The Billionaire's Lover: Curves To Keep (Part One) (A BBW Erotic Romance)

The Billionaire’s Lover:
Curves To Keep
Part One

Bethany Rousseau

Copyright 2014 by Forbidden Fruit Press

All rights reserved. Except for use in any
review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including
xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit
written permission of the author.

Published by Forbidden Fruit Press

Smashwords Edition

All characters depicted in this fictional
work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any
resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses,
events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

***

A taste of things to come:

He pushed the chair she had been sitting in
moments before backward, gesturing for Gabrielle to take a step
back. “Take off your blazer,” he told her firmly. Gabrielle moved
to obey with automatic movements, slipping the garment off of her
shoulders and down her arms. She cast it backwards into the chair,
her hands shaking from a mixture of anxiety and arousal. “Now
unbutton your blouse—slowly.” Gabrielle was grateful that she had
chosen one of her sexiest bra and panty sets for the interview, in
spite of the fact that she hadn’t even considered the possibility
of Edwards coming onto her. She began to unbutton her shirt, her
fingers nerveless and fumbling from her intense arousal and her
lingering fear. Edwards watched every moment, following her fingers
with his gaze as she worked downward slowly but surely. She pulled
the tail of the blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and
finished the last two buttons, her breaths coming more shallowly as
she stood there, keenly aware of her exposed skin.

***

Chapter
One

Gabrielle couldn’t help feeling slightly
nervous as she sat in the waiting room of Edwards Industrial,
controlling her impatience as she waited for an interview. She had
applied for a paid internship because she knew that she wanted a
foot in the door at the company; the prospect of a future job with
an actual salary was tantalizing to her. The paid internships that
Edwards Industrial offered were lucrative enough that it might as
well be a job, as Gabrielle had learned when she had done her
research on the company. She tried not to fidget as she sat
waiting, going over the information she had compiled on the
position in her mind. She knew she was more than adequately
qualified for the internship, and she had always had success in
interviews—if she could get to the interview phase of a job,
Gabrielle had always managed to secure it.

She had dressed with particular care, as she
always did for interviews. Gabrielle had always been proud of her
body; her long legs with lush thighs, her full hips and bust, her
not-quite flat stomach and her firm, ample ass were all features
that she had celebrated ever since puberty had arrived in her life,
transforming her from a scrawny child and into a fully-formed woman
in the span of a few short years—long before she had reached the
age of consent in her state. While she had been picked on more than
once, Gabrielle kept her head high and had learned from her
godmother—a woman of Amazonian build, tall with heavy bones and a
full figure—to celebrate herself, rather than be ashamed of what
she had been graced with. While she was an active person, and she
certainly didn’t overindulge in junk food, she had never seen the
point in dieting until she was a skeletal size six, or in going to
the gym to run on a treadmill for hours to try and fit into
couture. That morning she had selected her best, most professional
outfit: a pencil skirt that came to just above her knees with a
vibrant blouse and a tailored blazer; the outfit highlighted her
best features while not looking overtly sexual, which was just how
Gabrielle liked her clothes.

Just when Gabrielle would have checked the
time once more, the receptionist cleared her throat. “Ms. Young?”
the woman said, standing up from her seat. Gabrielle smiled,
standing as well and smoothing her pencil skirt against her thighs.
“Mr. Richards is coming out for you now,” the woman said. Gabrielle
nodded, taking a deep breath and soothing her apprehensions. The
door to the inner office opened, and a tall, thin man appeared; he
had sandy blond hair and a bit of razor rash on his close-shaved
face. Another candidate walked out from behind him, and he smiled
broadly at her, thanking her for her time and shaking her hand with
slightly more than casual politeness. Gabrielle watched the tall,
thin woman, whose skinny build reminded her of all of the girls she
had ever disliked, walking away to the exit, smiling. The man spoke
to the receptionist for a moment, having not even noticed her
waiting for him. The receptionist answered his question quietly,
and he paused for a moment, looking over some papers in his
hands—probably applications or resumes, Gabrielle thought.

“Gabrielle Young?” he asked, glancing up. His
dark eyes fell on her and for a moment Gabrielle saw something she
couldn’t quite define but which boded no good for her at all—some
flicker of disdain in his gaze. The next instant, his expression
smoothed and he smiled. “You’re Gabrielle,” he said, looking at her
from head to toe in a quick glance. Gabrielle nodded, keeping her
polite smile on her face. Mr. Richards extended a hand to her, and
she shook it, keeping what her mother had taught her about
professional handshakes in mind: firm, not squeezing. “I’m Eric
Richards, the manager of the design department.” He took her
through the door and into the office, walking briskly; Gabrielle
had to adapt her stride, between the pencil skirt and the heels she
was wearing, to keep up with him.

He led her to a small but oddly impressive
conference room, closing the door behind him and taking a seat at
the table. For a moment, Gabrielle was stunned by how imposing the
room was; for such a small space, it had a high ceiling, and the
décor of the room suggested that it was suitable not just for
interviewing candidates for an internship, but for meeting
privately with very important clients. The table was solid wood,
gleaming with polish, and the carpets were thick underneath her
feet. The chairs looked as though they had been designed by someone
with aesthetics in mind, not the typical ergonomic chairs that were
usually employed in office settings, but something that was
pleasing to the eye. There was a faint scent of some kind, muted
but lending a chilly, professional air to the space at the same
time. Gabrielle, reminding herself that she had been through a
dozen interviews in her life, calmly took the seat across from him,
settling into it and easing her feet slightly. She put her
portfolio case down and composed herself while Eric flipped through
some papers, barely paying any attention to her at all for a long
moment. “So. Do you have a copy of your resume?” Gabrielle could
tell that he was plainly looking at her resume, but decided not to
comment on that fact. Instead, she opened the case and withdrew one
of her copies, along with her portfolio. She extended the sheet of
paper to him and put the portfolio down on the table, ready to open
it to display her work when she needed to. Eric took it from her,
looking at it for another long moment, and Gabrielle felt her skin
beginning to crawl; she had cultivated a sense of knowing when
someone didn’t like her, and Eric Richards was lighting up all of
her mental alarms.

“I was really excited to get an interview for
this position,” Gabrielle said, wanting to break the silence. Eric
made a small noise in his throat and finally looked up from her
resume, setting it down and turning his gaze on her.

“What makes you think that you’d be… a good
fit for the company?” There was something in his hesitation that
made Gabrielle feel uncomfortable. She tried to decipher it, but
decided against it—he was likely just trying to ruffle her, to get
her uneasy. It was a common interview tactic, and one that she had
encountered before.

“I’ve done a great deal of research on
Edwards Industrial, actually. I know that the company loves to
innovate, and I’ve studied the psychology of design extensively. In
some of my previous internships and positions, I’ve been
responsible for successful ad campaign designs as well as taking
several key technical positions—I think that I am more than
experienced enough to handle the pressure and be an asset to the
company.” Richards nodded slowly, and Gabrielle watched the smooth
veneer come over his face once more.

He continued his questions, grilling her
about her previous positions and education. The questions were what
Gabrielle expected, but the tone of his voice almost rattled her on
more than one occasion; there was a subtext to what he was saying
that troubled her, though she couldn’t quite initially put her
finger on why as the interview continued. “We place a lot of
emphasis on our employees being nimble, light of foot so to speak,”
Richards said at one point. “How do you think you will be able to
cope with that?” Gabrielle began to notice a trend in his questions
from that point forward; he kept making subtle comments emphasizing
size, painting the job she was applying for in terms of
lightness—and when he directed questions at her experience, he kept
referring to weight, to heaviness, to largeness.

Gabrielle answered his questions as best as
she could, refusing to get frazzled, but it became clear that he
was making jabs at her weight and build. “Can you tell me a time
when you’ve had to exercise self-discipline to get what you
wanted?” he asked her pointedly, and Gabrielle noticed that his
gaze took in the part of her figure that showed above the table.
She told herself that his rudeness was probably a tactic, and told
an anecdote about a point when she had been in design school when
she had been forced to juggle two jobs and her studies,
highlighting the fact that she had managed to maintain her stellar
grade point average as well as keeping her employers happy. As the
questions and comments continued to come, however, Gabrielle
remembered the way Richards had thanked the previous interviewee,
the easygoing friendliness of his manners; she thought to herself
finally that unless he had a tendency to switch tactics between
interviews to amuse himself, he was treating her the way he was,
not to test her resilience, but because he had a problem with her
weight.

Gabrielle’s temper rose as the comments
he made became less and less veiled. “I appreciate your candor, Ms.
Young, but what makes you think you will
fit in
at this company? Part of our company
culture is physical fitness; we have group fitness classes, and we
encourage all of our employees to live a healthy lifestyle.”
Gabrielle felt the blood rising into her face as she became upset
at the comments he was making.

“I think I will
fit in
excellently here, Mr. Richards, as my
research of Edwards Industrial suggests that excellence, skill, and
talent are the major requirements you seek in candidates. I would
hate to think that superficial factors would get in the way of
hiring a qualified person.” Richards rolled his eyes slightly,
eyeing her finally with undisguised repulsion.

“I’m just concerned that you might find it
difficult to work with people who prioritize health and fitness as
part of their everyday routine; please do tell me how you plan on
accommodating this aspect of our culture.” Gabrielle bit her tongue
to suppress the angry retort that rose up, forcing herself to take
a deep breath. “I mean, I’m not sure that you’d be able or willing
to participate in a charity 5K—one of our team’s favorite annual
events. Looking at you… I just can’t see you being able to work
quickly enough to satisfy our clients.” Gabrielle managed to barely
keep her composure, feeling confused, angry, and upset at the
inappropriate suggestions that Richards was making. He finally
wrapped up the interview with the bare minimum of courtesy,
escorting her out of the impressive conference room and into the
lobby brusquely, telling her that she could expect to hear from the
company within the week about the status of her application.

Gabrielle took a deep breath, feeling
dejected and bothered by the way she had been treated; she didn’t
bother to do more than glance at the receptionist to acknowledge
her, “Have a nice day,” as she walked to the elevator slowly,
trying to think of how she could have possibly turned the interview
around. Gabrielle was no stranger to discrimination based on her
build—she was not so naïve, and she certainly had heard enough
taunts and jokes about her weight as a teenager and even as an
adult to know that there were some people who would always consider
anyone other than a
Vogue
magazine model to be useless, lazy, and incompetent. But she
had hoped—she had expected—that in such a huge, successful company,
with a reputation for diversity, she wouldn’t encounter such
obvious discrimination from a hiring manager, even for a
competitive internship.