The Final Seduction (The Billionaire's Way) Book 3 (5 page)

My boss spanks me in the ass. “We will go to Le Bernardin.”

“Awesome!” I say. Then I raise a concern. “Doesn’t it take months to get a reservation at that place.”

“Look at who you are talking to,” Mr. Peak says.

After we get dressed, my boss makes a phone call. Our table will be waiting for us at 9 p.m.

***

Mr. Peak and I make our entrance into the most exclusive eatery in New York City. Heads turn. And they are not looking at Mr. Peak. They are looking at me. We take our seat at one of the best tables in the dining room. It doesn’t take long for people to stop by to pay their respects to Mr. Peak while introducing themselves to little ole me.

The first man to stop by is the CEO of one of the biggest banks in New York. I have no idea who he is but Mr. Peak is speaking to him as an equal. My guess is that he is also a billionaire. The CEO politely introduces himself to me and shakes my hand.

A few moments later, another heavy hitter comes to the table. This time, the guest’s attention is focused squarely on me. “Alright Liam. I know you are here for Sarah,” Mr. Peak says as he focuses his attention on the wine menu.

“My I have the honor of sitting next to you,” Liam says.

“Sure,” I respond though I have no idea who this man is or why he is so important.

“I would love to work with you.”

“I would love to work with you, Liam. That is, if I had any idea as to what you do.”

Mr. Peak laughs at my statement. “Liam Mulroney is the Chairman of Alliance Media. He owns Alliance Films, Alliance News Network, as well as about twenty cable channels.”

Alright, now I am excited. Liam isn’t just some Hollywood power player. This guy
owns
a big chunk of show business.

Liam sits back knowing that I have that light in my eyes. You know, the light that aspiring actors and actresses have when they first come to LA. I admit, I thought about getting into show business back when I was a teenager. But that was just a fool’s fantasy. Now, one of the most powerful guys in show business wants to work with me. This is all just too insane.

The billionaire media mogul looks over at Mr. Peak. “Before I make any proposals, I have to be assured that Mr. Peak won’t strangle me like a chicken,” the billionaire says.

Mr. Peak erupts in laughter. “I am never going to live that down.”

“Trust me. There are many people who would have loved to have manhandled that director. Sadly, in my business, we have to tolerate the talented. Even if they have awful manners,” the media mogul explains.

“My boss is like a German Shepherd. He is well-behaved. Yet, he knows when to attack,” I say proudly. Mr. Peak doesn’t react to my remark. He continues to review the wine menu.

Liam takes a sip of ice water before he launches into his pitch. “You seem to be very comfortable in front of a camera. Have you had any formal training?”

“No. Though I wouldn’t mind being in a movie.”

“Of course, who wouldn’t. I do think that there is some project that could fit your personality.”
I look over at my boss. Though he is not paying attention with his eyes, I am sure that Mr. Peak is listening to every single word spoken at the table.

“Mr. Peak will have to approve any proposal made. After all, anything I do in public will bring attention to my boss’s business,” I explain.

“You have a smart girl,” Liam says to Mr. Peak. My boss puts his menu down and looks at me for a moment.

“Sarah can surprise you. Sometimes she gets out of line. Though, I have discovered various ways to bring her back into line,” Mr. Peak remarks as I feel his hand run up my leg.

I look at Liam as I slowly open my legs for my master. “Mr. Peak has trained me well. That means I am well disciplined,” I explain as my face begins to blush.

Liam has no idea what is going on. He continues to talk to me about various opportunities at his portfolio of cable networks. “I can start you off with something simple like a guest starring spot on one of our hour long dramas. From there, we can develop a show around your talents,” the media mogul explains as Mr. Peak runs his fingers up against my panties.

I begin to pant lightly as my boss rubs me under the table. I grab one of the napkins and hold it up to my face as I moan slightly.

“You seem to be excited with my proposal,” the media mogul proclaims.

“This is turning out to be one hell of a night,” I say breathlessly as Mr. Peak rubs me faster and faster. I take a drink of ice water and grab the table. Oh my God. I am going to fucking cum right here in the middle of the restaurant.

“Oh fuck,” I say as I look at Mr. Peak.

“Are you okay, Sarah?” Liam asks me.

Oh yeah, I’m fine as I look down and slam my hands on the table. A couple of people turn their heads and look in our direction. I don’t give a fuck right now. Mr. Peak is rubbing me out like there’s no tomorrow!

I look at Liam. He suddenly realizes what is going on. He begins to blush. Then he smiles and says, “Well then. It was a pleasure meeting you, Sarah. We will be in touch. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Thank you, Liam,” I say as I grab a napkin and try to muzzle my orgasm.

My body stiffens up and then relaxes. I slide down on the chair and place my hands down by my side. The waiter arrives with a bottle of wine. Mr. Peak takes his glass and offers up a toast. “To the evening,” my boss says.

With whatever little energy I have left, I lift up my glass and join in the toast. “To an evening that couldn’t start out better.”

We toast. We drink. Indeed, this is already a hell of an evening.

***

Mr. Peak and I enjoy a nice long dinner with more than our share of the restaurant’s inventory of Chateau Latour Pauillac. We walk out of the establishment waiting for Mr. Peak’s Rolls-Royce when a couple of teenage girls stroll up to us.

“Oh my God! I thought it was you,” one of the teenage girls says to me. I have no idea what she means by that so I don’t say anything. All of a sudden, one of the other teenage girls opens her purse and pulls out her iPhone. “Can we take a photo with you?”

I can’t believe this. These are my fans. “Sure,” I tell the girl as I pose for a photo with the teens. It suddenly hits me that I am really becoming a celebrity. The girls take several photos with me. Then they begin to gush about my interview on CNN earlier that afternoon. “I just love the way you fucked up that anchor. You made her walk off her own show!” one of the teens says excitedly.

“Thank you,” I say. The girls run off shrieking about their celebrity sighting. I look over at Mr. Peak who appears to be rolling his eyes.

“Boy, you are really going to have a big head by the time this evening is over,” my boss remarks as he walks up to the Rolls-Royce. The driver opens the door for us while I bask in the afterglow of a great dinner, an unexpected orgasm and the adulation of a couple of fans.

We settle inside of the car. Just as everything seems to get perfect, I hear a smack on the door. Fuck! The paparazzi are out there taking photos. Mr. Peak shoots them a look. All of the photographers back off with the exception of one burly looking guy who slams his lens right up against the sedan’s right rear window. He flashes a photo, almost daring my boss to react. By the look on my boss’s face, that burly paprazzi looks like he has created a huge fucking problem. Mr. Peak barks at the driver, “Hold the car!”

My boss reaches for the door handle. I realize that my boss is about to detach that paparazzi’s head from his body. That is the last sort of publicity my boss needs. I gently place my hand over his arm and say, “Sir. Please allow me to handle the situation.”

My boss looks at me like a tiger poised to strike. “If that man takes another photo of me, I will paint the sidewalks with his intestines,” Mr. Peak fumes.  I nervously nod because I know that my boss does not make empty threats.

I open the door and smile wide for the most aggressive photographer in the group.

“Hey babe. How long have you been fucking the rich guy?” the photographer asks.

“How much do you make a year?” I ask him.

“What?!” he says as he lowers the camera.

“Tell me. How much do you make a year.”

“I fucking make four hundred thousand a year taking photos of celebrities!” the photographer yells pridefully.

“How would you like to make twenty-five times that amount right now?” I ask him.

“Huh?” the photographer says.

I walk up to the man and put my arm around him. Then I pull his head close to my lips. “You see my boss right there? If you take another photo of him, he will be forced to pay you ten million dollars. Do you know why my boss will be forced to pay you ten million dollars? It’s because my boss will turn you into a quadriplegic. You will never walk again. You will never be able to use your arms again. You will have to piss and shit into a colostomy bag for the rest of your days. Your body will be dead from the neck down,” I explain in a cold monotone voice.

The paparazzi is frozen. He can’t even move right now. His eyes are trained directly at my boss who is looking
through
that man’s body. I calmly walk over to the Rolls-Royce. When I open the door, the burly photographer takes a step back and looks away. No one even comes close to taking another photo of Mr. Peak. Mission accomplished.

Mr. Peak seems rather impressed. He doesn’t say anything. However, I can tell by the look on his face that he is satisfied with the way I diffused the situation. As the Rolls-Royce speeds back to the townhouse, I rest my head on Mr. Peak’s shoulder and say, “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Sir.” He rewards me by putting his massive arm around me. As an added bonus, he gently squeezes my breasts.

***

I wake up to the sun hitting me in the face. My entire body feels refreshed. The room is flooded with light. I pick up my phone and check the time. It’s a little past 11 a.m. Wow. What time did we finally get to sleep last night? Mr. Peak got back at around midnight. We drank and fucked around a little more. We probably didn’t shut our eyes until around 5 a.m. Naturally, the big boss is already back at the office.

As I get out of bed and put on a robe, I hear a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Forgive me for intruding on you, Miss Sulamari,” the house butler announces through the bedroom door.

“That’s okay, Gabe. What’s up?”

“At around 10 a.m., I had received a call from the Juliette Agency.”

“Really?”

“They are quite anxious to have you return their phone call.”

I jump up and down. The Juliette Agency is the most exclusive modeling firm in the world! I can’t believe this is happening to me.

I quickly hop out of the robe and put on a silver dress with a white ruffled skirt. When I run out of the bedroom, Gabe says, “I have a car waiting for you outside, Miss Sulamari.”

“Thanks, Gabe!”

I take the elevator downstairs. My mind races with anticipation. I nearly trip twice while putting on my heels during my run to the townhome’s front door. I hurry outside to find the Rolls-Royce ready to send me on my way.

We head down to Soho. I turn on the rear mounted TV and find the morning news talking about little ole me again. The news anchors discuss my now infamous CNN interview. As it turns out Lenna Thomson had to issue an on air apology about her behavior. The morning anchors continue to lavish praise on my ability to “play the New York media like a Stradivarius.”

Damn, this non-stop ego trip is going to cause my head to swell right through the ceiling of this car. We arrive at the Soho offices of the Juliette Agency. The door opens. I am met by a stunning brunette. “Miss Sulamari. My name is Janice. I am so glad that you agreed to meet us!” she tells me as I am escorted out of the car and into the twelve story building.