had sent me two more confidential memos, not including this current one. Each memo had contained explicit instructions about what to wear and how to look, along with a specific time for meeting him alone in his office.

Each meeting had culminated in an amazing sexual encounter that began with Mr. Reed tying a soft silk blindfold across my eyes and commanding my complete submission.

I knew that this was just a game to him and that, when the game no longer held his interest, I would probably be tossed aside like yesterday’s newspaper.  Yet I was more than willing to submit to his commands.

I had worshipped him from afar for so long...and somewhere along the line, my feelings of lust had morphed into something stronger. Something I wasn’t quite ready to admit out loud.

L words aside, David Reed was a master in the art of seduction. He always tended to my pleasure first, usually bringing me to orgasm more than once before seeking his own release.

By the time he was ready to take me, I would be aching to have his cock inside me, filling every inch of my needy, quivering channel.

That first time we were together, I had removed my blindfold while he was in the throes of release. The second time, he commanded me to leave the blindfold in place until he gave me permission to remove it.

I didn't understand why, but wasn't about to defy his order. Not because I was afraid of him, but because I was afraid that defying him would end our arrangement.

Besides, I already knew what my eyes couldn’t see. His handsome face, etched with raw emotion as his pleasure crested, was seared into my memory.

The slowing town car jostled me out of my daydream. When the driver turned on to a private road, I knew we were almost there and my heart thumped in my chest.

Between the dark night and the heavily tinted car windows, I could barely make out the sprawling, two-story mansion off to the left. Instead of pulling into the circular drive, the town car continued down the road and stopped in the shadows on the side of the house.

The driver got out and opened my door. “Have a good evening, Miss James,” he said. “I’ll return at two o’clock to take you home.”

“Two AM?” I asked for clarification. If he knew what time to come back, he must have gotten a confidential memo, too. 

“Yes, Miss James.”

Just over four hours. That's how long we would have this time. Thankfully, tomorrow was Friday. I could make it through one work day on just a couple hours of sleep.

I smiled at the driver. “Thank you.”

As the memo directed, I followed the dimly-lit stone path toward the nearly hidden entrance on the side of the house. I knew from the memo that it was the servants’ entrance and that the unlocked door would open to the main floor kitchen.

I told myself that using this entrance was all about discretion, and not about me being a servant to Mr. Reed's desires. But deep down, I knew the truth.

My hand was shaking as I turned the knob on the door. It opened easily and I stepped inside.

T
he spacious chef’s kitchen was lit with a warm, inviting glow and smelled divine. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw a long granite counter topped with a line of round, stainless steel food covers. At the end of the counter was a bar stool that held Mr. Reed.