The Billionaire's Desire

by Lila Lacroix

  “Where you off to?” asked Steve, a design colleague, and sweet enough middle-aged geek with great I.T skills.

  As usual, Vanessa answered all enquiries about awkward, emotional stuff with a shrug. “Back in ten.”

  * * *

  Jonathan paced the floor of his enormous office, thinking of how exactly he would make his proposal. He had organized and executed huge business deals over the past five years, and experienced much less stress doing so than he did now. But then, he knew this meeting must go well, as she seemed, at least on paper, to be the perfect solution. Therefore, the initial delivery had to be persuasive.

  He must gauge her accurately from the beginning so that, like all of his other business partners, she would sign, and the deal would be sealed.

  Trouble was, he had never entered into such a contract as this one. He had never had to gauge a woman so precisely, or care so much about how what he did, or what he said might affect her decision. Although he had always been a man who got what he wanted, in and out of bed and business, this was different.

  Jonathan’s buzzer rang and dragged him from his misgivings. Danielle said through the intercom, “Sir, a Miss Vanessa Stiles here to see you. Should I send her in?”

  He sucked in air, licked his lips and straightened his spine. Was he out of his depth? Never.

  * * *

  Danielle muted her speaker, awaiting Jonathan’s response. Vanessa whispered, “Why am I here? You’re his P.A. You must know something. Am I fired? Oh shit, just tell me.”

  “Sorry, he’s not told me a thing, I promise. He just asked me to let him know when his next appointment arrived. Your name isn’t even in the diary, but I assume it’s you if Beth sent you up for this timeslot. No one else is here, so ...”

  Vanessa frowned. “So this has been planned ahead of time?”

  The honeyed tones of Jonathan echoed around the reception area, “Okay, I’m ready for her now. Send her in. Oh, and no interruptions, Danielle.”

  Vanessa’s stomach clenched.

  “Very good, Sir.” Danielle rang off, offering Vanessa a look of pity, which met Vanessa’s one of dread. “Oh Christ, good luck.” She stood to escort Vanessa through the door, as she would anyone else.

  “One, two, three,” whispered Danielle, before she opened the door and said, “Miss Stiles, Sir. Can I get you both some coffee?”

  Jonathan replied sternly, without giving Danielle eye contact, “I thought I said no interruptions?”

  “Of course. Sorry Sir. I j—”

  Jonathan interrupted Danielle, “Miss Stiles, sorry, Vanessa. May I call you Vanessa?”

  Vanessa found it difficult to speak when she looked up to answer Jonathan. She had not realized how young, tall, striking the big boss actually was to look at. A dark horse, he usually kept himself apart from his employees, working almost entirely away from the rest of the office, according to Danielle and Beth. Neither of whom ever had thought to mention how hot he was; just that he played hardball and could be a prick. Although, Danielle was in love and clearly blind to his many aesthetic offerings. As for Beth, she was like a skinny soulless vessel; Vanessa doubted she could appreciate beauty in anything.

  “Vanessa, are you well?” asked Jonathan. “Is she alright?” he asked Danielle.

  She realized she’d been staring at him, cringed to herself, and looked around for a seat; the stress began to take its toll on her knees. “May I sit?” asked Vanessa, wobbling slightly.

  “Of course, what’s wrong with you?” he asked, concerned or confused. “Danielle, fetch Vanessa some water.” His brow creased, but a woozy Vanessa swooned at how he said my name. “Or coffee, would you prefer coffee?”

  Vanessa inhaled deeply, “Yes. Black and strong, if that’s okay? Thanks Danielle.” Shit! “I mean Miss Dean.”

  “Come, take a seat.” He showed Vanessa to a large black leather sofa at the back of his office. The A/C had cooled the leather, and its icy touch at the back of her legs worked quickly to bring her back to focus. “Relax, get comfy.” He smiled, kneeling down to eye level.

  Vanessa told herself not to panic. There are other jobs and regardless of his immense hotness, I should get a grip; I have rules for a reason. Anyway, bet he has a bevy of beauties at his disposal, so what am I even thinking? “Ah, thanks. I’m… not sure what came over me.” Vanessa lied.

  “Not a problem.” said Jonathan, before he cleared his throat. “Danielle, coffee.”

  Danielle went off to fetch their drinks and Jonathan sat beside Vanessa on the sofa, his scent floated across her face to steal her breath again. The white of his shirt collar, worn without a tie, highlighted his thick, long neck wonderfully. His grey suit, tailored to fit, clung to his form in all the right places. “Vanessa, the colour is returning to your cheeks. I hope you ate lunch. Women do themselves no favours by starving themselves.”

  “I ate, but rushed it and threw half away. I probably didn’t eat enough. That’s all. Or maybe the shrimp wasn’t totally right, you can never tell with some of those food trucks.”

  “Could I get Danielle to fetch you a muffin from the local bakery? It’s no trouble. You might need the sugar.”

  Vanessa imagined a different kind of muffin altogether and gulped. “No, that’s unnecessary. I’ll be just fine with a coffee till dinner, later. Thanks,” she replied, trying to smile. Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m reacting like this. What on earth is wrong with me? Vanessa asked herself.

  “Well, if you’re sure.” Jonathan tilted his head, as if questioning Vanessa’s assessment of her own needs. “Now then, you must be wondering why I got you over here.”

  Vanessa licked her lips, preparing to answer Jonathan, when Danielle knocked then entered the room, bringing a tray of coffee to Jonathan’s bureau. She looked at both of them on the sofa and raised her eyebrows. “Should I pour, Sir?”

  Jonathan sighed, stood and walked to escort her to the door. “No, leave us, and ensure there are no more interruptions, please.” He shut the door, then poured their coffees. “Strong and black, you say?”

  “That’s how I like ‘em,” Vanessa said, smirking, then slapped her hand over her mouth. Oh crap, I didn’t just say that.

  Jonathan jeered, “That so?” and offered Vanessa her coffee, which she took with a clumsy smile and a nod.

  She took a sip, holding the mug so tight her fingers burned.

  Jonathan sat on the corner of his bureau, legs apart at eye level, as if to flash his bulge in her face. “And yet, I hear you are sworn off relationships. Or is that just office gossip?”

  Vanessa couldn’t think of how to reply, especially with the feast before her, but she tore her gaze away and realized Danielle must have told people, perhaps even Jonathan himself, that she was off men, and felt betrayed. Why would she talk about her in that way to anyone, let alone her boss? And why would Jonathan be asking about her preferences towards relationships? Was he hitting on her? Would she like that? Of course, she would, who was she kidding? But she wouldn’t risk having another relationship, not even with a gorgeous billionaire. She would never go through it all again, not after Mike. She knew all too well how quickly charming men turned nasty. Nor would she risk her job for a fling with the boss. No, this conversation was over. “Not sure that’s any of your concern, Sir.” Vanessa blew the steam from her drink before taking another sip; the first sip had burned her tongue. The muscles of her thighs flexed uncomfortably; she needed to stand. She stood, finished her coffee in a few more gulps, so she would have a reason to move away from the sofa—to put the cup back on the tray.

  “Sorry,” said Jonathan. “I’ve been rude, nosy even. Forgive me.”

  Vanessa walked around him, remembering the last guy who asked for forgiveness, and placed her coffee cup on the tray. “That’s fine Sir. Perhaps we could get back to the reason you sent for me. Beth’s timing me,” she tapped her watch and smiled. But it wasn’t a genuine smile.

  Jonathan noticed Vanessa’s discomfort with the su
bject of dating. He appreciated how private she was, reserved even. These were excellent reasons to continue. He was surprised to find her so attractive. An added bonus; people knew he had the choice of beauties, so marriage to a too plain woman would not have convinced anyone. But how to broach the subject?

  Just be honest, he thought.

  “Okay, let’s get down to it then.”

  Vanessa leant up against his bureau and gripped it either side of her slim, toned hips. “Good. Let’s.” she said, the sharp cut of her bobbed haircut accentuated her high cheekbones impeccably.

  “Well, this is awkward, I’ll admit. So, honestly, I don’t know how to broach the subject with you, Vanessa.”

  That’s it, he’s going to fire me. Just get on with it then, this is torture.

  “You must have fired plenty of people before me.” She huffed, now feeling a little tortured by the whole experience. “Huh, I imagine it’s old hat. You have quite the reputation.”

  Jonathan was at first taken aback by her demeanour, especially as he realized she believed he intended to fire her. But more than anything, he found her assumption amusing and laughed energetically. “You’re right, firing you would be way easier than what I actually have planned for you.”

  Vanessa moved away from the bureau, and stepped toward the door. Clenching her jaw, she asked, “And what is that, exactly? I’m no office slut, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “No, wait.” Afraid he had offended her, Jonathan stopped laughing and gestured to his seat behind his bureau, “Please. Sit down. You are safe with me. I mean you no harm. I assure you. You won’t lose your job either, although you might decide to leave it of your own accord before long.”

  This started to irritate Vanessa. What was it he wanted? She wasn’t fired, he wasn’t expecting a ‘friendly’ blowjob, so what? “Would you mind very much if I stood? I sit all day at my desk.”

  He admired her resolve, but feared she might soon leave, so stretched over his bureau to remove a manila envelope from the top drawer.

  Vanessa scratched her slender neck as she sat in his chair, now curious to know more.

  He unsealed the envelope, while watching Vanessa’s reactions with interest, and removed a few papers. Offering them to her, he said, “It’s a confidentiality agreement. What we discuss from now on must never leave this room.” He spoke with authority, needing her to take this part seriously. “Take a minute or two to read through it, then sign it so that we may continue. Or don’t sign it, and we need go no further. Up to you.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but felt anything but. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Sir?” Vanessa said, as he placed his hand on the door knob.

  “Please, enough with the Sir. Call me Jonathan. What is it?”

  “Right … Jonathan. I err … if I don’t sign this thing, will you…”

  He examined Vanessa, and for the first time, he looked forward to getting this show on the road. “No, you won’t be fired.”

  Vanessa felt relieved, and in a less vulnerable position, yet sensed a ‘but’ in the air, nevertheless.

  “Of course, I hope you do sign it.” And he did. “But if not, then you go back to work and we need never talk of this, or anything else, again.”

  There it is: ‘If not this, then nothing.’

  Vanessa read the paperwork from start to finish, twice. It was a standard confidentiality agreement, between her and Jonathan. She was no lawyer, but it requested nothing from her but her silence. And as there was nothing discussed so far that she had any wish to share, she thought it would be okay to sign it. Plus, she was eager to know what Jonathan could possibly want with someone like her. It wasn’t sexual, she’d made sure of that. He had assured her that she was safe with him, which led her to believe he had no romantic designs on her. This was a little bruising to her ego, naturally. He was gorgeous and successful after all, but in her circumstances, it was exactly what she needed to hear.

  And although she wouldn’t admit it, she didn’t like the idea of never talking to Jonathan again, “I’ll sign it then,” she said to herself, confused and intrigued.

  * * *

  When Jonathan returned, he filled the room with his presence like sunshine through clouds on a gloomy day. With confident strides, he approached Vanessa, who had returned to the sofa. A frown appeared just before he held out his hand and asked, “May I?”

  She handed him the signed contract and his pen, “Sure.”

  He looked it over, and a beaming smile stole the frown from his face. “Excellent. Then we may begin.”

  “Begin what?” Vanessa asked, shuffling in her seat.

  Jonathan poured himself a Scotch and gestured at another glass, “Shall we? Just a small one in celebration?”

  “Go ahead, but I don’t drink much.”

  “Really, it’s very good.”

  “You go ahead, I prefer to stay sharp.” And she just didn’t like the taste of alcohol, especially that stuff. Although she had never tasted Scotch, the smell was strong and off-putting enough. Besides, the evils of alcohol stole Mike from her, so she had little time for it.

  A little impressed by this, he said, “Very good. Water, or juice, maybe milk and cookies?”

  Vanessa wanted to laugh, but resisted. “No thanks, I’m just fine.”

  Jonathan agreed; she was fine indeed. A red-blooded male, he was not immune to a pretty face and good character. “Well, do you mind if I do? I’m male and therefore weak,” he asked while he poured, glancing at her intermittently.

  She smiled a little in reply, knowing all too well how weak men could be.

  Jonathan took his three fingers of Scotch and sat beside her on the sofa. He enjoyed how her chest and throat flushed a little when he did so, and how a peachy hue warmed her cheeks.

  Taking a sip from the golden liquor, he sat up straight. “Well, I see you’re as eager as I am to get on with this.” With another gulp for courage, he finally began. “So, here goes.”

  Vanessa threaded her fingers together, then placed her hands in her lap. Finally, she thought, with a deep breath.

  “Ahem.” Jonathan cleared his throat. “Few people know that I was actually born in England, Vanessa. I came over to the USA as a student in 2005 and started this company in 2006.”

  Vanessa’s mouth twisted, she scratched her knee, and pulled on the hem of her skirt, suddenly conscious of how short it looked when she sat down. “But your accent?”

  “Yes, well turns out I’m like a sponge for certain information. I picked up the accent quickly, and decided it was in my best interest to keep it up.”

  “Well, it’s convincing. I’d never have guessed. But why I mean. Who cares?”

  “The law minds very much, unfortunately.”

  Vanessa didn’t understand. What is illegal about being British? “Err, okay?”

  “So, long story short, a change in immigration rules means I now have to find an American citizen to marry me, so that I can stay in your country, or leave your country and the life I have built here.”

  “Oh. I see.” Vanessa really wasn’t sure she did see. She had an inkling of where Jonathan was going with this, but this wasn’t the sort of thing that happened in real life. Surely he wasn’t about to ask her what she thought he was going to ask her, right?

  “I’m glad you see. It’s a terrible predicament.”

  “Sorry, but surely it wouldn’t be difficult find a wife? You are known for your… success with the ladies, as well as business.” Vanessa smiled, then worried she may have been cheeky. But Jonathan returned the smile, pushing back his shoulders. “I mean, would they really throw out such a prominent businessman as you, Mr. Jergan? Think of the taxes.” Vanessa laughed softly, but remained unsure what this had to do with her.

  Jonathan appreciated her grasp of his situation, and of his successes. She was animated, passionate, and humorous. He liked that. “Ha, thanks. But law is law, according to my team of advisors. So, Vanessa, I have a proposal for you.�
��

  “Finally!” she sighed, but Jonathan’s surprised expression reminded her of his status as her boss. “What I mean is, I’m naturally eager to know why I’m here.”

  Jonathan gulped back the rest of his Scotch then placed one hand over hers, which flinched at his touch. Jonathan told himself to say it quickly, get it over with. “Right. Well. I want to pay you ten million dollars to be my girlfriend for six months, before becoming my wife for two years, and then getting an amicable divorce. There, that’s it.” He exhaled as though he had held onto it for a century.

  Vanessa’s jaw dropped and her hands began to sweat beneath his. It had been the thought that had been in her head, that she had dismissed as crazy. He wanted to pay her to marry him!

  Jonathan resisted the urge to push her hair behind her ear so he could get a clearer view of her face. Instead, he thought she would appreciate some space to consider this mammoth offer, so he withdrew his hand, and went to pour himself another drink.

  Several agonizing minutes of silence and another three fingers of Scotch later, Vanessa asked, “How did you come to pick me for this?”

  How odd, he thought, that that should be her first question. “Oh, well Danielle told me that you had sworn off serious relationships and marriage, for whatever reason, so it seemed to me that you would be perfect for this particular job.”

  Vanessa appeared hurt, stood, and began to pace. He asked her, “Would you like to go away for a while, think it over? You look remarkably upset at this unconventional—yes—but also very generous offer. I never intended to distress you like this.” It startled Jonathan how much he now wanted her to say yes. There could be a number of other women who would love to do this, who might fit the bill to some extent, but already he had seen a spark in Vanessa; she would be fun to work with, trustworthy even. And he didn’t fancy spending over two years of his life with some tart who would do anything for money, or with someone who thought she loved him, God forbid.