Dance for the Billionaire

by Moore, Jewel

  On returning home after the interview, she had Googled him, booting up her laptop as she undressed and cursing when it took its own sweet time to finally connect to the Internet. She had been shocked first by the number of hits and then by the fact that most were articles in West Indian newspapers. Eighteen months ago he had returned to the UK to head his father’s company while his parent recovered from an undisclosed illness, but his wealth was spread across the Caribbean in luxury apartments. He also had an exclusive billionaires’ island somewhere off Bermuda. For years the press had been trying to find out exactly what type of debauchery took place there, but the members who were granted exclusive privileges kept it a closely-guarded secret. Sketchy details had emerged when a disgruntled ex-girlfriend of one of the members had agreed an expose with the UK top tabloid newspaper for a reputed large sum of money. But she hadn’t been able to give much away—on both occasions she had been flown blindfolded to the island from L.F. Wade International Airport to the secret location with the billionaire teasing and pleasuring her all the way. The newspaper article claimed that the island outranked Richard Branson’s Necker Island for exclusivity.

  Another little surprise had been Mr. O’Brien’s fondness for ‘exotic playthings’ as one newspaper article had termed they—beautiful women of practically every race. Switching to Google images, Chantelle had seen hundreds of photographs of Dominic attending various functions with one or other of the women on his arm.

  He seemed to get bored with his playthings rather easily.

  *****

  Chapter Four

  “Welcome aboard, Chantelle.” Lauren Everton’s smile was warm as she clasped Chantelle’s hand the following Monday morning.

  “Thanks, Lauren. I was very surprised when Angela called me.”

  “Mark and I both agreed that you were by far the best of the candidates.” The woman tucked her arm through Chantelle’s. “Dominic’s away in the Bahamas until Friday, so he’s asked me to do the honors. Let me take you around and introduce you to the key people. You’ll meet the others in due course.”

  Disappointment warred with Chantelle’s relief. She had been so looking forward to seeing Dominic again. But perhaps it was for the best—sooner or later, he was going to demand some kind of explanation from her.

  Twenty minutes later, seated in her new office, Chantelle gazed out at St Paul’s Cathedral. The room wasn’t overly spacious, but it was modern and well equipped. Most of the senior managers had greeted her politely but coolly, except for the slightly disreputable-looking Peter Gascoigne who had perused her from head to toe and licked his lips as though he found her tasty. He would bear watching. And so would Preston Phillips, the oldest member of the team, who had offered her such a limp handshake she wondered how he had the energy to hold a pen or click a mouse. Mark Albright, like Lauren, had smiled and greeted her warmly, clasping her hand between his as though she were an old acquaintance.

  She didn’t see Dominic arrive, but she knew almost the moment he returned on Friday. The loud buzz of the busy office quietened to a low hum and most of the staff sat straighter and attempted to look busy.

  So when the cat’s away, the mice do play.

  Chantelle’s smile at the silly thought was quickly wiped away when the phone on her desk rang. The display on the instrument showed that it was Angela’s extension.

  “Hi, Angela.”

  “Chantelle? Dominic would like to see you immediately, if you’re free.”

  Chantelle had the sneaky suspicion that the woman had added ‘if you’re free’ for the sake of politeness. Dominic had probably just demanded her presence.

  “I’ll be right up,” she promised and hung up the receiver.

  She felt self conscious as she quickly rushed to the Ladies to check that her Sisterlocks were still in the neat chignon she’d twisted them up into that morning and that her grey suit wasn’t creased before taking the lift up to his office.

  “Chantelle, I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to personally welcome you on your first day.” Getting to his feet as Angela ushered her into the room and quietly retreated, Dominic looked even more gorgeous with the light tan he’d acquired since she had last seen him. He reached over his large desk and offered his hand. “I trust you’ve settled into the job with no problems.”

  “I have, thank you. It’s been really good so far.” His hand enveloped hers and she was surprised to find it wasn’t the soft, pampered hand she’d expected of a man of his wealth. Instead it was slightly calloused, either no stranger to manual work or lifting weights in a gym. “I’ve been helping Lauren with a few of her projects as well reading up on the Thamesview Project.”

  Dominic smiled across at her in approval as she mentioned the project, his even white teeth glimmering between perfectly sculpted lips. “I’ll be interested in hearing your views and suggestions for that project.”

  “I’m making notes as I go along.” Something that had become ingrained while doing her degree. “Once I’m finished, I’ll send the report to you.”

  “Good.” He leaned back and his eyes seemed to soften. “Are you free for lunch?”

  He doesn’t beat about the bush!

  “Sorry, no.” Chantelle was relived that she could refuse without having to make up a phony excuse. “Lauren and I are going to try Jaime Oliver’s Barbecoa today.”

  “Okay. Then have dinner with me tonight.”

  “I’d prefer to cook you something.” Dinner at the places he frequented would require the type of outfit she didn’t have in her wardrobe. As it was, she was desperately waiting for her first salary to buy at least another two suits to add to her wardrobe of one. She had changed her top and accessories each day, hoping to distract her colleagues’ eyes enough for them not to notice that she had been wearing the same suit all week—the very one she had worn for her interview.

  Dominic also needed to know she had commitments and wasn’t free to be one of his little playthings.

  “Great. I look forward to seeing what you serve up.”

  “You have my address?” she asked as she stood to leave.

  “Of course,” he admitted without embarrassment. “I’ve kept the copy of your application form I was going to refer to during your interview.”

  “You—” she began, but she was smiling.

  “Now, Ms Payne,” he admonished with an answering smile. “Remember I’m your boss.”

  “See you later.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Chantelle got up and walked out of the room, the A-line cut of her skirt emphasizing her round bottom.

  Dominic smiled and enjoyed the view.

  When he glanced up at the clock, his grin instantly as he fought to bring his body back under control. He needed to rise from behind his desk without difficulty to greet an important client in less than three minutes.

  ***

  “This is the address, boss.” Alvin pulled up to smoothly in front of the modest house whose address corresponded to the one Dominic had given him at the start of the journey.

  “Don’t wait up for me,” Dominic instructed, as the man came around to open the door for him. “I’ll take a cab home.”

  “I don’t mind coming back.” The driver looked around the shabby neighborhood suspiciously as he handed his employer the elaborately-wrapped box which had occupied the seat beside him during the journey.

  “No. I’ll be fine,” Dominic insisted.

  He would be more than fine. In less than two hours he hoped to be where he had dreamed of being for the last five months—buried balls deep in Chantelle’s tightness with her long legs wrapped snugly around him.

  He strode quickly up the short walkway and pressed the bell, buzzing with anticipation.

  “Yes?” The beautiful young woman with smooth caramel skin standing in the open doorway was tall and coltishly slender. For a moment he thought he had the wrong house and then she smiled—Chantelle’s smile—and asked, “Are you Dominic?”

  �
��Yes,” he replied, wishing that he could throw the large bunch of roses, the outsized box of chocolates and the vintage wine he held in the nearest bin. He had come intent on seduction and it looked like she had a house full of people.

  “Dominic’s here!” the young woman shouted into the house, forgetting to invite him indoors.

  A much younger girl came running excitedly towards the front door and skidded to a halt at the sight of him. Dominic smiled encouragingly at her as her eyes widened and her mouth formed a comically surprised ‘o’. She turned and ran back into the house screaming, “He’s white! He’s white!”

  “Sorry about that. I’m Cerise. Come on in,” the young woman contained her laughter but her eyes danced in merriment. “We thought you were black. Chantelle didn’t say.”

  Chantelle came towards the door with the younger girl hanging onto her skirt and sneaking shy peeps at him from behind her.

  “See, Charmine, he’s not scary at all!” Chantelle laughed and lifted her sister onto her hip, although the girl was about seven or eight. Perhaps younger, Dominic amended. Her sisters were both above average height, so the little girl could perhaps be a year or two younger than she looked.

  He handed the child the lavishly-wrapped box of chocolates she was avidly eying, thankful that he’d gone for fruit centers instead of liqueurs as had been his first inclination. Cerise blushed as he handed her the three dozen perfect red roses he had kept hold of the entire thirty-five minute trip, not wanting to lay them down and bruise them. He smiled inwardly as he remembered the effort the florist had gone to, having the roses couriered from another shop across London who had had a delivery earlier in the day, since her roses were already a day old.

  Lastly, he handed the wine to Chantelle and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek.

  She smiled up at him and he knew that she knew he would come with seduction in mind. She had deliberately chosen not to pre-warn him.

  Somehow, though he suspected he would have to take himself in hand later or suffer the worst case of blue balls in medical history, he found the situation amusing. It had been a long time since a woman had given him the run-around. All too often, they threw themselves at him in some boringly-predictable manner or another.

  “Shawn, put your game down and come and meet Dominic!”

  The young man who swaggered up nonchalantly to Dominic was almost as tall as he but boyishly slender and the male version of Cerise. He clasped Dominic’s hand in an overly-tight grasp, attempting to crush his fingers. Dominic had played power games with too many men to fall for the trick. Usually he would have painfully tightened his grasp to let the other man know exactly whom he was messing with. On this occasion he applied just enough pressure to let Shawn know that he was on to him before letting go. The young man had the grace to smile sheepishly.

  “Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” Chantelle informed him as she handed him a bottle of beer moments later. “We’re having Peas & Rice and Jerk Chicken. Hope it won’t be too hot for you.”

  “I’m used to spicy food,” he responded, immediately thinking that he had to take her as soon as possible to his favorite Cajun restaurant for a spicy seafood gumbo, or whatever else she preferred. The chef there was excellent. He took delight in warming the palette with a liberal addition of peppers.

  “Charmine’s only six, so I haven’t made the Jerk too spicy.” Chantelle placed a drumstick on her youngest sister’s plate and then paused with the food tongs over the other pieces of chicken on the platter. “Which piece do you prefer, Dominic—breast or thigh?”

  Both definitely, if you’re offering.

  Dominic forcibly pulled his wayward thoughts from where they were headed and back to matters at hand. His butler would expire in a fit of vapors if he knew that he had been offered a piece of chicken that hadn’t been first de-boned. Heaven forbid if said chicken wasn’t also both free range and organic. “Breast please…,” he began and noticed the quick frown that crossed Shawn’s face before the young man schooled his features into indifference, “…or thigh. Any piece will do really.”

  “Are you sure?” Chantelle cast him a grateful look when he nodded. She gripped a portion of thigh and placed it on his plate beside the small mound of rice he’d served himself from the serving bowl moments before. “Sorry, I’m so used to cooking on a budget…I didn’t think to get portions rather than a whole chicken.”

  “It’s fine.”

  She placed a large piece of breast on each of her other siblings’ plates and took the other piece of thigh for herself.

  Dominic couldn’t help wondering if she too had preferred the breast piece, but had settled for the thigh instead. She was twenty-two—he knew that from her application form—but acted like she was their mother. He wondered what other sacrifices she made for them.

  “So what college do you go to, Shawn?” he asked her brother after they had said grace and each had a few mouthfuls of food.

  “Leyton Sixth Form.”

  “He’s hoping to get into Oxford next year.” Chantelle looked at her brother, pride shining in her eyes.

  “I’m impressed.” The young man smiled and Dominic felt a slight thawing of the air between them. “Four of my brothers and two sisters went there. I went to Imperial.”

  “Didn’t get the marks for Oxford, then?” Shawn inquired with a smirk.

  “I didn’t even apply. I wanted to stay in London close to my parents.”

  He had started helping his father restore and sell on properties from the age of sixteen. By eighteen he had successfully sold on two properties and hadn’t seen the benefits of an Oxbridge education when he’d planned to be his own boss. He’d gone to Imperial only because his father had insisted he needed a fallback plan.

  “Mama’s bowy.” Shawn smirked again.

  “I love my mother to bits. I guess that makes me a mama’s boy,” Dominic admitted. Shawn laughed outright and his younger sisters giggled. “My nine brothers and sisters all accuse me of being one. In my defense, I’m the baby of the family and there’s a ten year gap between me and my sister Rosalind.”

  Chantelle smiled, reached across the table and patted his hand, “Good for you, Dominic. I think there’s nothing wrong with a mama’s boy.”

  But he could see that she was fighting to keep her smile from widening into a grin.

  “I think I’ll get a T-shirt made that says, ‘Youngest of Ten & Proud Mama’s Boy’.”

  Chantelle’s smile turned into a grin.

  “Yuh da man!” Shawn acknowledged, shaking his head in defeat as his second attempt to belittle Dominic fell flat. He sliced a big chunk of chicken breast and popped it into his mouth.

  Chantelle smiled as she bent her head over her plate. Dominic had handled that well. Shawn had been the man about the house since he was seven—he wouldn’t easily give up that position. Instead of challenging him, Dominic had made himself an object of ridicule and it had won Shawn over.

  Mama’s boy, indeed! She would love to meet the ‘mama’ who could call Dominic her ‘boy’!

  ***

  “Who’s this, darling?” Chantelle cringed at the sound of the slurred voice.

  Her sisters had helped her clear the table and wash the dishes before going up to bed. Shawn had kept Dominic’ entertained, discussing the merits of the latest Bond movie. Her brother had finally gone up to his room a few minutes ago, leaving them alone for the first time that evening. Dominic had refused her offer of a hot drink and she had just settled on the sofa next to him to have a heart-to-heart talk.

  She’d hoped he would have been long gone before her mother got up to do her night’s prowling and continue drinking where she’d left off early that morning.

  *****

  Chapter Five

  “Mum, this is my boss, Dominic O’Brien.” Chantelle turned to explain.

  Her mother was a mess. Her face was puffy and sleep lined, her eyes bloodshot. The pink cotton dress she had fallen asleep wearing was creased and s
tained with a blob of what looked suspiciously like last night’s Curried Goat.

  “Pretty mixed-race bowy.” Her mother placed her hands on her hips and perused Dominic from head to toe and Chantelle cringed as her sexually aggressive manner. “Just like the one who stole my man from me. Are you sure he’s not a batty bowy, too?”

  Oh fuck!

  Praying that he didn’t understand that her mother had just asked if he was gay, Chantelle jumped up and grabbed her bag from the top of the cabinet which had once contained and displayed her mother’s best glassware, and reached for Dominic’s hand. “Mum, I’ll be back soon. I’m going to give him a lift home.”

  “There’s no need to…” Dominic began, then realized that Chantelle was desperate to leave. He let her pull him towards the door, but turned when he got there to say, “Bye Mrs. Payne. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “When you come again we will discuss your intention with—”

  Even more mortified, Chantelle quickly pulled the door closed on the rest of her mother’s sentence.

  “I’ll call my driver.”

  As Dominic pulled out his phone, Chantelle hastily placed her hand over it to prevent him from dialing the number. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Is there somewhere…a pub…nearby where we can talk?”

  “No. Well, there’s one, but I don’t want to go there.” Even casually dressed, Dominic would stand out like a sore thumb among the locals who frequented the place. “I need to drive to clear my head.”

  “Okay.” Dominic wasn’t totally comfortable taking her away, leaving her siblings with her intoxicated mother in charge. But Shawn at seventeen seemed sensible and responsible enough.

  “Is this your car?” he asked in alarm when she crossed the road and stopped beside a 2002 model Ford Escort.