The Billionaire's Curvy Conquest - Complete (9 page)

I parked in visitor parking, grabbed the bouquet of tulips I had bought and checked in at the center’s reception desk, which was staffed by a friendly-looking, middle-aged woman.

She greeted me warmly as I approached the desk. “Good afternoon, welcome to Bounty Lake Memory Care Center. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Gladys Casey.”

“Is she expecting you?” the receptionist asked. Her name tag said Janice.

“No. I wanted to surprise her. She was my foster mother, and when I heard she was here, I just had to come and see her.”

Janice smiled. “I’m sure she’d love to see you. She talks about her foster children every day, but doesn’t get many visitors. You’ll need to sign in and out on our guest roster. I’ll also need you to give me your driver’s license so I can take a copy for our records.”

I handed over my license and signed the roster. Janice studied my license before photocopying it and handing it back to me. “Gladys has good days and bad ones, Ms. James, so don’t be alarmed if she doesn’t remember you.”

“I understand,” I said, before adding, “I’m surprised Gladys can afford a place like this.”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but one of her foster kids is rich and he set up a trust fund for her,” Janice said. “Isn’t that incredibly generous? I told him the story would make a great human interest piece, but he wasn’t interested in publicity. All he wanted was for Gladys to receive the best care possible.”

Gladys had a rich benefactor?

An excited shiver ran up my spine.

“That
would
make a great human interest story. Who set up the trust fund?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve already said too much. He prefers to remain anonymous.”

It didn’t matter because I already knew the answer. I smiled a bit too wide. “I totally understand. Gladys took care of so many kids, I’m just glad that she now has fine people like you to take care of her.”

Janice beamed. “She has a lakeside room on this floor. Go to the end of this hallway and take a right. She’s in room 132 and the door should be open.”

“Thanks, Janice. Does Gladys still like tulips?” I had discovered in my research that tulips were her favorite flowers.

“Why yes, she does. You’ll find a vase under her sink. Enjoy your visit, Ms. James.”

I poked my head in through the open door of room 132 and saw a round, gray-haired lady sitting in a wheelchair facing a large picture window with a full view of Lake Bounty. When I knocked to get her attention, she swiveled around and smiled warmly, waving for me to enter her room.

“Hi Gladys,” I said, somewhat tentatively. “I was one of your foster children and stopped by to see how you were doing. I brought you flowers.” I retrieved the vase from under the sink, filled it with water and the tulips, and placed it on the windowsill.

“They’re lovely. Thank you,” Gladys said. “I don’t get many visitors these days. Please, sit down. I was just having my afternoon tea.  Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, please.” I sat on the chair across from her.

With shaky hands, she filled an ornate China tea cup and pushed it toward me. “What did you say your name was, dear?”

“I didn’t say, but it’s Alice,” I blurted out, deciding at the last second not to use my real name.

Gladys got a far-away look in her eyes and her face went blank for a moment. “I don’t remember caring for anyone named Alice, but my memory isn’t what it used to be. There was a time when I could recall every child I held in my arms, even if it was just for a day.”

She looked incredibly sad, which made me feel terrible for lying. “You cared for me a long time ago when I was just a baby. Maybe it will come back to you later.”

“I’m sure you’re right. So many babies came and went over the years. I loved all my children, big and small.”

“I bet you had a lot of teenagers come and go over the years, too,” I suggested.

“Oh my, yes. Caring for teenagers wasn’t easy, but nothing was more satisfying than seeing a troubled teen turn their life around. It didn’t happen every time, of course, but when it did, my heart would swell with joy.” Gladys’ eyes got misty and I handed her a tissue. “What did you say your name was, dear?”

“It’s Alice,” I said softly.

“That’s right.”

“I seem to remember hearing about one boy you fostered who went on to do great things. He was probably fifteen or so when he came to live with you. Do you remember someone like that?” I asked, not sure if my question would lead to the answer I was seeking.

“Let me see...Jamal Banks comes to mind. After dropping out of high school, he went on to get his GED and ended up running a community center for troubled youth. What a wonderful young man he turned out to be.”

“He does sound wonderful.” I sipped my tea, trying to be patient. “Was there anyone else who stands out?”

Gladys nodded. “If I remember right, there was another boy...By the time he was thirteen, he already had a string of arrests under his belt. He was probably about fifteen when he came to live with me. He had been kicked out of more foster homes than he could count and I was his last hope. I was determined not to give up on him.”

I leaned forward, my attention rapt. “What happened?”

“We butted heads at first. Oh, he was the rebellious type.” She closed her eyes and smiled at the memories flitting through her mind. I let her enjoy them and she eventually continued talking. “I’d like to take credit for turning him around, but I can’t. Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wasn’t getting through to him. Until...”

“Until what?” I prompted.

“Until he held a tiny baby in his arms and realized just how precious life is.”

I don’t know what I was expecting Gladys to say, but that wasn’t it. “A baby?”

Gladys smiled. “She was just a month old, a preemie born under such tragic circumstances. But even at that tender age she was a bundle of personality.”

Even before Gladys finished her story, I knew, in my heart, that the baby she was talking about was me. My mom had told me the whole sad story of my arrival into this world.

My birth mother was a teenage runaway who wasn’t even sure who fathered her child. When she was eight months pregnant, she was shot while walking down the street in a seedy part of the city. Although she was rushed to the hospital, she died on the operating table. But the doctors were able to save her child, a baby girl.

That child was me. 

The police eventually identified the dead mother and located her parents, who put the baby up for adoption. When the premature baby was stable...
when I was stable
...I was sent to Gladys Casey’s foster home until my adoption paperwork was finalized. I was a month old at the time.

“The baby’s adoptive parents named her Cassandra, but I called her Baby Blue because she had the biggest blue eyes I had ever seen,” Gladys said. “And oh, but that child had a set of lungs on her! She wailed day and night. And then...”

“Yes?” I prompted.

“And then the boy picked her up and cradled her in his arms. She stopped crying that very instant and after that, he was the only one who could make Baby Blue happy. She was only with us for a short time, but when she finally went to her new home, the boy had changed.”

“Changed how?” I asked.

“He was less angry and rebellious, more curious about his future.”

“Do you remember the boy’s name?” I asked.

Gladys’ smile faded away. “I just had it on the tip of my tongue.”

I could see that she was getting upset, so I patted her hand reassuringly. “His name doesn’t matter. It’s still a wonderful story.”

For a moment, I thought Gladys might be remembering something more, but the arrival of her nurse halted our conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for Gladys’ afternoon medication,” the nurse said. After helping Gladys take her pills, the nurse pulled me aside before heading to the next resident’s room. “She seems a little tired. It’s probably best if she gets some rest. Perhaps you could come back another day.”

“Yes, of course,” I agreed. I knelt beside Gladys’ wheelchair to say goodbye. “It was great seeing you, Gladys.”

“You, too, dear. What did you say your name was?”

“Alice.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll try to come back for another visit soon.” I gave her a gentle hug.

“I’d like that,” Gladys said.

I left her room and signed out at the reception desk. Sitting in my car, I thought about what I had learned.

There was no doubt in my mind that Gladys Casey’s rich benefactor was David Reed, and that he was the troubled fifteen year old boy who had made Baby Blue stop crying.

Made
me
stop crying.

If Mr. Reed knew I was Baby Blue, and I assumed that he did, that would explain why he knew private details about my adoption, which was sealed long ago.

Did he figure out who I was before I was assigned to his special project, or after? Did he stumble on my essays in
Personal Pain, Personal Pleasure
, or had he been following my every move since I was a child? Was I someone he cared about, like Alice had implied, or was he some sort of rich, crazy stalker?

My head hurt from the day’s revelations and the unanswered questions that still remained. Questions that only Mr. Reed could answer.

I couldn’t come right out and ask him what in the hell was going on. Not if I wanted our arrangement to continue, which I did. Plus, if he was crazy, confronting him about this secret would be dangerous.

But I didn’t think he was crazy.

Although I had never
had
a stalker, I was pretty sure he wasn’t one. David Reed was calculating  and controlling, but not crazy. If anyone was a stalker, it was me!

I was the one who had worshipped him long before he noticed me sitting at the reception desk in the lobby of the Reed Technologies building.

I was the one who volunteered to stay late, hoping to get a glimpse of Mr. Reed when he left work for the evening.

I was the one who blindly followed his every command, who trembled from his touch, who ached for his return from New York, who willingly adhered to every kinky detail in his confidential memos.

I was the one who loved him. Even if he did have secrets.

B
ack at David Reed’s penthouse apartment.

~~~

A
s soon as Mr. Reed kissed me, my empty stomach was forgotten and another kind of hunger surged through me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, crushing my breasts against his steely chest, and kissed him with five-days of pent-up passion.

With our lips locked, his hands roamed down my arms and across my back, eventually moving lower to slide around my hips. He gathered up the fabric of my dress until his hands could feel the lacy elastic band of my thigh-high stockings.

I felt him smile against my lips and knew he was pleased that I had followed his instructions.

His hands moved higher and further back until they gripped my ass, pulling my cheeks gently apart. With his fingertips, he teased my puckered opening, and I whimpered against his lips.

“We are both wearing far too much clothing,” he said, breaking our kiss and taking a step back. He removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt to mid-chest, but didn’t take anything else off. “Your turn.”

“M-my turn? But all I’m wearing is this dress.”

“Exactly. And while it is a lovely dress, I believe it will look much more lovely when it hits the floor.”

I stood there, frozen in place. Underneath the dress was nothing but bare skin and stockings. Every other time we had been together, I had been wearing lingerie. Even the skimpiest slips of fabric had given me some sense of modest security.

Mr. Reed moved in close. “Is there a problem, Miss James?”

“Yes. No. It’s just...”

“Are you refusing to do as I ask?”

I shook my head. “No, sir.” With a shaky hand, I reached under my left arm and slid down the side zipper that held the dress in place. I let the bodice and sleeves fall away and bunch at my waist, exposing my bare chest to Mr. Reed’s hot gaze.

“Your breasts are a work of art, Miss James. So full, so ripe, with perfect pert nipples that practically beg to be sucked.”

To prove his point, he closed his mouth around one stiff, brown peak and pulled it into his mouth. I moaned with frustration when his mouth left me, far too soon for my liking.

From the bulge in his pants, I guessed that it was far too soon for his liking as well.

“I want to see the rest of you,” Mr. Reed stated, his voice low and husky.

As I pushed the fabric down over the swell of my hips, I suddenly wished that I had dimmed the lights before he had arrived. The bright apartment lighting would surely highlight every dimple and imperfection I had.

When the dress landed at my feet, I looked down and carefully stepped aside, making sure that my stiletto heels didn’t catch on it.

“Look at me, Miss James.”

Reluctantly, I lifted my head and let my eyes meet his, almost expecting to see disgust. Instead, I saw desire.

“Are you ashamed of your body?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

He reached for my hand. “Come with me.”

He led me through the bedroom and into a gigantic, well-lit walk-in closet, and positioned me in front of a large dressing room mirror. Horrified, I squeezed my eyes shut. 

How could Mr. Reed be so cruel?

“Open your eyes, Miss James, and tell me what you see.”

In anger my eyes didn’t just open, they
flew
open. “What do I
see
?” I said. “I’ll tell you. I see big boobs and even bigger hips. I see rolls of fat and cellulite. I see thunder thighs squeezed into silly thigh-high stockings like a couple of over-plump sausages. I see a young woman with a pretty face and a big body who has always been judged for her size rather than her personality.”

By the time I was finished, tears were streaming down my face and I was grateful for the waterproof makeup and mascara that I had chosen for my glamorous look.

Through the mirror, I saw that Mr. Reed had his hand on his chin and a perplexed look on his face. “That’s odd,” he said coolly.