Curves and the Billionaire (BBW Billionaire Romance)

Curves and the Billionaire

Sophie Stern

Copyright © 2015 by Sophie Stern

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Curves and the Billionaire

When Nathan Thompson wants my company to cater his upcoming party, I don't expect him to be anything more than a spoiled billionaire rich kid, but he manages to surprise me in ways I never dreamed possible.

The lobby of Lormoor Industries is every bit as intimidating as the outside of the building, but I try not to notice. I nod to the security guard standing by the door and march to the front desk, holding my head high.

"I'm here to see Mr. Thompson," I tell the receptionist. "I have an appointment at 2:30."

The receptionist smiles and nods, clicking a few things on her computer before looking back up to me.

"Welcome to Lormoor Industries, Miss Blake," she says cheerfully. I wonder how old she is. Surely not more than 22 or 23. I wonder if she actually has a degree or if she landed the job for her insanely tiny figure."

"Thank you," I say politely, waiting to hear where I'm supposed to go. "Shall I take a seat?"

The lobby is large, but almost completely empty, save for a small row of large, comfortable-looking chairs. I turn my body expectantly, waiting for her response, but the girl shakes her head. Her red curls bounce happily as she points toward the elevator.

"You can go upstairs. Mr. Thompson will see you now. Twelfth floor."

"Thanks," I turn and make my way to the double doors. Once inside, I push the "12" button. The doors close almost immediately, then I'm on my way. I try not to fidget as the elevator moves toward my destination.

Gripping my folder, I wonder whether Nathan Thompson is going to be a huge jerk. As the owner of a small, local catering business, I’m used to big shots who want their party to have food provided by a locally-owned company. It makes them look good. It makes them look less selfish. That doesn’t mean these guys aren’t arrogant pricks who only care about the final purpose of their events: money.

When I step off the elevator and into the huge office, I’m pretty sure my initial suspicions were correct. This guy is going to be just like all the rest. The first thing he’s going to do is ask if one of my assistants can be at the event as the face of my company.

Though Positively Sweet Catering has been around for five years and has catered hundreds of local events, many professionals don’t like the fact that I’m a healthy, curvy girl. At size 16, I feel comfortable in my own skin. Other people who are used to being around supermodels who never eat are much less happy with this. While it hurts to have people comment on my size, I’m used to it. I brace myself for the comments before I even spot Nathan, standing at the bookshelf.

“Mr. Tompson,” I announce my arrival as I step off the elevator and into his personal office space. He turns quickly and smiles widely. To my surprise, it appears to be genuine.

“Miss Blake,” he walks forward, hand outstretched. I take it and offer up a firm, determined handshake. I might not be what he expected, but I’m going to make sure that his party is one to remember. “Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

I follow him toward his desk and slide into one of the oversized chairs. I find myself sinking into the comfortable seat, reminding myself not to fall asleep in this lush upholstery. I’m here to discuss business and only business.

But when Nathan Thompson slides into his own seat, I actually have the chance to take in this billionaire picture of perfection. He’s in his mid-30s. I know this from scouring his Wiki page last night. He’s also the head of this company, which was started by his late uncle. Now, I stare into his piercing green eyes, wondering how this guy is not married off by now.

“Word on the street is that you’re in need of a caterer,” I start off with a friendly smile, trying to gulp down my quickly rising sexual excitement. I’m sure this guy has had his share of lovers, but I would ride him so much better than any of those skinny bimbos ever could. Besides, I’ve got the full package: brains
and
boobs.

He grins and nods.

“Yes. I’m organizing a party for my uncle’s birthday.”

I cock an eyebrow. His uncle has been dead for four years. At least, the last time I checked.

Nathan seems to catch my confusion and he quickly explains.

“I always threw a party for my uncle when he was alive. Even though I know it’s sort of unconventional, I throw a small celebration each year on his birthday. It’s my way of honoring his memory with his closest friends.”

I nod.

“Of course, Mr. Thompson. How many attendees are you expecting at your celebration?”

“A hundred and fifty, possibly two hundred. I’ll have a more accurate count once the party is closer.”

I try to avoid raising my eyebrows in surprise at the number. Two hundred people sounds like a lot more than close friends, but who am I to judge? My only job is to make sure that this party has all the food and desserts anyone could possibly need.

“Absolutely,” I tell him with a polite smile. “I can accommodate your needs without a problem.”

Now it’s his turn to smirk at me, obviously catching my not-intended double entendre.

“I mean-“ I start, trying to save myself, but it’s no use. He starts laughing out loud and I quickly follow suit.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, catching my breath. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just meant that I won’t have a problem getting enough food.”

“I know, but it’s not every day I meet women who aren’t afraid to joke around with me. It’s pleasant.”

I blush, but try not to. His words warm my heart in ways he could never imagine. I made him laugh and he’s a billionaire who just told me that
I’m not like all the other girls.
He has no idea how amazing it is to hear those words.

Though I’m not terribly self-conscious about my size
or
my dating history, it doesn’t mean I’m used to people judging me before they get to know me. Once people find out that I’m a professional baker and chef, the knowing glances are enough to make me want to tear my hair out. I’m not fat because of my job! Furthermore, I don’t think it’s particularly fair that no one looks twice at a skinny person who happens to work in the food industry, but as soon as a chef happens to be overweight, it’s the end of the world.

End of soapbox.

“Let’s talk about your menu ideas,” I say, trying to shift the discussion back to business. The event is, after all, only a few weeks away. If Nathan wants everything to be perfect – and I know that he does – then we need to get to work as quickly as possible.

He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and almost whispering, “Any chance you’ll be on the menu?”

If I was wearing panties, they’d be soaked right now. Is he serious? This is so not what I expected when I woke up this morning, dreading this meeting. I thought I might have to suffer through a few fat jokes or listen to him be better than us normal people. I did
not
expect this man to hit on me.

At least, I think he just hit on me.

I’m almost positive.

A look of panic crosses my face and my eyes go wide. I don’t know what to say. What do I say? What do I do? How do I respond to the advances of the wealthiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on? Is he just messing with me?

And then it hits me: he’s the wealthiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

And now I mostly want to know if he’s just messing with me.

“If this is your idea of a joke,” I say, finally finding my voice, “then this discussion is over. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Thompson.” I grab my folder and stand quickly, turning to leave without waiting for an apology.

I don’t know why I ever got my hopes up.

Ever since my first boyfriend, Joe Bralke, made fun of the way my tummy jiggled when I was on top during sex, I’ve never stopped wondering if that’s how all guys think. While I’m proud of my body and I think I look pretty good most days, there are times when I wonder if I’m going to be single forever because all men want a model.

I hurry to the elevator, trying not to feel ashamed and sad. I don’t know why I even came today. I should have just sent my assistant. Everyone seems to like her better than me anyway.

Drowning in my thoughts, not daring to turn and look at him, I stare at the closed elevator doors. But before the doors can open, I feel his hand on my elbow and his hot breath on my neck. Nathan Thompson is standing directly behind me, so close that if I move at all, I’ll find myself pushing against his body.

And self-pride aside, I definitely want that.

“Emily,” he murmurs. “You have no idea just how gorgeous you are.”

Then his hand slides from my elbow up my arm to my shoulder, and he’s turning me around. I face him, trying so hard to put on a brave front. This man is a client. A client. Our relationship needs to be strictly professional, but right now, I just want this professional to be strict with me.

I want Nathan Thompson to tie me up and spank me like the bad girl I keep hidden away.

I want him to lick me from my toes to my nipples and everywhere in between.

I want his cock ramming down my throat until I choke.

I want him.

I say nothing as he pulls me into himself for a hug, but it’s hard not to moan. He smells amazing and he feels even better.

“But, what you said,” I start to protest.

“I was being serious, though I know it wasn’t very professional of me. It’s just that you’re so…well, look at you. You’re beautiful.” His eyes turn dark as he drinks me in, soaking up every inch of me with his steely gaze.

I don’t look down at myself.

I only look up into his eyes.

I only see myself reflected in his vision.

Every part of me is screaming that this is wrong, that he’s just saying this to save face, that he doesn’t really have an interest in me.

But when his mouth comes crashing down on mine, his tongue swirling into my mouth, I forget everything I was ever afraid of. His grip on my waist is firm and commanding as his lips bear down on mine, stealing a soft moan from me.

I’m making out with Nathan Thompson.

I’m making out with the most eligible bachelor in the city.

And judging from the hardness pressed against my stomach, he’s enjoying it every bit as much as me.

Finally, he pulls away, catching his breath, watching me.

“Nathan,” I start to say, but he quiets me with another kiss. I feel my worries begin to melt away as he slides his hand up my waist to cup my breast.

His touch is everything I’ve been hoping for, everything I’ve been needing, everything I’ve been wanting.

And more.

"What are we doing?" I finally manage to break free of his kiss, free from the way he's looking at me, free from the gentle touch of his hands on my body.

"Whatever we want," he tells me.

Then he takes my hand and leads me back to the desk, where he sits down and continues talking about the catering job as if the mini make out session didn't just happen.

"I was thinking of a light tasting menu,” he comments, looking over some of the brochures I brought with me, “rather than a full supper. What do you think?”

Caught off guard by his suddenly nonchalant attitude, I nod, struggling to find words.

“Absolutely. That sounds perfect for an afternoon or evening party, Mr. Thompson, and will ensure that your guests leave plenty of room for dessert.”

The conversation continues, completely platonic, and by the time I leave, I wonder if I imagined the entire thing.

*

I soon forget all about kissing Nathan because his party quickly expands from 200 to 300 guests, which multiplies the amount of work I have to do before the big day. My assistants and I work around the clock, making sure we have enough cookies, perfecting the recipe for the cake, and trying each item on the tasting menu at least a dozen times to be sure it’s good enough to serve at this type of function.

By the time the day of the party arrives, I’m so worried about executing my menu without a hitch that I completely forget just how handsome Nathan Thompson really is.

So when I see him waltz into the ballroom with a tuxedo on that seems to be perfectly fitted to his body, I swallow a small gulp.

Damn.

And his lips were on mine.

I catch his eye from across the room and he motions to the mountains of food I slaved over. Then he shoots me a thumbs up and a huge grin, letting me know that he loves it.

Of course he does.

He only called me a thousand times while I was getting everything ready, which also means he checked on me a thousand times, making sure that I was following his instructions precisely. Although he drove me absolutely crazy, I loved every second of his attention. Plus, he paid me twice my normal fee. Aside from all that, the smile he’s shooting me right now is priceless. The way he’s looking at me now makes the trouble all worth it.

I push through the crowd, making my way to Nathan. By the time I reach him, he has champagne in one hand and a scrawny, big-boobed bimbo in the other. She looks me up and down and scowls at me.

“Natasha,” Nathan motions to me. “This is Emily. She’s responsible for the amazing spread. The scallops are seasoned with her own secret recipe and she even managed to find time to make each individual cupcake herself.”