Virgin Wanted (BWWM Billionaire Romance)

Copyright © 2015 Sierra Cole – All Rights Reserved

Cover Images © 2015 Lubavnel & Curaphotography – Depositphotos.com

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1518650929

ISBN-13:
978-1518650925

For R.L.,

my
very own
Marcus;

thank you for everything.

xx

Alisha

“Oh my god!” Monisha gasps in surprise, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What is it?” I ask, wondering what kind of job advert in the newspaper could possibly have got someone like
her
so shocked. I mean, almost
nothing
shocks this girl.

“Okay, listen to this one,” she says, as a strangely playful grin spreads across her face. “
Virgin wanted for one week. No experience necessary. Excellent pay and benefit package, to be discussed upon application
... I mean, come on! Seriously?!
”

“That’s so gross,” I laugh, shaking my head and trying to turn away a little in my seat to hide the blush that comes to my face whenever anyone mentions
virgins
in conversation.

I look around the totally deserted lobby of the large office buildings where Monisha and I both work as receptionists – well, for one more month, anyway.

You see, the firm we’re employed by is closing down in twenty-eight days time, when this building is getting turned into luxury apartments, and soon we’ll both be out of a job. There are no more clients to assist, and almost no phone calls to take, which is why we’ve both just been sitting here all morning, openly reading the job section of the local newspaper. And I bet even if our boss
did
catch us, he wouldn’t be able to say anything. In fact, he’s probably up there in his office right now, wondering how
he’s
gonna make payments on his car and house next month, too.

“Hey, you mind if I go outside for a smoke break?” Monisha asks just then.

“Sure, go for it,” I smile back, even though this is her forth smoke break of the morning, and it’s not even 11 a.m. “I mean, it’s not exactly like we’re busy,” I add with a shrug.  

As she pushes herself to her feet and heads outside for a cigarette, her high heels clicking loudly on the polished floor and echoing around the large deserted lobby, I turn back to my sketchbook.

With no real work to do anymore, I figure at least I can work on some new dress designs. After all, if I’m lucky I’ll have some job interviews to go to soon, and at the moment I have nothing particularly suitable in my wardrobe, and no money to buy anything to wear, either. Not for the first time, I thank the Lord that at least I saved up for that second-hand sewing machine while I was able to.

I stare hard at my latest design, trying to focus my attention. But for some reason I just can’t concentrate on the simple grey shift dress I’ve been sketching anymore, because I can hear the words of the advert again, repeating over and over in my head like an echo:
Virgin wanted
...

I nervously scan the empty lobby again, making double – no
triple
– sure that I’m alone, and then I gingerly slide the newspaper over from Monisha’s side of the reception desk and quickly flip through it until I’ve found the advert again.

It’s in the very back, in the ‘Personal Services’ section, nestled in amongst the more obviously sleazy advertisements – ‘Girls Wanted for Adult Modeling Work’ and ‘Escort Services’ and so forth ...

Virgin Wanted

For one week. No experience necessary. Excellent pay and benefit package, to be discussed upon application. For more information, email: [email protected]. I look forward to hearing from you.

Then I flip to a blank page at the very back of my sketchbook and quickly copy down the email address, feeling my heart hammering hard against my ribs.

What the hell am I even doing?
I think as I scrawl down the address.

Only a moment later, I hear the loud click of Monisha’s heels on the lobby floor once again and I look up, startled, quickly flipping the newspaper closed and then turning back in my sketchbook to the dress design.

Monisha sighs and slips back into her chair, picking up the paper and scanning through it for what must be the tenth time this morning, as if she’s hoping that magically an advert for a job she’s suitable for will suddenly appear on one of the pages.

“Virgin wanted,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “As if it wasn’t hard enough to get a damn job these days. Now they want you to be a
virgin
too? Well ... Good luck with that!”

I don’t know how to reply. I’m just too embarrassed and worried that whatever I say will somehow give away the fact that I copied the advert down – so instead I just choose to ignore her and hope that she changes the subject soon.

But it seems like there’s little chance of that.

“I
said
, virgin, right?” she persists. “Well, I guess that’s us on welfare for the rest of our lives if that’s what it takes to get a job!”

I still don’t know what to say. So I just mumble, “I guess,” and start to reshuffle the large stack of papers I already filed once this morning.

I know I’m acting a little off, but the thing is, I just don’t know how to act normal right now.

“Hey, what’s got into you?” Monisha laughs. “I thought we agreed on the day they gave us notice – if we’re soon gonna be unemployed, we might as well have some
fun
for our remaining time here, right?”

And she’s totally right of course. However weird I’m feeling right now, I don’t want to bring her down, too. She’s been really good at keeping our spirits up since things started to go downhill around this place. It’s the least I can do.

So I pull the newspaper away from her and flick it open, right back to that Personals section.

“Right,” I say. “What’s it gonna be then?
Girls Wanted for Foot Modeling
or
Girls Wanted for Specialist Adult Movie Shoot – must be willing to cover themselves in jello and chocolate
?”

“Decisions, decisions!” laughs Monisha.

But even as I’m joking, I can’t help my gaze drifting once again to that strange and curious advert in the middle of the page ...

Virgin wanted ...

§

That evening I step into my apartment and kick off my shoes, glad to give my feet a rest from those cheap-ass, fake leather pumps. I look around me and sigh. Even though I’ve done the very best I can with this tiny shoebox of an apartment, it’s
still
pretty crappy looking. I guess there’s only so far a girl can go with Goodwill and imagination ...

I flop down onto the beat up couch and turn on the small, second-hand TV. But as I’m flipping through the channels, it’s all I can think about again.

Virgin Wanted ...

I turn off the set once more and then pick my purse up off the floor by the couch and slip out my sketchbook. I flip to the back page and then sit there, staring for a while at that mysterious email address - [email protected] – feeling my heart quickening again, the longer I stare at it.

I’d always considered my virginity as something to be embarrassed about – a secret kept close to my chest.

I don’t even know
why
I’m still a virgin. I’m mean, I’m only twenty-one years old, so it’s not like I’m not an old maid or anything just yet. I guess I’m still just waiting for the right guy to come along.

But that’s just stupid daydream stuff, right?

Right now, I’m totally broke. And if I don’t find another job
quick smart
, then I can kiss goodbye to this tiny crappy shoebox of an apartment, too. And for some reason, seeing that ad kind of feels like ... I don’t know.

Fate?

A sign?

Because my virginity is practically the one thing I have
left
, the only thing that sets me apart from every other girl in this city. And here is some advert actually
asking
for a virgin ... Well, these days it feels like there aren’t too many of us left.

I sigh again with frustration.

I mean, is this something so completely crazy that I shouldn’t even be contemplating it? Is answering this advert the first step towards my body being found in some ditch somewhere, wrapped in tarpaulin? Or is this actually just something totally normal – the kind of thing that a modern girl these days wouldn’t think twice about replying to?

Damn. I wish there was someone I could talk to right now; someone who’s opinion I could ask.

You see, I don’t really have a best friend. I moved away from my home state two years ago for a fresh start here in Philly. But all I managed to get was this dismal apartment and a badly paid job as a receptionist which is about to come to an end.

I keep telling myself to go out more, meet new people, make some real friends. But I just feel too shy. I mean, Monisha is great and all. She’s really fun to work with and she’s totally kept me sane at the office. But we’re just not that close. We’re only work colleagues – not BFFs.

And as for family? Let’s just say that’s kind of complicated.

Which brings me back to my current dilemma.

I sigh in frustration, wishing I knew the answer.

What’s a girl to do?

But I guess, as usual, I’m on my own in figuring this one out ...