A Billionaire Punishes Part 1 (Erotic Romance) (2 page)

“Double whisky on the rocks,” murmured the
punky girl, scribbling something on an order pad.

“Just kidding,” I quickly said. Did they
even have whisky in this place? Perhaps to spike the coffee?

“Oh, ha ha,” she said. “I didn’t get that.
Good one, Erin. Keeping me on my toes, right?”

“Right,” I said, watching her nose wriggle
with some envy. What an easy life she had. Socializing with
customers. Serving coffee and buns. No crazy boss demanding she
break the law… “Are you by any chance hiring?” I said.

“Oh, you want to work here? I’ll go and ask
Marcy,” she said, and scooted off.

“She was just kidding again!” shouted
Tamara, but the girl had disappeared into the kitchen.

“Perhaps I should work here,” I said. “I
like coffee. And buns. And perhaps I’ll meet a dark, handsome
stranger who seduces me over a cup of hot mocha frappuccino.”

“Oh, come on,” said Tamara. “This is the
chance of a lifetime you got here. And served on a silver platter
no less.”

“I don’t see it that way,” I said, resting
my head on the table, wishing someone would come and chop it off.
Put me out of my misery.

“Way I see it, you’ve got it made, girl.
You’ll be playing private secretary to some billionaire playboy,
make him fall in love with you, get married, move in together and
live happily ever after. Just think about me when you’re sailing
away on your private yacht will you?”

I lifted my head just enough to register
astonishment. “You’re nuts, Tamara, did you know that?”

“I beg to differ. You’re the one with brain
damage around here, if you can’t see this for what it is: the big
break you’ve been waiting for.”

I stared at her. I knew my friend could be a
scatterbrained nutcase sometimes, but I’d never realized how far
from reality she had drifted. Time to put her with both feet back
in the real world.

“Look. Celeste has ordered me to spy on this
Carswell character, right?”

“Right,” she said with a big smile.

“Corporate espionage is punishable by law,
so if Carswell catches me, I’m done for. You with me so far?”

The emo girl had returned, biting her lip.
“Marcy says she’s not hiring unless she kicks me out.” She
shrugged. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I was just
kidding.”

“Oh! Ah! Ha ha! I so didn’t get that. You’re
a real hoot tonight, Erin.”

“Thanks,” I said, not feeling particularly
hooty.

She left, then returned, set down our order,
and left again, still chuckling at my hootiness.

“Where were we?” I said. “Oh, right. We’d
just reached the conclusion that spying on other people is illegal.
Unless you’re the government. Then it’s perfectly fine. But since
I’m not the government…”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Tamara said,
taking a sip from her hot cocoa with extra foam—Tamara just loves
hot cocoa, summer or winter. “He’s gonna fall in love with
you.”

“You’ve lost me there,” I said. “Why would
some—to quote your own words—‘billionaire playboy’ fall in love
with a homely old secretary? You’ve been reading Barbara Cartland
again, haven’t you, you hopeless romantic, you.”

Tamara is one of those women whose Kindle is
always filled to the brim with romance novels, whereas I’m more the
hardboiled police procedural type of gal.

“Wrong,” she said. “I’m reading Nora right
one, but that’s not the point. Will you look at yourself?”

I directed my gaze downward, taking in my
pink shirt and blue jeans combo. “Uh-huh?” I said, not getting the
point.

“You’re not a homely old secretary, Erin!
You’re a hot, young, sexy, happenin’ babe!

“I’m a happenin’ babe?” I said
skeptically.

“Just like me. We’re both happenin’ babes,
hot to trot!”

“Hm,” I said, taking a sniff from her cocoa.
“Are you sure this is cocoa and not cocaine?”

“Look at me.”

I threw her a reluctant gaze. She looked
pretty much the same as usual: a big girl with a ginormous
chest—all natural she had assured me on more than one occasion—a
tangle of dark curly hair framing a round face, and cherry red
lips—the cherry not her own making but from the lip gloss she liked
to apply in some abundance.

Body type wide, we were polar opposites.
Whereas she was round in all the right places, I was skinny all
over, and flat-chested to boot. Whereas she wore her hair Oprah
Winfrey style—abundant—I liked to wear my bright red mane in a bob.
And whereas her skin was the color of the cocoa she loved so much,
I was pale and freckled, especially around my tilt-tipped nose.

“Don’t you think I’m gorgeous?” she said
with a pout.

My gaze dropped to her generous bosom—I
don’t know if you’ve noticed but I have a thing for boobs, perhaps
because mine are practically nonexistent—and I found myself nodding
automatically.

“Yep, you are definitely what every guy
looks for in a girl,” I said.

She gave her boobs a bit of a wiggle, and
grinned. “That’s not what I’m talking about, though you’re right.
My puppies are fine.”

“I have puppies,” I muttered. “You have the
whole kennel right there.”

“You have to stop disparaging yourself,
Erin,” she said, suddenly serious. “You’re a beautiful young woman
and you’ll make this billionaire playboy a very happy man.”

I grimaced. “Listen to yourself.
‘Billionaire playboy’. In what universe does a billionaire playboy
ever feel attracted to someone like me? Most guys tend to think I’m
a boy, not a girl. And playboys, Tamara, don’t fall for girls like
me. Trust me, I know.”

She was silent for a bit, which I considered
quite an achievement, for it’s very hard to shut Tamara up. But
then I’d just reminded her of my last dating fiasco with some
player named Bill, who had somehow managed to coerce me into giving
him a blow job in the toilet of the restaurant where we were having
our first date, then decided to skedaddle while I was still
spitting out his cum. Yes, good old Bill saddled me with the
bill—how’s that for a pun—and never called me again. I could still
taste his semen in my mouth when I thought of that humiliating
experience.

“Forget about that scumbag,” she said
softly, putting her hand on mine. “Focus on new opportunities.”

“Grmph,” I said.

“Trust auntie Tamara,” she said.
“Everything’s gonna be all right.”

“Hrmph.”

The next day saw me feverishly raid my
closet in search for something secretarial—correction: executive
secretarial—to wear. True, I’d been a secretary—Celeste had been
right about that—but unfortunately only on paper. Yep, I’d juiced
up my résumé just a teeny tiny bit so I could score a better job.
Which, at least according to Tamara, I’d finally managed to do.

I finally found the classic white blouse
that I’d worn to Uncle Lamarr’s funeral years ago, and a boring
black skirt, and that was just about the best I could do on such
short notice and a call center agent’s salary. From my
recollection, all secretaries look like schoolmarms—serious and
sexless—and my clothes reflected just that.

Perhaps Tamara was right and I really was
cut out for a secretarial job: at least I had the sexless part down
pat. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I let my hands caress my tiny
boobs. They were small, granted, with poky pink nipples that I
usually had a hard time concealing, but at least they’d never given
me back pain, which was something Tamara sometimes complained
about. Be thankful for small favors, I earnestly reminded myself,
before signing off on my new look, and sweeping from my studio
apartment when I realized I’d miss my bus if I didn’t promptly made
a run for it.

Half an hour of commute later, I arrived at
the headquarters of Hearts & Flowers, Inc, oddly enough located
on the second floor of a small shopping mall downtown. Coffee
shoppes, arts & crafts stores and a couple of children’s
clothing boutiques all centered around a cozy little cobblestone
square with a fountain and a smattering of benches for the happy
shoppers’ weary husbands.

The place cheered me right up. At least it
was better than Flowers For You, which was located in the gray,
nondescript small business section on the edge of town—all steel
and concrete office buildings and not a patch of green in sight.
Talk about depressing. Obviously this Carswell, whoever he was, had
better taste. Or more money to spend on rent.

I walked past one of the arts & crafts
stores, and entered through a glass door into a small lobby, where
a single elevator awaited me with but one destination: Hearts &
Flowers. As I waited for the car to ride down, a second visitor
entered and joined me. Dressed in an olive green check shirt and
casual jeans, he gave me a friendly nod. Probably one of the
delivery men, I figured, for he looked a bit disheveled with his
stubbled chin, rumpled shirt and messy hair.

He must have noticed I was checking him out,
for I suddenly caught a glint of sparkling green eyes and the flash
of a smile, and I quickly looked away. In truth, he was quite
gorgeous. Talk about the Coca Cola man!

“Hi,” he said by way of greeting. “Also on
your way to Hearts & Flowers?”

“Yup,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.
“First day,” I explained.

“Ah, I know the feeling,” he said with a
grin. Those dimpled cheeks! That square jaw! That cute butt! “I’ve
only been here three months and I still feel goosebumps each time I
ride that elevator up to the third floor.”

“Third floor?” I said. “That’s where I’m
going.”

“Great,” he said when the elevator dinged.
“We can ride together.”

“Great,” I said, a big smile plastered
across my face.

The elevator was one of those cramped
contraptions that make you search out the inbuilt display for the
alarm button the minute you step on board. In fact the thing was so
cramped, I couldn’t help but nudge my companion’s arm with mine as
we stood side by side. And what an arm. I could tell at a glance
pure steel was concealed under that thin layer of cotton. Since I
was almost a full head smaller than Mister Universe, the next thing
I noticed was how his chest bulged in all the right places. Like I
said: pure steel.

“These things always give me the creeps,” he
said in a low voice. “I actually prefer to take the stairs but
oddly enough, this building doesn’t have any.”

“It doesn’t?” I said, my eyes now traveling
down to his pants. Holy crap! What was that bulge? More steel?

“Oh, there is a staircase all right, only
it’s located on the other side of the building and takes you to a
puppy store.”

“Is that right?” I said a bit dreamily.

“And since they only open at ten, and the
only way to get to Hearts & Flowers is through the puppy
store…”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s why I take the elevator,” he
finished, and turned his head to face me.

His profile had been bad enough, but now
that I was treated to the full impact of his handsome features, I
swooned and suddenly vivid fantasies of this hunky stranger taking
me right there in that very elevator flashed through my mind.

I must have been staring at him with my
mouth open, for he flashed me a grin.

“Are you okay?” he said. “You look a bit
queasy.”

“I-I-I’m fine,” I said, wide-eyed. Take me.
Take me now!

“Must be the lack of oxygen,” he said.

“Must be,” I faltered, resisting a sudden
urge to touch his bicep.

“Ah, here we are,” he said when the elevator
jerked to a stop. He reached out a hand and took my arm.

“I’ll be all right,” I said when he escorted
me into a small lobby, then through a glass door into a waiting
area. “I didn’t eat this morning, that’s probably why…” My voice
trailed off when I took in my new surroundings.

There were flowers everywhere, from the
wallpaper to the upholstery of the couches that lined the walls to
the dozens of vases that decorated every possible surface in
sight.

“Nice, huh?” he said when he saw my pleasant
surprise. “I figured since I was calling the company Hearts &
Flowers, every part of it should reflect our core business.” He
spread his arms. “Flowers.” He grinned again, displaying those
delectable dimples. “And hearts, of course. So I guess you’re Erin
Gould, my new secretary?”

“Your secretary?” I said, blinking as if
suddenly exposed to the summer sun.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot to introduce
myself. How rude of me.” He reached out his hand, and took mine in
a firm grip. “I’m Remington Carswell. I run this place.”

It’s probably not for everyone to mistake
their new boss for a delivery man. It just goes to show what a
great judge of character I am. Of course, the episode with Bill the
sleazeball should have told you that already. Since I had a vague
impression of Remington Carswell as a slick shark, and this man I’d
just met was slick nor sharkish, I was speechless for a moment, as
I automatically shook his hand. He did have a strong grip, I hadn’t
been mistaken about that.

“You’re a billionaire?” I blurted out before
realizing that was probably not the best thing to say when meeting
the new boss.

He laughed. “I am, but please don’t hold it
against me. It’s all family money anyway, and most of it is stashed
away safely in bonds, stock certificates and real estate, so far
out of reach I couldn’t spend it if I wanted to.”

That was a lot more information than I
needed to hear, but I appreciated the candor.

“I’m your new secretary,” I said.

“Great. You can’t believe how relieved I was
that the agency managed to find someone on such short notice. And
with such excellent references. So you used to work for Johnny
Barker, huh?”

I almost said, “Did I?” but managed to bite
my lip and merely nod intelligently as if I knew what the hell he
was talking about.