Training Her Curves - Geneva (A BBW Billionaire Domination and Submission Romance)

About THC-Geneva

This is the sixth installment in the
Training Her Curves
series (follows THC-Kinbaku) and is the final of two installments focusing on billionaire CEO Dylan Kehoe and his former Girl Friday, Marjolein.

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Training Her Curves
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Training Her Curves - Geneva

"I want you to know I love you."

The elevator jerked to a halt. My attention drifted with a stunned slowness from my cell phone to Riona Kehoe, who had just pushed the stop button.

"Like a sister," she added. A smile fought to break out on her round face and failed.

"That's a relief," I joked with a humor I didn't feel. I had a little over two years of working with the youngest Kehoe sibling, the last three months in person and sometimes around the clock. Usually, I could read her emotions better than my own. She had started closing off about a week ago after her New York trip and completely shut me out yesterday morning right after springing the Geneva trip on me.

"I mean you're drop dead gorgeous," I continued as her already pale complexion turned milky white. "But I don't think I could get into another girl."

"I'm serious." Standing less than a foot from me, she wrapped a hand around my wrist and squeezed lightly. "It's been hard for me to make friends -- real ones. Most of the people who get chummy with me were after my father's money or my brothers' hot bodies and perfect faces. No one outside of Jake and Dylan recognized my smarts and creativity until you."

"Are you trying to make me cry?" I asked, tears already welling along the rim of my lower eyelids. My chest constricted painfully as I wondered again what had happened to her during her trip to Rick Wells' studio in New York. She hadn't come back the same.

"No," She answered, giving another squeeze. She leaned in and kissed my cheek before breaking contact and retreating to the elevator control panel. "I'm trying to get you to forgive me."

Not the answer I expected. I stepped closer, as if proximity would offer insight. "What could I possibly have to forgive you for?"

She didn't answer, just pressed the start button on the panel. Another jerk as the elevator resumed its climb. Five seconds later, the doors opened. As my gazed focused on the reception area in front of us, I saw the object of Riona's transgression.

Dylan Kehoe stood next to a filing cabinet behind the receptionist's desk, his attention sharp on the open folder in his hands. Something must have stroked inside his skull because his head swiveled in my direction. From thirty feet away, his eyes were dark circles, but red flared across his cheeks.

That flash of acknowledgement was his only reaction to my arrival. He placed the folder on the receptionist's desk. His body bent briefly as he said something to the woman, his mouth only a few inches from her ear. The second the words were spoken, he turned stiffly and disappeared down a corridor.

"He didn't know you were coming with me," Riona confessed.

"That makes us twins," I said drily. She had presented the trip as a quick scoping expedition for purposes of renovating the Geneva hotel, which we didn't yet own but needed to acquire quickly to expand the Century Club's presence in Europe. The company's Zurich location had finished renovations months ago, but we had lost our sex-oriented zoning exemption for that city.

A wave of guilt rolled over me. I hadn't been at fault with the problem in Zurich, but I had blindly allowed myself to be lured by Maxwell King into becoming bait for the Kehoes. For some reason I still didn't fully comprehend, Jake and Dylan had been horrified by the possibility of my working for King. That and the loss of the permits for Zurich had caused Jake to make an offer on King's European sites.

The offer was conditioned on King not hiring me and completion of due diligence on King's business. I figured Dylan had to be here for the due diligence.

"So," I started, one eye cutting in Riona's direction, "We aren't here to decide on renovations?"

Doing her best to avoid my gaze, she scraped a nail against the faded wall. Paint chipped away at her touch.

"The company really needs your eyes on King's books," Riona explained, pulling me toward the reception desk. "You've been able to catch things even my micro-managing big brother failed to notice."

I didn't believe her excuse, even though the company had a "no waste" award program and I had received a bonus each of the two years I worked in the executive office. And the bonus hadn't been granted for some brilliant idea on how we could use fewer paper clips. The second year I had found acquisitions fraud of more than a million dollars.

Knowing that the truth made a good cover story, I offered Riona an incredulous look. "So this has nothing to do with me and Dylan?"

Her mouth wiggled left, then right in a flat line. "Well, he's never going to be emotionally available until King is crushed like the insect he is."

That checked me. My exposure to Maxwell King, beyond the many emails, had been a few brief minutes meeting him in person. He hadn't made a good impression. No matter how furious and hurt Dylan had made me in Miami, I knew King was wrong when he leaned in and whispered five little words in my ear.

Dylan Kehoe killed my daughter.

A second wave of guilt rolled over me at the memory. I hadn't told anyone what King said that day. Not verbatim, at least. I had asked Jake why the old man had an agenda against the Kehoes. Jake's answer made it clear it wasn't any of my business -- because it wasn't business.

Personal reasons, baby girl.

Riona's phone rang, jerking me back to the present. She had recently changed up her ring tones. Whenever Alexa called, "Girl on Fire" by Alicia Keys began playing. Right now, some seventies era soul was playing -- Jean Knight's "Mr. Big Stuff."

All my tension over Dylan's presence and the single meeting with King vanished for a few seconds. It was all I could do not to double over laughing at the expression on Riona's face as she realized Simon St. Simon was calling her.

A mere nine hours after his last call.

"Better take Mr. Big Staff's call," I joked, intentionally mangling the song's title.

"I don't care if he has a dick as big as the Eiffel Tower," she said, her heart-shaped mouth curling at one corner. "If he call's me 'sweetheart' one more time, I'm flying to London and cutting off his crown jewels."

"I predict when you finally meet him, you're going to fall madly in love," I prodded. "Or at least in lust."

Her mouth did that left/right wiggle thing again and then she shook her head.

"Damn," I swore under my breath as the receptionist returned from whatever errand she had been running for Dylan. "Is there something going on with you and Rick?"

"No," she answered, her voice distant as Jean Knight began singing again. "Not Rick. I'll meet you in the conference room after I take this call."

Riona walked away, her path carrying her to the far side of the outer office. I turned to the receptionist, a small part of me glad she was a decade older than Dylan and I hadn't had to discover whether a mere whisper by him in her ear would make me jealous.

"Conference room?" I asked.

Her sharp nose lifted then angled towards her left. "That way, miss," she answered in perfect English. With a quick nod, I thanked her and headed into the lion's den.

********************

I found the conference room just as some office runner was trying to figure out how to open the door with a carafe of coffee in one hand and some blank writing pads in the other. I held the door while he walked through and greeted Dylan.

All the young man received for his courtesy was a dismissive grunt, Dylan's attention held fixed by some printout he had marked up with a red pen. Realizing my former boss thought only the young man had entered the room, I took the opportunity to study Dylan.

Just as devastatingly handsome as the last time I saw him, but that wasn't why I was looking. If I believed his brother and sister, Dylan was in love with me and had been for a long time. Admitting only to desire, he had professed no such emotion or feeling for me the night we fucked in Miami.

The closest I had come to admitting the possibility to myself was that last day in Dallas before he returned to Chicago. Jake had been going crazy searching for Alexa and Dylan had discovered her location. Instead of giving his brother the information, he had tried to strike a bargain.

Always the ruthless CEO.

Jake hadn't told me what Dylan was trying to negotiate from him. I wholly suspected it had something to do with Riona, who had a mind of her own and didn't appreciate her oldest brother's constant attempt to keep her sheltered. Whatever he had wanted from Jake, he didn't get it. Dylan had handed over the details when, tears in my eyes, I admonished him for withholding the information from Jake.

Saying nothing to me, acting -- as he so often did -- as if I didn't even exist, he had nevertheless pushed his phone across the table and told Jake a plane was waiting to take him to Phoenix.

I hadn't spoken with Dylan since that day. No calls, no emails, nothing. Whatever he had a business need for, his new assistant messaged me.

So, yeah, kind of hard to believe it when Riona and Jake said their brother loved me.

"Coffee for you, Miss?"

I almost jumped at the question, the office runner's presence forgotten as I stared at Dylan.

"Uhm...no," I managed to answer, my gaze sliding to the young man as Dylan looked up from his printout.

"I didn't realize this was turning into a fashion shoot," Dylan said, his tone as arid as the autumn leaves that graced the sidewalk outside the hotel.

I felt my cheeks turn pink. Looking for a distraction and a reason not to reply to my boss, I held my hand out to the office runner. "But I will take one of those pads."

The man nodded, his cheeks appearing even rosier than my face felt. Taking the writing paper, I suppressed a groan and hoped the guy had no idea who I was.
Wicked Threads
had already released its fall catalog. More aptly, it had released its FALLOUT catalog. For one brief week, the media had stopped its lurid chatter about Jake and Alexa and focused on me and Riona.

Wicked Threads Lingerie Launch -- P.H.A.T. or just FAT?

Kinky fashion roll out -- with extra rolls!

Among the unfavorable jabs in the press, those were the mild ones. Riona laughed it off and pointed at the incoming orders. Despite all the bitchy responses in traditional fashion magazines, the flood of orders screamed success. We had to add two extra servers to handle the online orders and over one hundred extra operators.

The cruel headlines, however, were only a part of the downside to my agreeing to the photo shoot. There was so much media and internet attention, I had become as recognizable as Anna Nicole Smith. Men tried to pick me up at the gas station and grocery store!

Looking at the office runner with those two bright spots of embarrassment on his face, I had the dreadful feeling my fame, however fleeting, was international.

"Anything else, Miss?" the young man asked, his gaze hopeful.

"No," Dylan answered for me. His gaze lifted from the spreadsheet once more to spear the office runner.

"Thank you," I started, my demeanor apologetic until I realized what I was doing. Apologizing for Dylan had stopped being part of my job description months ago!

"Yannick," he murmured. "My name, in case you need anything."

I flashed a smile at him, the gesture modeled on Riona's wicked grin because I wasn't feeling the connection.

The smile caused Yannick to linger...and Dylan to growl.

"She won't, now go."

With a head bob, Yannick retreated, his body spinning at the last minute so that he backed out of the room, his gaze on me as he closed the door.