The Billionaire's Student: A BBW, Alpha Billionaire Romance (2 page)

2
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“Katie?”

I looked up from the book I was reading for my English Lit class. Standing by my table in the library was a tall, leggy blonde who looked vaguely familiar. Her skin tight biker shorts and hot pink tank top seemed more suited for a gym rather than a library, but who was I to judge? Maybe she’d stopped to check out a book on her way to working out.

“Yes?”

She pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat down.

“We are in Psychology class together.”

“Well, I thought you looked familiar. I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Becky.”

From the stack of books she carried, she pulled out a piece of paper about the size of a business card and as bright as her tank top.

“I heard about what happened to your parents. I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, I thought you might need some help paying for the rest of your college.”

I’d been able to secure some grants, but it wasn’t enough to cover my tuition for the next three years. The loans I’d applied for had been denied. It seemed that even though I was a full time student, no place wanted to lend money to one who had no family to make the payments if I couldn’t land a job after graduation. In other words, unless a miracle landed in my lap, I wouldn’t be attending college in the fall.

She held the paper in her hand.

“Before I give you this and explain, you need to know that it’s very private and exclusive. It’s on a recommendation basis only. It’s not publicized in any way, and it needs to stay like that. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Okay.”

What on earth could she be about to tell me that required such secrecy? She handed over the piece of paper, and I glanced down at it. The only thing printed on it was a phone number.

“That number will connect you with an agency that handles high priority clients. Usually the clients are looking for assistants to help them in their daily lives.” She hesitated for a minute. “Some of them have certain…needs, and they will expect you to take care of them.”

“Needs? Is this some kind of call girl service?”

I knew of several class mates who either stripped or hooked to make extra money to help pay for school or to have expense money. I had no intention of doing anything of that nature.

“No! Of course not! If you are accepted, you will only work for one person. You will remain in his or her employ until you’ve graduated. Your salary will be paid directly to the college for your tuition and other expenses.”

My mouth opened in shock.

“Wait a minute. You mean, they pay for my college?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Just for being an assistant?”

“Well…yes.”

I could tell from the look on her face there was something she wasn’t telling me, but before I could ask, she stood up and shoved her chair back under the table.

“I can only say that I had a similar offer made to me my freshman year, and I checked it out. I was accepted and contacted by the person wanting to hire me. He’s filthy rich, and I don’t regret taking the job for one minute.”

She hurried away from my table, and I watched her as she bounced out of the library.

I looked down at the card. Even without knowing what she hid from me, I knew I would call the number on it. What other choice did I have?

***

On Saturday, I drove to the address I’d been given when I called the number on the paper. The person on the other end had not given me any information. Just an address, date, and time. The building was one of the tallest in the city. It stood well above the others around it, and its shiny surface shone in the early spring sun.

I pulled into the attached parking garage and drove around until I found an empty space on the third level. My car door screeched in protest when I closed it, and I winced. The poor beat up sedan looked out of place among the glossy black luxury cars and brightly colored sports cars that filled the parking level.

I walked over to the elevator and punched the up button. The office I was visiting was located on the 23
rd
floor. It took a couple of minutes, but the elevator finally dinged its arrival, and the sleek, chrome doors slid opened. I punched the button for my floor and settled back against the hand rail to wait. The elevator rose smoothly, and the ride to the 23
rd
floor was quick and uninterrupted.

The doors opened into a small foyer with a single door. Etched in gold on the glass was the name “Carrington Acquisitions.” I wondered what an acquisition company would be doing hiring assistants. Taking a deep breath, I reached out, turned the door knob, and went in.

The plush reception room was an explosion of white. Pristine white couches adorned with fluffy white pillows sat in an L off to the side of the polished glass desk. A big, white vase filled with white tulips sat on a glass coffee table at an angle between the two couches.

Black and white pictures hung on the walls. Thick, white carpet covered the floor. My heels sank down into it as I walked to the reception desk. I felt incredibly out of place in my scuffed shoes and mall department store black skirt and white shirt.

Since I was going for what I expected to be a job interview, I tried to wear the appropriate attire. I didn’t have much choice in my wardrobe. It was the only outfit I owned besides the dress I had worn to my parents’ funeral that worked for an interview.

The receptionist looked up from her keyboard as I approached. Now,
she
appeared to fit in quite well. Her shiny, brown hair was slicked back and hung straight down past her shoulders.

The bright red dress seemed to accentuate every curve, and she wore lipstick to match. She looked me up and down, and her mouth pursed as if she’d just sucked on a very sour lemon. Apparently, I didn’t pass muster.

“Can I help you?”

“I have an appointment. My name is Katie Darling.”

“You’re
Ms. Darling?”

She didn’t even attempt to hide the sneer.

“Yes.”

She made a harrumphing sound and picked up her phone.

“Ms. Darling has arrived.” She paused for a moment. “Yes, but I thought you might want to see her before that was done.”

She put the phone down, and a few moments later, the door to the inner office opened. The woman who walked out could’ve been a model of years past. Despite her silvered hair, her skin remained unwrinkled, and her body trim and tight. The white dress she wore fit her like a glove.

Holding out her hand to me, she introduced herself.

“Ms. Darling. I’m Ms. Henderson.”

I took her hand and shook it while she studied me. The intensity of her gaze as it swept up and down my body made me squirm.

“Hmm.”

She walked a slow circle around me, nodded at her secretary, and then motioned to me.

“Follow.”

She led me into her office, which continued with the theme of stark white. Her desk was also polished glass, and two over stuffed white chairs sat in front of it. She gestured for me to sit in one.

It was firmer than I expected, and I didn’t sink down it when I sat. Nervously, I twirled a strand of auburn hair between my fingers. When she frowned at me, I quickly dropped my hand into my lap to join the other one.

She sat in the white leather chair behind her desk and gazed at me with dark brown eyes.

“Tell me about yourself, Katie. Where do you come from? What are you studying in college? Why did you call the number on the card?”

The starkness of the office, and the severity of her gaze made me uncomfortable, but I found myself spilling the story out. I don’t know why I told her so much except maybe I needed someone to confide in.

My mom had always been that for me, and she’d been gone for three months now. When I finished, I bowed my head and fought the tears that threatened to spill as quickly as my words had.

Ms. Henderson gave me a moment to compose myself before she spoke.

“I see now why Becky gave you my number. She knew you wouldn’t be able to complete college without help.”

I swallowed and then looked up at her.

“I’ve tried everything I could. I got some grant money, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get any loans.”

Ms. Henderson tapped a pen on the surface of the desk.

“Normally, if a girl comes through my door looking the way you do, I don’t even talk to her. I just send her on her way.”

I felt shame burn my face. Did she mean the way I was dressed or the fact that I was not the model type? In fact, short and dumpy fit me better than anything. Oh, I wasn’t what you might call obese, but I had extra pounds on me. I started to get out of the chair, but she held up a hand to stop me.

“However, I think an exception can be made just this once.”

She got up and walked around her desk to stand in front of me. Putting a fingertip beneath my chin, she lifted my face up.

“You have remarkable eyes. Such bright green. Quite unusual.”

She let go of my chin and fingered my hair.

“And your hair, though it could be styled better, is just divine.”

My eyebrows bunched up in question. What did my eyes and hair have to do with being able to do a job?

She must’ve noticed my quizzical expression because she explained.

“My clients are some of the wealthiest men in the state. Some of them even the world. They expect their employees to look as if they fit in with high society. You are not the normal cookie cutter blonde, but in this case, I think that’s a plus. With some help, I believe we can get you up to par if you are accepted.”

She walked back around to her desk and sat.

“First things first. There is a questionnaire you must fill out and then we need to take some pictures.”

She picked up her phone.

“Delilah, you may proceed with Ms. Darling.”

The receptionist entered the office and beckoned me to follow her. Her face remained devoid of expression as she handed me a clipboard and a pen.

“Go fill this out. We will take the pictures once you’re finished.”

Some of the questions seemed awfully personal. Like what was my sexual orientation, was I a virgin, and how many lovers had I had if I wasn’t? I had a growing suspicion that Becky had lied when she said it wasn’t a call girl service. I looked up to find the receptionist had momentarily disappeared. I got up from the couch and knocked on Ms. Henderson’s door.

“Come in.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a question and Delilah is not at her desk.”

Ms. Henderson looked up from her computer.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I’m, I mean, is this…”

How did you ask a woman if her business was prostitution? If you’re me, you just blurted it out.

“Is this a call girl service?”

My voice squeaked. I couldn’t help it.

“I am not in the business of providing sexual playthings for my clients. You are applying to be a personal assistant. Some of my clients can be quite…
demanding
. The actual terms of your agreement will be conducted with your employer should you be chosen. Whether you accept them is entirely up to you.”

She returned to her work, and I took it as a dismissal. I quietly closed her door and returned to my couch to finish the questionnaire. I felt as though there was an underlying message to what she’d just told me, but I wasn’t certain if it was a tacit admission to my question or something else entirely. She did state emphatically that she didn’t provide sexual playthings to her clients.

Delilah returned as I was finishing up the questionnaire. She took the clipboard from my hands.

“Come with me.”

I followed her down a short hallway into another room and was surprised to find another person waiting for me behind what looked to be a salon chair. Hair products and accessories and make-up littered a counter beside him.

“Sit. Monroe will take care of getting you ready for the pictures.”

Monroe wore grey slacks and a bright blue silk shirt, which shone vibrantly against his pale skin. His black hair fell in waves to his shoulders.

“Well, come on! Sit!”

I did what he said and sat in the chair. He spun me around in a circle as he studied my hair.

“Girl, who did such a hack job?” he tsked.

“My hairdresser.”

“Hmph, you need to fire that person, pronto! Hiding such gorgeous hair with such an awful cut!”

Monroe grabbed a burgundy smock and flicked it open before swirling it over the front of me like a backwards cape. He tied it around my neck and spun me so that he could tilt the chair back to the sink that had been hidden under part of the glossy, black counter top.

Panic set in, and my heart started to race.

“What are you doing? My hair is just fine!”