He was impressed with Joseph and the speed with which he had worked, and being familiar with the shark infested waters of commercial real estate, Simon decided to use him as his broker. As much as he wished he could give the business to Belle, commercial real estate was a different ballgame, and he didn’t want to see Belle endure anymore drama.
“The square footage and layout is good, but the building is a little older than I was hoping for, and I’m not crazy about the parking situation. Robert–do you have any private listings?”
Simon saw the subtle light in Logan’s eyes. There was a sale in the wind.
“Yes, I know some buildings that are off-market sales. Joseph–why don’t you come back to my office. We can go through them together.”
“Do you need me for anything else, Mr. Sinclair?” Joseph asked, wanting to make sure his new boss approved.
“No–that sounds good. Call me when you have something else to show me.”
The three men shook hands and Simon marched out to his waiting town car, the limousine too cumbersome for the day’s activities.
Settling in the back seat, his mind, uninvited, shifted to Belle. When he had woken early in the morning, his first thought was to wrap himself up in her luscious body and surrender to his yearnings, but he resisted. Not because he didn’t have time, but because he needed some distance, some space, to think clearly. He needed to start his day without succumbing to her enchanting allure.
Bewitched
The word popped into his head. He looked out the window at the busy shoppers and bustling businessmen, and wondered what she was doing, if she was safe, if she had liked his note. He had worried, after he had left the hotel, that it had been too formal, and there was nothing formal about the two of them or the way he felt about her.
Every man is a playboy until he meets the right woman.
Tyler’s words swirled in his head.
“Where to, Sir?” Parker asked.
“Jones & Witherspoon,” Simon replied, realizing he had been sitting there silently for several minutes while Parker waited for directions. “Here’s the address,” he added, pulling a business card from his wallet.
Jones and Witherspoon was his law firm in the UK. He had been with them for many years, and they had opened a satellite office in Beverly Hills. It was one of several reasons Simon had chosen the location for his entry into the USA. Having his solicitors so close at hand would prove convenient he was sure, and this would be his first visit to their office. The name of the attorney his London barrister had given him was Silas Montford. An odd but interesting name, and Simon was looking forward to meeting him.
The car cruised through the Beverly Hills traffic, and the more Simon tried to think of anything but Belle, the more her image possessed him.
“Here we are, Sir,” Parker announced, pulling into the curb. “I can’t park here so I’ll circle the block and find a spot. Just text me when you’re ready to be picked up.”
“That’s fine, Parker–don’t get out,” Simon replied, and relieved he had something else to occupy his mind, stepped from the car and made his way into the building.
About the same time Belle was pulling into the parking lot of her office. She was picking up her bag ready to exit her car, when one of her colleagues, Jayne Saunders, spotted her and walked hurriedly forward, waving her arm.
“Oh my gosh–Belle–are you okay?” the woman asked frantically.
“Yes, fine. Why?” Belle replied a little confused.
“Sean–the attack!” the woman exclaimed. “Did he–uh–you know?”
Belle stared at her, completely taken aback. The woman’s eyes were alive with curiosity.
“No–he didn’t,” Belle answered, irritated at the personal question and lack of decorum, “and I’m fine.”
“Wow, tell me what happened!”
It was almost a demand, and Belle paused, glancing across the parking area at the office doors.
“Does everyone know?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? It’s all anyone has been talking about for the last three days.”
“Jayne, please don’t let anyone know you saw me. I don’t think I’m quite ready for the phone to start ringing with endless questions,” she said, hoping she had made her point.
“Sure–I understand,” Jayne replied, nodding her head urgently. “You can count on me.”
Belle studied the almost frantic look on her coworker’s face, and knew the woman would have a very hard time keeping the secret.
“Thanks, Jayne,” Belle smiled, wondering how long the promise would be kept. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to call Kelly and have her bring my files out to me.”
“Oh–sure. Relieved to see you’re okay,” Jayne said, and moved away as Belle settled back into her seat and picked up her phone.
Kelly was an office assistant who was a whiz at the paperwork Belle hated doing. Whenever Belle was busy or the deal complicated, she would turn to Kelly to keep it all straight, and make sure the proper forms had been executed and the file was correct. It was a brief conversation, and in minutes she saw Kelly walking quickly towards her car carrying two large files.
“Here you are,” Kelly offered breathlessly. “This file contains all the forms that have been signed and are complete. This file has the documents that still need your buyer’s signature.”
“Kelly, you’re a champion,” Belle beamed. “Thank you so much for keeping all this going.”
“You’re totally welcome. You’re smart not to come in. You’ll be ambushed when you do.”
Belle grimaced as she took the files and placed them carefully on her passenger seat.
“I may take a holiday when this is all done.”
“Good idea,” Kelly agreed. “I’m sure there’ll be another drama of some kind that will take center stage before too long.”
Belle smiled at the prophecy. The young woman was probably right.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” she replied. “Thanks again. Gotta go before someone else sees me,” she added quickly, seeing a flash of light reflect off the glass doors as someone left the building.
Kelly stepped back and Belle drove off, and as she headed to her condo she called the escrow office. The woman in charge assured her everything was moving along smoothly, and all the paperwork had been couriered to Simon Sinclair’s suite at the Bel Air Hotel for his perusal and signature that very morning.
Satisfied that everything seemed to be under control, she felt relaxed and relieved as she pulled into her garage. A short time later she was settled in her living room going through the files, reviewing the remaining documents that required Simon’s signature.
It took a great deal of concentration and a couple of hours, and by the time she had finished she felt drained. This part of the job wasn’t her forte, and wanting to be extra careful she had gone through each page with painstaking attention. Not only was she tired, she was hungry. She’d had nothing since the muffin in the hotel suite that morning. Standing up from her desk she stretched and yawned, deciding on a glass of milk and sandwich, followed by a quick nap before heading off to the house to meet Harriett.
At the offices of Jones and Witherspoon, Simon unexpectedly found himself caught up in a whirlwind of activity. For several months he had been in negotiations for the purchase of a chain of small grocery stores that specialized in organic foodstuffs, with plans to turn them into supermarket sized stores. It would be the first such chain in the UK, but his plans were top secret. Besides the fact that he didn’t want someone beating him to the punch, he wasn’t sure how the elderly owner would feel about seeing his cute vintage shops enlarged and modernized.
Simon was very excited about the project, and though he was a tough negotiator, he believed the price he was paying was more than fair. Everything was in full swing, but to his shock, when he had walked into Silas Montford’s office, he was met by the unwelcome news that the deal was falling apart.
In London the business day was
over, but Simon was busy on the phone with his executives, sorting out exactly how the deal had unraveled so he could determine how it could be saved. Emails were flying back and forth, the hours ticked by, lunch was brought in, and so it continued until finally Simon believed he had formulated a strategy to put everything back together.
“Simon–I think we could all use a good meal. Are you free for an early dinner?” Silas asked.
They were in the large conference room, the flame mahogany conference table could barely be seen for the papers set in neat piles. A secretary entered and began picking them up, keeping them in careful order. Simon glanced at his watch.
“Good grief, it’s almost 5 o’clock,” he declared, shocked at how quickly the time had gone. “Yes, definitely.”
“I’ll see who would like to join us,” Silas replied. Silas, a short, squat, intense man with a shock of bright gray hair that made him look older than his years, turned and left the room.
Staring out at the street below, Simon’s mind drifted from the complexities with which he had been dealing, and wandered to seductive memories of Belle. Her sweet mews of pleasure, the way she curled so lovingly against his body, how his fever took hold when he was making love to her, and the many ways he could imagine devouring her, exposing her submissive soul to all he had to offer.
His member was growing, surging with his salacious ruminations. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew his phone, deciding to send her a quick text rather than call. Willing his best friend to return to sleep might prove impossible if he heard her voice.
Belle–been super busy all day. Headed off to a business dinner. Call me around 8 or so at the hotel. Hope you’ve had a happy, productive day.
“We’re going to Mastros,” Silas announced, breaking into Simon’s solitary moment. “Does that work for you?”
“Yep–never been. Look forward to it,” Simon answered, dropping his phone back in his pocket, and determined to quell his growing need for Belle, followed Silas out of the conference room.
Thirty minutes earlier Belle had walked in her door, having just returned from meeting Harriett Steinberg at the house and reviewing the repairs. She liked Harriett. The woman was older, extremely professional and easy to deal with. The repairs, as Belle had expected, were done with care, and there was nothing left but to have Simon execute the final paperwork and transfer the funds. Very soon the house would be his.
Tired but elated Belle, had returned home wishing she could call him. His note had said he would call her, so as much as she wanted to hear his voice she would just have to wait. It was when she was emptying the contents of her large handbag to clean it out, a chore she did every few days, that she saw it. The letter from her mother.
Guiltily she tore open the envelope and began to read, expecting the usual reports of Lucinda’s latest and greatest achievements. Slumping back on her couch she consciously relaxed to recover from her busy afternoon, but a moment later she was sitting bolt upright.
“NO!” she exclaimed.
She couldn’t believe what she was reading. Lucinda was being flown out to Los Angeles to screen test for a motion picture, and her mother had decided that Hollywood was where Lucinda belonged, and could Belle please find a great condo for her sister, to buy not to lease. Lucinda needed a place to call home, make her own, and she was sure Belle would be able to find them a great deal.
She read the letter again, twice, to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. It was apparent her parents were going to buy Lucinda a condo so she could pursue her acting career in Hollywood in comfort.
Scrunching the letter in her fists she fought back her tears of frustration. When she had first moved to Los Angeles there had been no offers of help. She had taken care of everything, from her first downtrodden apartment, to the secondhand furniture she scouted out at Goodwill and the Salvation Army.
Even worse was the thought of having to deal with Lucinda’s demanding and entitled behavior. A wave of anger sailed through her veins. Belle had moved to Los Angeles to escape her difficult sister and the doting adoration her mother bestowed upon her, and now they were arriving on her doorstep, to live.
Unable to sit still she threw down the letter and walked quickly to the refrigerator, pulling out her bottle of vanilla vodka. Taking a solid gulp, she headed to her bathroom to run a hot, bubbly bath. She’d soak, think of her gorgeous Simon, and do her best to figure out a solution. There was no way she was going to spend her days hunting out a condo for Lucinda. No way in hell.
The running faucets blocked out the sound of the little chime announcing there was a text message waiting on her phone, and as she soaked in the tub she said a silent prayer, begging the Gods for Simon to call her soon. The thought of him, of his artful, delicious Dominant prowess, filled her with happiness, and she closed her eyes, sending her fingers between her legs, forgetting his decree that she was not to touch herself, and surrendered to the imagery that drifted into her mind.
She was tied up, spread-eagled and blindfolded; he was teasing her mercilessly, his fingers touching ever so lightly, then disappearing, only to land upon her nipples to tweak and torment. His lips landed on hers with a deep, fervent, devouring kiss, his tongue demanding hers as it tickled the roof of her mouth.
Her fingers danced and played against her clit, the salacious thoughts sending a dozen gymnasts twirling about in her stomach. She did her best to mimic how he had tantalized her sex, and the image of his face was enough to bring her close to the edge. She stopped, recalling her promise to practice patience, and though it wasn’t easy she took a long deep breath, remembering his edict.
Starting again, she recalled the intense sensations that had washed over her as he had enveloped her breasts with his warm, magical mouth, and suddenly it became impossible to stop the gushing energy swelling through her limbs. Crying out with her moment, calling his name, the heady convulsions rocketed through her body, her pelvis lifting and her thighs closing urgently. The bubbly water splashed across the sides of the tub, and she was left with a warm dizzy tingling, all her tension having been vanquished by the release.
A few minutes later, buzzed from the vodka and spent from the euphoric orgasm, she ambled from the bathroom, and wrapping a towel around her body collapsed on her bed, falling into a doze that transformed into sleep.
Simon was back in his suite a little after 7:30. He was tired and a little miffed that Belle hadn’t texted him back. Though he’d had several glasses of a smoky smooth cabernet with his dinner, he felt none of the effects, the adrenalin from the challenging afternoon and the large steak he had consumed having absorbed any impact from the wine.
Pouring himself a brandy, he settled on the sofa and perused the phone messages that Cecil had been placed in a neat stack on the coffee table. Simon saw none that couldn’t wait until morning, and some that had to because they were from the UK.
Flipping open his laptop he scanned his many emails, noting several were from submissive playmates back in London. He smiled when he read their messages, each provocative and naughty. One young woman in particular, Mindy, the daughter of a cabinet minister, had been particularly clever.
Simon Sinclair–you may be rich, but daddy knows the Prime Minister and helps run this damnable country. If you don’t email me back and tell me when I can come over, I’ll be a very bad girl and sneak some awful law into the bevy of papers he signs every night, and the whole country will be very angry when its enacted, and I’ll tell the newspapers that I did it because Simon Sinclair wasn’t around to keep me in line.
He chuckled again, and shot her a quick note that he was out of the country, didn’t know when he’d be back, and if she didn’t behave he’d spank her silly upon his return.
By the time he’d deleted, saved and downloaded, he realized it was almost nine and Belle still hadn’t called. Wandering into his bedroom he stripped and showered, irritation turning into anger, then worry.
Donning his robe he walked back into the living room and spot
ted the envelope resting against the phone, Belle’s name crossed out and his written in her feminine hand. Opening the already torn envelope, he withdrew the paper and read her message. Though It was warm and sweet and brought a smile to his face, it also served to convince him something untoward must have happened to her. Why else would she have not responded to his message?
After quickly checking with Cecil, making sure there were no other calls, Simon picked up the phone and dialed her number. Fast asleep on her bed, Belle heard the ringtone calling from the living room, and pulled herself from sleep. Then it hit her.
“Shit!” she exclaimed.
Rarely did Belle swear, but she knew it was Simon. Jumping from her bed she raced down the hallway, almost tripping as she ran, and grabbed the phone from the table.
“Hello!” she said breathlessly.
“Belle? Are you all right?”
“Simon–yes–fine. Sorry, I was asleep. Did you have a good day.”
Had Belle been able to see the look on his face, she would have dropped to her knees and lowered her eyes, apologizing profusely. Her would-be Master was not a happy man.
“May I ask why you didn’t get back to me?” he inquired, doing his best to keep his voice even.
Simon always gave people the benefit of the doubt, those who worked for him, those that worked with him, and most especially his submissive female companions.
“Call you? I don’t understand. Your note said you were going to call me,” she replied, confused by the question.
“My note,” he said firmly, “stated quite clearly that I would be in touch when I could. In touch means communicate, and you know I often text, and I...”
“But I didn’t get a text,” she interrupted.
Simon frowned.
“Please check your phone.”
Moving her phone from her ear she studied the screen. Her heart skipped a beat. The innocent looking icon in the shape of an envelope was staring back at her.
“Oh dear,” she sighed.
The British Billionaire Bachelor Page 14
