The Bishop Affair (Dominated by the Billionaire Brothers - Part Four)

by Simms, Jennifer

  The Bishop Affair

  Part Four

  by

  Jennifer Simms

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2013

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 7

  The harsh sound of my breath filled my ears as I fled the back room where Jordan’s lips were crushed against Vanessa’s. Weaving through the tables and well-dressed attendees chatting merrily with one another, my face flushed, my heart threatened to burst from my chest, and a familiar feeling pricked my eyes. I fought to hold back the tears but couldn’t. Passing by turned heads and concerned stares in a whirl, I couldn’t care less about fitting in anymore. It wasn’t like I’d ever see these people again or they’d even remember me.

  Dashing down the hall to the entrance, my heels clacked loudly against the cream marble tiles and I clutched my purse to stop it from swinging wildly at my side. The stilettos I borrowed from Sam wrought hell on my feet forcing me to hop out of them. I hiked my dress up and carried the shoes under one arm, hurrying toward the entrance, hoping to avoid as many people as I could. Once outside, I could see the parking lot below. Thank God it had quieted down; most of the photographers had either left the area or perhaps snuck inside. The evening had grown darker but the tribal torches placed around the exterior of the building helped light my path.

  By the time I reached the stone steps that curved down to the lot, I half-hoped to hear Jordan’s lumbering footsteps charging after me to tell me it was all a misunderstanding, that that conniving Vanessa had somehow drugged his champagne or blackmailed him into kissing her...but I was afraid that if I stopped moving, I’d hear nothing behind me.

  In the parking lot, I darted through a veritable fleet of sports cars and hummers waiting for their passengers until I spotted the driver that took us to the event. Dressed in all black except for a pair of white gloves and shirt that matched his hair color, he stood near the limo, reading a folded up newspaper. A sweet old man, he had introduced himself as George, the same driver who drove me home that day Jordan and I first had sex; he had joined us on the plane to Los Angeles. I recalled him winking at me when we arrived in an attempt to make me feel comfortable in front of the paparazzi’s flashing cameras. I had still been nervous, but the fact that he’d shown a little sympathy made an impression on me.

  George lifted his head at my noisy approach.

  “Miss Gable?” He tucked the newspaper away and furrowed his brows in concern.

  “What’s the matter? Where’s Mr. Bishop?”

  Hearing his name made me flinch.

  “Jordan wants you to take me back to the airport ASAP,” I cried, my chest heaving.

  “Back to the airport?” He glanced at my dirty bare feet and tear-stained cheeks.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, positive. And quickly.” I knew I sounded and looked desperate but I just needed him get the limo started and get me the heck away from this place.

  “Pardon me then. Off we go, Miss Gable.” He didn’t seem convinced but opened the door for me anyway. I threw my purse and shoes into the backseat along with myself, grateful for an escape. George stepped around the front of the car and got into the driver’s seat. Within moments, I heard the rumble of the limo’s engine. As we began to move, I hazarded a glance at the top of the stone steps I had descended. When I saw a tuxedo and a hand waving out, my heart leapt. But when I realized the man was too small to be Jordan and that he was waving toward his chauffeur, my hopes came crashing down. Once we had left the lot, George engaged the privacy divider, and I buried my face into my hands.

  God, Jordan, why? Why did you do that of all things? I swept my tears miserably from my cheeks and pushed bundles of sweaty hair away from my forehead, my chignon having been lost long ago. Not finding a box of tissues in the backseat, I settled for wiping my tears on my expensive dress.

  I’d been living a fantasy with him. After months of self-loathing and trying to get over the remains of my shattered relationship with Eric, Jordan came along like some kind of muscle-bound steroidal white knight instantly sweeping me off my feet and saving me from my despair...but he ended up doing the exact same stupid thing Eric did.

  Fuck. I leaned onto my side and hugged my knees into my chest as the tears flowed. Was it me? Maybe I was the problem. Was I just not good enough for him? For Eric? God, just tell me I’m bad a kisser and give me a chance to improve or at least break up with me before making out with another woman. I know I’m not one of those super hot girls that guys think about when they masturbate but just have some decency and tell me for goodness sa—

  The familiar buzz of my phone inside my purse interrupted my thoughts. I was tempted to throw the whole damn thing out the window but stopped when I remembered that the black Prada clutch belonged Sam. I reached inside and silenced the buzzing, too sick to handle seeing Jordan’s name on the screen, let alone hearing his voice.

  I dropped the purse to the floor and rolled onto my back, watching through the tinted window tall palm trees speed by against a darkened backdrop. The color of the sky reflected my mood.

  My mind replayed the events over and over trying to make sense of it all. Since the moment I started working at Bishop Corp., I’d been sent through the wringer. Every day was something different and shocking, like having to endure Trevor’s sexual torture or Jordan’s seemingly clueless temptations. At first, it seemed like random crazy events, the type of things you’d hear when one of your girlfriends says, “Oh my God. Guess what happened to me today?” But the more I thought about it, the easier it was to imagine the Bishop brothers crouched over a desk calendar, penciling in what they were going to do to me each day.

  “Oho, Wednesday’s going to be a doozy for our little Lori,” Trevor says, tapping his finger on the corresponding calendar square. “Are you sure you want to fit all that in there? It’s only her third day you know.”

  “Well, if we don’t drive her crazy, what’s the point?” Jordan says, throwing his head back and guffawing.

  “My, my, my.” Trevor rubs his hands together and smirks. “So Lori’s going to lose her panties that day...”

  “...but not before I grope her naked body on my massage table.” Jordan makes obscene breast grabbing motions with his large fingers.

  Trevor laughs. “And I thought I was the bad one. I’ve only spanked her.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, dear brother. I’m classy.” Jordan makes it a point to adjust his cuffs and tie. “ ...which is why I’m also going to fuck her in the limo after work.”

  “Ha. Already?” Trevor looks skeptical.

  “Why not? I’ve already slept with Vanessa and three other women this week. I’m borrrrred out of my mind.”

  “Well justified. To the new personal assistant,” Trevor says, toasting a champag
ne glass with his brother. “A solid million to the Bishop who sees her melt down first.”

  “It’s a deal!”

  It took a moment for the realization to sink in but when it finally did, it sunk to the pit of my stomach. I’d been played all along. Played by a pair of rich, twisted, hot-as-hell devils. How could I have been so stupid? Jesus. Consumed with overwhelming disgust, my insides heaved and I instinctively forced my lips closed. My cheeks bloated like a puffer fish but nothing came out except air.

  Feeling disaster approaching fast, I punched the intercom button. “George, pull over. Now.”

  The limo slowed to a smooth stop at the side of the road just in time. I flung the door open. Despite being aware of bystanders nearby, I leaned halfway out and spewed chunks of cocktail shrimp mixed with expensive champagne and my own bile onto the sidewalk pavement. There was no time to fling my hair out of the way and I saw a few pieces of olive get stuck in the strands.

  The distinct sound of footsteps nearby was followed by a surprised male voice.“Dammmn!”

  I tilted my head up to see a young couple hand-in-hand immediately veer off the sidewalk to distance themselves from me, revulsion in their expressions. They were dressed in evening wear and had probably been enjoying a nice romantic stroll until I just ruined it for them.

  Before I could apologize or provide some sort of explanation, the feeling came back. I gripped the side of the leather seat and violently emptied the remainder of my guts, small pieces jettisoning from my nose, searing my nasal passage on their way out. My lips stretched into a grimace and quivered as I desperately tried to hold my body still, sobbing like a five year old, wishing that my stomach would find peace. This is awful. Please no more. Suddenly, my abs jerked inward and I dry-retched. My body lurched forward. I threw my hands out, palms splashing into my own vomit just in time to stop myself from face-planting into it. The dry-retch came again and my hands smeared the mess in frantic motions. Oh God, make it stop. A few more gags followed until my stomach finally began to settle. Tears and saliva dripped from my face while I panted like a dog to catch my breath. Time passed as I watched through blurry eyes the horrible orange and pink concoction on the ground trickle beneath the limo and pool around the back tire.

  This was the lowest I ever felt in my life.

  Chapter 8

  The cool night was silent except for the clicking of the limo’s hazard lights. The couple walking by earlier, had long since moved on, probably assuming I’d consumed too much alcohol. If only that was the reason.

  In my post-regurgitation sobriety, I wondered if my imagination had gone too far. It seemed a bit far-fetched that Jordan and Trevor planned this all out. As unprofessional as some of their actions had been, they didn’t strike me as the type to engage in leisure gentleman bets. They worked too hard and their jobs were so stressful that I doubted they had much free time at all. Even the charity ball had seemed as much work as pleasure for Jordan. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he was kissing Vanessa.

  The closing of the driver door alerted me to George’s presence. He bent down and offered a handkerchief from his coat pocket. His frown deepened and he rested a hand on my bare shoulder.

  “Miss Gable, perhaps I should take you to the hospital.” His sweet face was crinkled with concern.

  “No, I’m all right,” I gasped. It took effort, but I slowly propped myself upright. I leaned against the headrest, exhausted.

  “Is there anything I can get for you? There’s some soda water in the fridge, if you’d like.”

  The idea of pouring more bubbly liquids into my belly after all the champagne going down and coming back up nauseated me. I shook my head quickly, cleaning my face and wiping my hands with the handkerchief.

  “Thank you. I’m fine, really. Something just didn’t agree with me.”

  That was an understatement.

  He eyeballed the half-digested appetizers protruding from the liquid mess on the ground. “I take it the seafood wasn’t too good.”

  “At the time it was, not so much now.” I sighed. “I’m so sorry about all of this George. I’m never eating cocktail shrimp again.” What was once my favorite seafood was now my least favorite.

  He gave a wry grin. A moment of silence passed with my eyes closed before he cleared his throat and spoke to me again. “Pardon me for the inquiry Miss Gable, but was your plan to rush to the airport and…puke on the plane?” His tone was joking.

  My hand came up to my face to hide my embarrassment but a smile broke through anyway. This was all so crazy and dramatic, and I felt guilty for involving George in this mess. My problems weren’t his; he didn’t deserve this, so I was glad to see he wasn’t too upset by it.

  “I guess I’ll just have to settle for puking in a limo,” I teased.

  He grimaced comically. “Miss Gable, please restrain yourself from puking in my limo. Who do you think would have to clean it up?”

  “I thought this was Jordan Bishop’s limo. I was hoping he’d have to clean it up.”

  He gave a startlingly loud hoot before slapping his knees with laughter. “That’s a good one. Mr. Jordan scrubbing at your vomit.”

  Laughter subsided my distress briefly. George was doing his best to cheer me up but my grin faded when Jordan and Vanessa flashed in my mind. There was nothing funny about that.

  “Hey George,” I began, “how long have you known Jordan?”

  “Long enough, I suppose.” He rubbed his chin and looked over the back of the limo. “He’s never had another driver.”

  “So you know him pretty well?” I asked, hating myself as I did so.

  “I’d say so, yes.” He nodded.

  “Seen a lot of girls come and go?” My voice caught. What was I doing? Why did I feel the need to torture myself?

  He cocked his head at me curiously. His mouth opened to answer.

  “No, no.” I quickly waved my hands to ward off any unwelcome information.

  “Forget I asked.” I didn’t want to know. I also didn’t want Jordan to know that I was asking about his private life. That wasn’t behavior befitting a girlfriend....no, personal assistant? God, what was I to him?

  I realized I was clutching George’s handkerchief to my chest and tried to give it back, but he just shook his head.

  “You keep it. In case you feel like getting sick again.”

  I looked at the handkerchief again and realized how silly it was to return it considering how dirty it had become.

  The tinkling of tiny musical notes cut across my thoughts. I reflexively glanced at my purse with my cell phone inside before remembering that I turned it off. George patted his pocket and found his own device, giving me an apologetic look before answering.

  “Hello? Yes. Oh, yes.” George looked at me carefully, nodding to the voice at the other end of the line. He ended the call without saying goodbye and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

  “You know,” he said, “I think the fresh air is doing you some good.”

  “I think so, too.” I still felt miserable, but at least I didn’t think I was going to blow chunks—as if there was anything left to blow.

  “Well, you want to keep feeling good, and I want to keep your puke out of my limo. Sounds like we have mutual interests.”

  I attempted a smile, showing my appreciation for him.

  “You know there’s this beautiful slice of beach not five minutes from here. My wife and I have been there a few times. Nice, quiet, and has a gorgeous view. How about I take you there?”

  “Okay, that sounds good.” I shrugged. The airport had been a pipe dream, anyway. I didn’t have a way back to New York City tonight—or the money to buy one. I might as well go to the beach to mope. We were in California, after all.

  I scooched my legs in, allowing George to close the passenger door. He hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Before long, we had stopped again. He hadn’t been lying—I’d no sooner rolled down the window in the back of the limo than we
had arrived at the beach, the long vehicle sprawling across several parking spaces. It was getting late so only a few other cars were in the lot.

  I opened my door before George made it around to the back of the limo to open it for me. I stepped out, not bothering to take my heels. The smooth swooshing of waves nearby and the smell of the sea were amazing and immediately lightened my mood.

  “It’s beautiful, George.”

  He chuckled. “Same words my wife said when I took her here for the first time. That was many years ago.”

  A crescent moon darted in and out between swiftly moving clouds. We were too close to the city for the stars to really shine, but some of them were still trying to put on a show.

  “Do you mind if I walk out to the waves?”

  “You may do as you please, Miss Gable. I’ll stay with the limo. Just so long as you promise me you won’t go into the water. I’m afraid I’m not a very good swimmer at my age and there’s no lifeguard at this hour.”