The Final Seduction (The Billionaire's Way) Book 3 (2 page)

Of course, there is what’s between my boss’s legs. Sometimes, I am scared to even look at it. Let’s just say I love the way it feels inside of me!

After the shower, we relax in the living room. I turn on the TV and watch the E! Channel. Mr. Peak checks the financial news on his iPad. It doesn’t take five minutes before I see my own face on TV. I sit up and stare. Though I have seen myself in dozens of newspaper and tabloid articles, this is the first time I am seeing myself on TV.

I just stare. A sudden burst of electricity runs through my body as the reporter talks about me. “The New York social scene is abuzz with the sudden rise of Manhattan socialite Sarah Sulamari, the main squeeze of reclusive hedge fund billionaire Ryan Peak. At last week’s Met Gala, the 20-year old employee at Mr. Peak’s hedge fund turned heads with a Vera Wang dress and a sharp tongue to the paparazzi,” the reporter announces as they replay my red carpet walk.

I look over at my boss, who never even lifts his head. Mr. Peak is completely immersed in his financial news. I lean in and whisper into his ear, “They are talking about me on TV.” Mr. Peak strokes my hair as a way to acknowledge me and as a way to control my outburst.

We cuddle together while I take in some more celebrity news. My boss speed-reads through some of the most complex financial information imaginable. As the afternoon wears on, Mr. Peak gets up and tells me that he has to go back into the office.

“Would you like me to go with you, Sir?” I ask.

“Why don’t you stay here and book us a dinner tonight. 10 p.m. Use my name. No one in the city will deny us a table.”

I smile. Sure, my boss is completely immersed in his work. However, he always has time for me.

I give Mr. Peak a nice, big kiss before he goes back into the office. I feel so pumped up that I decide to do a half hour on the stationary bike in the town home’s gym. I have never felt so alive as right now.

As I work up a nice sweat, Mr. Peak’s butler appears outside the home gym’s entrance and clears his throat. “Miss Sulamari, there is a guest at the door.”

“Oh, do you know who it is?”

“He is J.T. Marcos.”

I stop cycling. J.T. Marcos - the hottest director in Hollywood. He is here in the city! He wants to see me.

I hop off of the bike and instantly get rattled. I look at the butler. “Tell him I’m coming! I’m coming!” I yell to the butler. Oh fuck! I’m sweaty. I strip off my clothes and rush into the gym’s shower. I can’t believe the director just popped on over unannounced. This could be my big break in the movies. Of course, this is something Mr. Peak may not want. Dammit! My boss can’t get mad at me for simply meeting with the director.

In no time I’m out of the shower and wrapped in a towel. I run up to the elevator and travel to the fifth floor. Fuck! What should I wear?! I throw on a little red dress. Then I dash back to the elevator and head to the ground floor.

When the door opens, I take a deep breath and walk over to the town home’s reception area. J.T. Marcos is leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. He is a tall, thin younger guy dressed in a leather jacket, sunglasses with ripped and faded blue jeans. The guy has that skanky “I don’t give a fuck” attitude that I used to fall for when I was in High School.

“Mr. Marcos!” I say.

The director takes off his sunglasses and smiles. “Call me James,” he says as he gives me a hug.

“I wasn’t expecting you. This is a surprise.”

J.T. Marcos looks me up and down. “I had to see you in person before I fly back to the West Coast. I just wanted to confirm what was in my head.”

“And what is in your head?”

“That you could play the title role in my next film.”

Oh come on. This guy has to be fucking with me. Anyone who acts in J.T. Marcos’s films becomes a sought after commodity in Hollywood. I have never even acted in front of a camera.

J.T. Marcos continues his unabashed appraisal of me. I immediately become self-conscious. “Why don’t you just walk around a bit. I want to see you move,” the director says. I oblige. Boy, does this feel awkward.

The director shakes his head. The he pulls out his iPhone and begins to film me. All of a sudden, I start to strut around a bit. I swing my hips. I push my chest out.
I begin to seduce him with my walk
. “There you go,” J.T. Marcos says to me. “Perhaps all you need is a camera pointed at you.”

He’s right. The camera does have an effect on me. J.T. Marcos continues to videotape me, which only makes me more animated, more excited and more comfortable in front of the highly regarded director.

J.T. Marcos turns off the iPhone and drops it in his pocket. “Do you have a place where we can sit down?” the director asks.

“Sure. Let’s go to the next room,” I tell him. We walk into this very masculine sitting room complete with ancient swords, muskets and Roman helmets hanging on the wall.

I sit down on a loveseat. Even though there are five chairs and three sofas, J.T. Marcos chooses to sit right next to me. It makes me both uncomfortable and exhilarated. “I have a role that is so real, so well developed that I can not trust that role to a regular actress. You see, a seasoned actress uses tricks in order to elicit reactions from an audience. I need someone who is genuine. I need someone who doesn’t have any fake emotions manufactured from an acting school. You, Sarah, are a natural. You are born to play this role,” the director tells me to my complete astonishment.

“I don’t know what to say. I have no acting experience.”

“I don’t want you to act!” J.T. Marcos screams which causes me to nearly jump away from him. “I want you to be yourself. The role I have written is that of a femme fatale. She exudes sexual energy. She is unafraid of any man. I get that vibe from you. I don’t get that vibe from actresses who are so desperate to please that they become repulsive, no matter how physically beautiful they look.”

I just sit there speechless. J.T. Marcos grabs my hand and says, “Just say ‘yes’ and the role is yours.”

I look at this director. With one word, I can go to Hollywood and become a movie star. The allure is overwhelming. The director’s eyes gleem just like Sir Gerald and Sergy Molidak. I have seduced him. Or perhaps he has seduced me.

“No. I’m sorry. I can’t take the role,” I tell J.T. Marcos.

The director takes his hand away from me. My heart begins to sink. I am doing the right thing here. This is not what Mr. Peak wants.

The director stands up and takes a nice long look around the room.

“Tell me. How long have you been dating Ryan Peak?”

“None of your business,” I tell him.

J.T. Marcos turns around and smiles. “That bullshit answer may work on some lowly paparazzi photographer. It’s not going to work on me.” The director looks at me up and down. This time he doesn’t have a gleam in his eye. He looks at me like someone unworthy of his time. “So I guess you think you have it made because you are dating a billionaire.”

Fuck this. Now, I’m pissed. I stand up and smack that asshole right across the face. “You don’t fucking come in my man’s house and talk to me like that. You know where the door is,” I yell at him.

The butler walks into the room and asks, “Shall I call the NYPD Miss Sulamari?”

I look at the director. Deep down I don’t want to call the police. That would be bad press for Mr. Peak. I could see the headlines now, “Billionaire’s girlfriend gets into fight with movie director.” That’s the last fucking thing my boss needs.

The director doesn’t budge. This guy is every much the alpha male. He stands his ground. The man looks back at the butler and points at him. “What are you staring at you fucking creep?! I make more in a day than you make in a year!”

The butler stands there stoned face. “Shall I call the NYPD, Miss Sulamari?” the butler asks again in a more aggressive tone. Dammit. I am in a stalemate. I can’t call the police. If I don’t get this director out of here, he is going to cause a scene.

“Call Mr. Peak and tell him there is an unwanted guest in his home,” I tell the butler.

“Are you sure, Miss Sulamari?” the butler says in a tone that lets me know that this is a bad idea.

“Call him,” I say.

The butler walks out of the room. I sit back down on the sofa and smile. All of a sudden, this director gets really red-faced. “Do you think I’m scared of some rich asshole banker?! Any unscrupulous fucker can make a killing on Wall Street. And you are just his whore. When he finds someone better, he will dump you into a sewer and replace you with someone else.” Now the director walks around the room for a moment. He is just getting started. “I know what kind of relationship you have with this rich asshole hedge fund guy. You are young and you are naive to the ways of the world. He controls you like a little play toy. I bet he didn’t even want you to meet me.” The director walks up to me and places his right hand on my shoulder. He leans in and whispers, “I could have given you fame and fortune. I could have given you something that your billionaire boyfriend would have never been able to put into your hands. And you blew it. You will have to live the rest of your life as someone else’s possession. You will have to live the rest of your life as a nobody.”

I don’t say anything for a moment. The director lights up a cigarette. There is a minute of silence between us. I start to think about what J.T. Marcos said. Did I just squander the chance to become rich and famous on my own terms? Is Mr. Peak’s control over me so powerful that I can’t even make my own decisions. Perhaps, it is. But you know what? Perhaps my boss couldn’t survive without me the way I can’t survive without him. On the surface, our relationship appears one sided. Deep down, it’s much more complex.

I stand up and walk right up to this director’s smug face. “You’re right. He doesn’t want me to meet you. I am young. I am naive. And I do whatever my billionaire boss tells me to do. I strip for him. I get on my knees for him. He spanks me. He chokes me. He snaps his fingers and I run to his side. He orders me to jump and I say, ‘How high, Sir?’ Chances are, Mr. Peak will torture me for calling him at work. But it will be worth it to see what he will do to you.”

I sit back down.

J.T. Marcos doesn’t have much to say after that. Now, I know he is scared. As the director turns around to leave the room, we hear the front door of the townhouse swing open. The very thick and hard steps of Mr. Peak’s size 12 shoes stomp on the marble flooring of the reception area. Oh fuck, I don’t think calling him was such a good idea.

The director takes a step back from the doorway. Suddenly, my boss storms in, looking directly at me. “Dammit Sarah!” Mr. Peak yells. As my six-foot, five-inch boss walks past the director, he grabs the filmmaker by the neck and drags him towards the sofa.

J.T. Marcos loses complete control of his body while Mr. Peak manhandles him. My boss stands right over me, red-faced. “I had to leave the office, speed across town to find out what the fuck is going on here.”

The director tries to grabs my boss’s arm. Mr. Peak’s grip, however, is too damn powerful. The entire scene is just surreal. J.T. Marcos’s legs wobble like wet noodles, his eyes bulge out of head and drool begins to slide out of his mouth.

“Sir, the director was refusing to leave.”

“Well, I told you not to meet him. This is what happens when you defy me!” Mr. Peak yells while he tightens his grip around the filmmaker’s neck. J.T. Marcos falls to his knees, little bits of vomit and blood begin to spill out onto the director’s shirt and black leather jacket.

“I don’t think the director can breathe, Mr. Peak.”

“I don’t give a fuck!” my boss yells. “I am trying to set up the transfer of revenue from our new client in Odotan. Since there is a 12 hour time difference, we have to stay up all night and handle this. Now, I have to come back to my house and deal with your bullshit!”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I say softly.

“Sorry won’t do it this time!” Mr. Peak bellows. He lets go of the director who crumbles to the ground. “Gabe!” Mr. Peak yells. Less than five seconds later, the butler appears in the room.