by Mona Cox
"Oh my God, you're going to be working with Prince Ian Carrington?" I ask Natalie, my eyes widening. The guy is a celebrity just for being a celebrity.
"He's so fucking hot," Alicia chimes in and the three of us nod sagely. I mean, I have my Apollo, don't get me wrong. He's the love of my life. And I wouldn't trade him for anything.
But Ian Carrington is just a different sort of guy that makes you wonder. He's cocky, arrogant, and built like a war horse, and...
No, I'm totally happy with Apollo. Besides, I haven't told you about...
"I mean, I would totes have sex with him if I had never met Derek, you know?" Alicia says and I roll my eyes.
Ever since she met and fell in love with her billionaire client over at Carter Jeffries, she can't help but go around telling anyone and everyone how much the two of them are in love.
Barf.
I have a first hand experience with this because I remember sitting with Alicia as we had lunch and all she would do was talk about Derek this and Derek that.
Gimme a break. It's kinda like...me with Apollo.
Okay, fine. So Alicia is in love. But I have something better. I just need to get a word in to be able to tell...
"I guess, but I mean the guy just seems unstable from what I see of him on YouTube, ya know?" Natalie says, downing her drink.
Alicia and I see Natalie's empty glass and both instinctively finish our drinks as well. I guess it's going to be one of those nights. We're probably going to regret it in the morning, but whatevs, it's a Saturday. And the worst that will happen is we'll be hung over.
I know when I get hung over I usually get horny. So good thing I have Apollo to scratch that itch.
See? There I go again, talking about Apollo. Apollo this and Apollo that.
It's like I should probs just write a book about him and I and get it all outta my system, right?
One of those romance novellas that Natalie and I were talking about back at Agave when I first fucked Apollo. Yes, I remember all that, okay? I remember everything about the two of us.
"So what's been up with you, babe?" Natalie asks me as the waiter places a fresh round of drinks in front of us. "You've been so quiet."
Oh my God. Doesn't she realize that being quiet is what people do when they're in love and they don't want to talk about it 24/7? Or is that just me? Wanting to like keep my happiness inside afraid that if I say anything it'll burst.
But both Alicia and Natalie are looking at me, and I just can't keep the news to myself.
I smile at them, and decide now is as good a time to drop the news.
I reach into my purse and pull out the box I was saving it in and slip it onto my finger as I hold up my hand.
"Mrs. Apollo Kane!" I squeal, with a 24-karat $120,000 diamond encircled ring flashing on my fingers. "He proposed yesterday!"
Both Natalie and Alicia squeal and jump up to hug me.
The other people at the bar look at us. They're probably annoyed at the three of us.
But whatevs. I don't care. Not tonight.
Tonight, the world is my oyster. And Apollo and I are going to spend our whole lives sucking it down with a champagne chaser.
Just watch.
131
Daphne
Ashley and Apollo. That’s pretty steamy the two of them together, ya know?
Like not a day goes by where I’m hanging out with them and I’m not like okay guys uhh go get a room.
But you know someone I love (if you can get over her talking like a total Valley Girl) is Alicia.
So next is her story!
Description
Like the one time I’m even slightly naughty, it comes back to bite me. Literally…
So what if I gave into a moment of weakness with a hot stranger on a train? Maybe did some things that would make my mom shake her head.
No problem, right? Go on about your way, right? It’s a big city…millions of people and you’ll never see them again, right?
Wrong.
It turns out this guy I let myself go with is my new client, Derek Lowell. Not only that, but of course he has to be a hot, single, billionaire and all, and obviously he has every woman at my job salivating over his ultra-ripped body with his 8-pack abs and beautiful, rugged face and his monster…uhmm…ego?
You know by now what all those alpha-male billionaires say in these blurbs. Like, ‘Oh I always get what I want and I want her, haha’ or ‘She doesn’t know it yet but she’s going to be on her knees begging me not to stop, haha’.
Ya, whatevs, dude. You wanna get me on my knees it better be because I’m about to sit on your face.
Oh, what’s wrong? Is the Big Bad Alpha-Male Billionaire scared of lil’ ol’ me?
Oh, now he’s mad and he says he’s gonna teach me a lesson. I think this is gonna be fun…
*** It’s the cute single girl versus the Big Bad Billionaire in this first installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sexy, sassy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happily Ever After? Always, babe ***
132
Alicia
You have to be kidding! I look at my phone and see that it has a 20% charge. I'll never get through the day on that. I rush over and plug it into the charger for a few minutes while I continue applying my mascara—it's amazing what good mascara can do for a girl—and I count down the minutes till I need to leave for work. 15 minutes. I can feel every one of those minutes trickling down my neck like rain flooding a roof. If I don't get on the 6 train soon, I'm going to be late—and I'm never late.
I rush over and gather what I need in my purse, and pick out my heels for the day—black or beige? I'm going with black. Throwing them on my feet, I grab my phone, my keys, and run out the door. I make it out of my apartment with two minutes to spare and I'm feeling good. As I head to the subway station I stop at Starbucks. It's my one indulgence. I can't function without my skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso. And it never fails that I always get some morning entertainment out of how they spell my name: Alisha, Aleesha, Alissya, and one time even Alisheé—do I look French? For the record, my name is the standard Alicia.
I pull my phone out of my purse and double-check the time. Shit. The slowest barista is working today and the line is backed up. Why would they put the slowest person behind the bar during the morning rush? I should be at the Midtown Manhattan offices of Carter Jeffries in a few minutes, but I can see now that I'm going to be late. Just as I'm considering skipping the drink, I hear my name: "A skinny vanilla latte with an add shot on the bar for Ashley!" I grab the drink and head outside, rushing to the 6 train from 81st street as fast as my heels will carry me.
A crowd is building for the train. It's the morning rush, so it's a familiar scene. As soon as the train pulls up, everyone is bumping shoulders. Every seat is taken, and most of the overhead handrails are taken as well. I look down and one guy is 'manspreading' himself across two seats, which is annoying, but I get lucky and lean up against a metal pole in the middle of the train with a sliver of space to spare. The train lurches with forward momentum and I accidentally bump into a guy standing next to me.
"Sorry about that," I say, waving at him apologetically. He gives me a sympathetic smile and says, "It's fine. Busy morning."
As he says this, I notice his face. He's clean cut, with soft brown hair and he smells good—what is that—smoky, woodsy, and citrusy? Oh god, and he has a million dollar smile. And those eyes—the color of perfect weather. He smiles at me a moment longer and then looks away. I suddenly feel drawn to this man. Is it my hormones? Maybe it's the fact that I haven't slept with a man in over a month, and the last time it happened wasn't a memory I want to relive. My ex—Michael—and I had just broken up—we agreed to remain friends and he suggested we go for one drink. Yes, one drink. I know, how stupid could I be? I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. One drink turned into three, which turned into a couple more and before I knew it, I was inviting him back up to my apartment. And let's face
it; I don't think anyone makes their best decisions under the influence of five or more cocktails. So, there we were, making out and peeling our clothes off faster than you can scratch an itch. The sex was mediocre at best—okay, I'll be honest; it sucked. Michael was so drunk that he couldn't even finish, so even under the haze of alcohol we both laid there in an awkward semi-embrace.
Now that you know my sex life—or lack of one—over the last month, can you blame me for wanting this cute guy next to me? We're already standing pretty close to one another, but I decide to scoot in closer. I mean YOLO, right?
Without pausing to think about how much my mom would be disappointed in me right now, I move in casually, looking in another direction, and I gently rub my ass against his crotch.
Oh my God! This is like the craziest thing I’ve ever done!
It’s morning rush hour! On a packed subway! But this guy is hot, and desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Can you blame me?
I scooch back just a lil bit more. He doesn't move, and I can feel him looking down at me. He's tall, maybe 6'3", and I'm 5'4" so I come to his shoulders, and I continue to grind my ass into his lap. First, in gentle, delicate strokes—I'm testing the waters—and then I continue with increased bravery—my touch becomes firm and I can feel him harden underneath me. His bulge feels massive—I'm guessing he has a 12-inch cock.
He reaches up and places his hands onto my hips, guiding my movements. He's enjoying this, and if I'm being honest, I am too. His consent spurs me on. I feel so wet. My thong is soaked and my pussy is throbbing for more. Much more, I realize, than I can get on this train during rush hour.
"59th Street-Lexington Ave," the overhead says, and I feel the train glide to a stop. As it stops, I turn around to face this handsome man, we lock eyes, and an electric current travels down my spine. He leans down, placing one strong hand behind my head and gently brings me to him, placing his lips on mine. Actually, he kisses the corner of my mouth at first, and then nibbles on my bottom lip, bringing it between his perfect teeth. I melt under his touch and open my mouth, eagerly taking him into me. Our tongues press together, one on top of the other in a fervent embrace, and our warmth travels from each other like an electric current.
It's not until 51st street that I realize where I'm at. I need to get off this train and go to work. My mind snaps to the present, and I back away. The doors of the train swoosh open and without saying a word, I turn around and leave. I don't look back. I can't afford to. I can hardly believe the whole encounter, and I'm now running as fast as I can. My mind is reeling. What exactly happened? I chalk it up to an only-in-New-York experience, collect myself, and head into work.
The offices of Carter Jeffries are bustling. I don't even make it to my desk before I'm approached by my Managing Director, Nadia Moore. She’s tough as nails but she’s always been fair to me. She’s climbed the corporate ladder and I kinda wanna be just like her when I grow up – powerful and strong. But something about her sorta scares me. Like she traded in her soul.
I don’t know if I want to do that to myself.
"Where have you been?" she asks.
"I know; I'm sorry I'm late. It's been a crazy morning," I say. Crazy is an understatement, but it's the word that immediately comes to mind. I mentally tell myself that I'll have to fill her in later.
"It just so happens that our client is late too, so you're in luck, but you should hurry."
I thank her and walk to the conference room, reviewing the main points of today's meeting.
Remember, this is an ultra high net worth individual, I tell myself. I know that I have a golden opportunity to help this client grow his wealth and plan it accordingly.
I mentally review his portfolio performance.
I've spent the last week preparing for this moment. I suspect he'll want to discuss tax and estate planning as well, so I make a mental note to bring this up with the client.
And just as I enter the conference room, a secretary buzzes me on the intercom and alerts me that the client has arrived. "He should be there any moment," she says.
And true to her word, I see that he's not alone. With him is an entourage of lawyers. Serious looking men in black suits. They file into the conference room and begin sitting at the long mahogany table. I'm wondering to myself which one of these men is the client—could it be one of these serious looking men in a black suit?—when another, younger man enters. He's clean cut, handsome—wait… I know this man.
No way… This can't be! He's the man from the train. This is the billionaire client. He walks into the conference room with that million-dollar smile lighting up his face, when he turns and sees me. Our eyes lock onto each other with a knowing gaze.
Have you ever been so nervous that you felt your heart in your throat?
That's me right now.
133
Derek
"Mr. Lowell, beyond your portfolio's performance and the tax and estate planning concerns that we just discussed, what goals are the most fundamentally important to you?"
I nod my head because that's a good question. A lot of wealth managers seem to miss this. I'm trying to focus on her words—I'm trying to keep this all business—I'm trying to keep my eyes above her neck—but let's be honest; the image of us on the 6 train keeps replaying itself in my mind like a song stuck on repeat.
"Sure, let's break down these goals," I say.
I steal a quick glance at her breasts because I can't help myself, and I think back to her firm ass grinding into my lap. Sure, she made the first move, but I eagerly went along with it. Why did I do that? If you knew me, you'd know it's completely out of my character. I'm not in the habit of letting random, strange women grind all over me on the subway. How exactly did that even happen again?
My focus snaps back to the present.
Alicia continues, "Among the items we should discuss are: strategic use of credit, health planning, strategic philanthropy, investing for social impact, identifying your family needs and goals, and—"
I cut her off. "I don't have a family—not yet. I mean, I'm single."
She pauses for a moment before continuing. "Well, we can discuss your extended family as well. And beyond that, we should discuss the growth of your assets. Are you willing to seek higher returns if it means more assumed risk on your part?"
I try to analyze her question, but all of her words are getting jumbled in my mind. They no longer have any coherent meaning to me, and I can't help but notice a new look forming in her eyes. Is this a loaded question? I look around the conference table and see my lawyers scribbling notes into their yellow legal pads.
"Sure, I'm willing to take that risk," I say.
I think back to this morning and how I ended up on the 6 train in the first place. My limo broke down, and instead of calling a cab, I thought I'd change things up. If I hadn't made that decision, I would never have met Alicia.
And now that I'm looking at her again, I realize just how much I admire her. It takes a good amount of confidence to approach a man like that on the subway, and then to manage ultra high net worth clients for her day job—well, that takes a level of financial savvy that a lot of people don't have. I can appreciate both of those things in a woman.
"I think we should take a quick break and resume this meeting in 15 minutes. Does that sound good to everyone?" Alicia asks.
I nod my head and the lawyers all agree in unison. I watch as Alicia steps into the hallway, and I slip out to join her.
"Wait," I say. "Now that we have a moment to ourselves, I just wanted to say—about this morning—"
"Why didn't you tell me?" she snaps, cutting me off. I can see anger flashing in her eyes and it catches me off guard.
"Tell you what, exactly?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were a billionaire?"
"And how should one go about telling strangers on the subway that they're a billionaire? Should I just wear a name tag that reads, 'Hello, My name is Derek and I'm a billionaire?'"
&n
bsp; "I just mean that if you had mentioned something, we wouldn't be in this awkward predicament."
"Is it really all that awkward?" I ask. But she isn't listening.
"And honestly, what kind of billionaire takes the subway anyways?"
"The kind of billionaire who goes by the name of Derek Lowell," I smile. I don't feel like going into any details about the broken down limo, so I change the subject.
"Can I take you to dinner tonight?" I ask.
"No," she says, shaking her head. "I don't date clients. I don't want us to cross into inappropriate territory here."
"Isn't it a little too late for that?"
"That was a mistake," she says, looking down at her watch uncomfortably. "Our time is up. We need to jump back into our meeting."
"After you," I say, extending my arm and indicating that I'll follow her lead.
We enter the conference room and I notice that Nadia, the firm's Managing Director has joined us.
I look over at Alicia and give her a smile. I'm trying to keep things as casual as they can possibly be after what happened in the subway this morning. She glances back at me momentarily, a half-smile on her face, and resumes the meeting.
"Let's discuss how to allocate your investments portfolio," Alicia suggests.
"First, I have a question for you," I say to both Alicia and Nadia. "What happens to my account if something happens to both of you?"
"That's a good question," Alicia answers. "I—uh—I think I need to consult—"
Nadia steps in and cuts her off. "What Alicia means to say is that understanding who your next point of contact is at Carter Jeffries, and how liquid your assets are is paramount. We will provide you with all of this information."
