“Come on,” says Janet, downing another glass, a glassy expression appearing on her face. “Bottoms up!”
I take a small sip just to appease her.
“Let’s check out the garden,” I say, and it’s my turn to pull Janet away from the champagne waiter.
“I’m staying here,” says Janet, obstinately.
I’m getting annoyed with her, because the next time I turn to talk to her, she’s chatting up some movie star, and ogling him quite clearly. She’s flashing her breasts at him and sticking out her chest.
“So much for not ogling the famous,” I mutter under my breath.
Janet pretends to not even see me so I just walk into the garden by myself.
The night is gorgeous and slightly cool. I shiver a little in my jacket.
I think about the last year, and about today.
I can’t believe I finally have a job after all this time. This means that I can finally move out of my Mom’s apartment, which is becoming more than cramped. This means I can get my own place. This means that, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be ready for another relationship in a couple months, once I’m established and on my own, with my own apartment.
I’ve heard a lot of different rumors about my new boss, John Clark, and his strange way of running a business. For one thing, it was like no other interview I’ve ever had.
I mean, hell, I’m waxing all poetic about my new job, but it’s really nothing more than the simplest job you could have. It’s a cleaning job. I’ve going to be doing the least glamorous work in the world. I’m going to be scrubbing toilets and doing whatever the hell they tell me to do.
It’s not like I don’t have an education or can’t get another job in the future. I was training to be a nurse, actually. I would have gone to medical school, considering my grades and the recommendations I got, but it was way too much for me to afford.
I hit a serious patch of depression when my dad died and found that I couldn’t continue in nursing school. I dropped out, and I worked for a time at some low level jobs, but I Just couldn’t keep them up.
I’ve finally got a handle on my depression now, and I’m determined to work my way up again. I’m not going to settle for being a nurse. I’m going to do everything I can. Hell, maybe I’ll go back to medical school.
I change my attention from scrubbing toilets and minimum wage for a moment to that meeting I had with John Clark. He certainly was…hot. He’s honestly one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen in my life. He has broad shoulders, and a slight stubble beard that compliments hi s piercing dark eyes. He really looks like a billionaire, if you know what I mean, and not in any negative way at all.
It was so strange that he wanted to interview everyone who worked for his company personally. But that’s his reputation. He apparently has a very unique way of doing business, and it’s obviously worked well for him, since he started out without any money at all and worked his way up all the way to the tippy top of a variety of industries. Honestly, I’m not even sure what it is that his company actually does. All I know is that I’m going to be cleaning one of the biggest and tallest and fanciest buildings in all of Manhattan. Well, it’s not like I’m going to have to do everything myself—I’m just one girl on a huge team, probably one of the biggest teams. I’ve never cleaned anything before, and my own room at my Mom’s apartment is incredibly messy. My mom actually laughed in my face when I said I was going to become a cleaner—“but you can’t even clean your own room. Is that what you want to do instead of becoming a doctor like you wanted to? You were valedictorian of your school, and now you’re cleaning floors?”
I didn’t know what to say. I mean, how else can I move forward? How else can I get on with my life if I don’t take a job like this?
I turn over my shoulder and look through the darkened garden to the open door. Inside, I can see Janet flirting quite severely with her catch, her celebrity.
I sigh, and look up at the moon.
There’s a noise behind me.
It sounds like someone is sneaking up on me. It’s all those creepy sounds from the movies—a twig breaking, a heavy footstep. Then I catch my breath and remember that I’m at an upscale party. A party that my friend dragged me to because she had an extra invitation. It’s a party that I don’t even belong at. I should be cleaning the floors here, I think to myself, rather than masquerading as a guest. I don’t really belong in this company of the famous, rich and beautiful.
“Hey, beautiful,” says someone behind me.
I turn around. So there was someone there!
I spin around, and almost gasp in surprise. I instantly recognize him. He’s my new boss, the famous CEO and billionaire John Clark, looking as hot as ever. Actually, he looks even hotter.
He looks hotter than anyone else at this party. He’s not wearing a suit like everyone else here. And he’s not clean-shaven. He looks rugged, with a motorcycle helmet under one arm. His eyes cut through everything, and seem to pierce me. He looks slightly bigger than I remember. Maybe that’s because he’s standing up now and he was sitting down the last time I saw him.
“Hi,” I say.
I figure he knows who I am and he’s just joking around with this “hey beautiful” stuff. There’s no way a billionaire like John Clark could think I’m beautiful, and there’s certainly no way he could be hitting on me at a party where there are women who literally work as models and movie actresses.
“What brings you to a party like this,” he says, handing me a drink.
“Oh,” I say. “Thanks, but I already have one.”
He takes it back, and tosses it back, down his throat in one gulp. But, unlike Janet, he seems to have a high tolerance and it doesn’t affect him. I really wouldn’t expect a couple drinks to affect him much, since he’s a big, powerful man, with a muscular build and broad shoulders. He looks like he’s the type they’d say has a “strong back,” whatever the hell that means.
He’s both lean and muscular, and I wonder if he’s ridden his motorcycle here all the way from Manhattan, because he’s a little sweaty, and looks like he’s been on the bike for quite a while. They say a woman is attracted to a man’s smell before anything else, and he smells fucking delicious. I just want to jump his bones already…it’s something about my hormones…or it must be, since no rational woman would want to jump her CEO Billionaire bosses’ bones right away, right?
“My friend had an invitation,” I say, hoping that this explains the presence of his newly-hired cleaner at one of the fanciest parties I’ve ever been to, one that I certainly don’t really belong at.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” says John. “I just had to get out of the city…I work in Manhattan at a company…well, you don’t really want to hear about it. I’m sure it’d be really boring for someone to listen to me talk about. And I’m always talking about it. Anyway, I just had to get away from Manhattan, from the clubs, the parties…everything is just all the same there.”
That’s weird. Why does he think that I don’t know what he does for work? Does he think that a lowly cleaner wouldn’t understand what it is the business is all about?
I don’t say anything, though, except to comment that it’s a nice party after all.
“I guess,” he says. “But, listen, I came over to talk to you for a reason. I was going to leave the party. I was pulling up on my bike just as you were passing by in your car. Well, what I mean to say is that I was just going to turn around and leave on my bike, and then I saw you in the car, and I knew I had to come back to the party to talk to you, to find you. I knew there was something special about you at first glance.”
At first glance? He means earlier today. “You mean earlier today?” I say.
He gives me a confused look. “No,” he says. “When I saw you in the car with your friend, pulling up the driveway here. Here, in the Hamptons.” He ads this last sentence, as if it’s necessary to make it overly clear what he’s talking about.
Suddenly, something
dawns on me: he doesn’t have any idea who I am. He either doesn’t remember me from earlier today at the interview, or doesn’t recognize me in my dress with my makeup. I probably do look quite different than the professional version of myself, wearing my ridiculous interview clothes. I was probably totally overdressed for a cleaner position, but, what the hell? I mean, I couldn’t afford to take any chances and not get the job.
Should I tell him?
No, I should have a little fun with this first. Well, that’s my first thought, and then I realize that it’s a really stupid one. I could be risking my job. But, on the other hand, if I tell him who I am right now, he might get upset and fire me or something. I heard he’s eccentric, after all.
But, really, if I’m being honest with myself, I know that I’m just having too much of a good time talking (and potentially flirting?) with this gorgeous billionaire. For one moment, I don’t have to be the broke woman applying for a cleaning job. I don’t have to be a cleaner. I get to look all fancy and apparently fit in and act like I’m the equal to this billionaire.
John
I can’t believe I’m talking to her. She’s playing with her hair in a way that drives me crazy. Her body seems to be calling to me. Her legs seem to go on forever, and the dress she’s wearing is quite revealing, and also quite slim, hugging her gorgeous figure. I just want to bury my cock in her mouth right away, and then move on to her more delicate areas… I would show her what the word pleasure meant, right here on this lawn if I had to.
That’s what gets me down, though. Everyone is so hung up on this code of morals or something. Everyone is so hung up on doing what other people think is the right thing to do, and most people would think that fucking a guest, with her consent of course, right here on this gorgeous Hamptons lawn in the cool night time would be, well, it would be considered something of a party foul by most.
So what can I do?
Well, the reasonable voice in me tells me to flirt with her, and then hopefully take her up to one of the bedrooms. She’s sure looking at me like she’s interested, so possibly she’ll want me to do a lot more to her than just pleasure her in a simple and crude way.
“So,” I say, determined to start the flirting process. “You come here often?”
She laughs, a strange high-pitched laugh. It’s kind of weird, but honestly it just turns me on further. She’s really hot when she laughs, but it seems like she doesn’t know it.
“So what do you do?” I say, trying to start up the conversation another way, since she still hasn’t responded to my joke, except to laugh, and she doesn’t seem the least bit drunk.
“Oh,” she says, giving me a strange look and a somewhat evasive answer. “A little of this and a little of that.”
“That’s how I feel, too,” I say, determined to take the ball and run with it, so to speak. I’m going to do the best I can with this little bit that she’s given me. “Just today I was having, well, a kind of a rough day. It seemed like I was running all over the place. Sometimes, it seems like I’m running around doing everything at my company. So then why do I have so many employees, right?”
“Oh,” she says. “You have your own company?”
I groan inwardly. The last thing I wanted to do tonight was meet another woman interested in me for my money. I was trying to play it cool and incognito, not admitting that I’m a billionaire CEO with my own company.
But, on second thought, looking at her, she really doesn’t react the way I’d expect one of those women to act. She doesn’t seem to flinch when I say I have my own company.
Hell, this is the Hamptons after all, and it’s a pretty fancy party. She might be a billionaire herself, or the owner of two, three, or even four big companies. She probably has more money than me.
No point in mentioning anything about my company then, even if I was in the mood to try to impress her. Just looking at her, and listening to her, the more sure I am that she’s some kind of secret billionaire. She certainly has a superb education, that’s for sure. Just the way she talks makes her seem impossibly intelligent.
“You want to take a walk with me?” I say.
“Sure,” she says.
“Here,” I say. “Take my coat.”
“That should help quite a bit,” she says, with some biting sarcasm. “There’s nothing I like more than filthy biker sweat.”
The comment takes me a back for a moment.
“I had you pegged for a super sweet girl,” I say.
She gives me a haughty laugh. “That’s what you think,” she says.
“That is what I thought,” I say. “Obviously you’re proving me wrong.”
I take the jacket and drape it around her shoulders.
She looks at me contently. She doesn’t wrinkle up her nose at all, showing me that she really does appreciate the jacket, even if it does smell.
She now breathes in deeply, with a pleasant look of mild delight on her face. “I like the way you smell,” she says.
“Yeah?” I say.
I take another look at her. With my leather motorcycle jacket wrapped around her body, it looks like she’s not wearing any pants, because of how short her evening dress is. Her legs shine in the moonlight, and her hair does as well. Her eyes are just so fucking cute, so beautiful that she looks like some gorgeous nymph of the woods—that’s what I think of anyway, even thought it’s a strange thought. Obviously she’s a human, but somehow she almost seems too beautiful to be a human.
“Where are we headed?” she says, her big eyes looking at me.
I shrug my shoulders. “To tell you the truth,” I say. “I don’t know. This is my first time here. I don’t even know the hosts of the party, or anyone else.”
She laughs. “Me neither,” she says. “But it sounds like you’re not going to be the most reliable guide. Maybe I should get someone else.”
I still can’t believe I’m walking along side her. My eyes travel down her body.
She giggles and looks up at me. “Don’t think I don’t see you looking me up and down.”
“I just can’t help it,” I say, and put my hand on the small of her back.
We walk for another couple minutes in silence, enjoying the night, glancing up at the moon and the stars. Of course, I don’t look up at the sky nearly as much as I look at her.
“I’m John,” I say, suddenly worried that I haven’t introduced myself. This type of anxiety isn’t normal for me at all, and it must only be here because she’s just so fucking hot. My heart is fluttering.
But, one of the biggest reasons of my success is that my anxiety doesn’t work like other people’s anxiety. For me, anxiety just makes me want to push harder and faster. Anxiety just makes me want to take action, rather than withdrawing. Other people are different and anxiety paralyzes them. But as soon as I feel that adrenaline hit from the anxiety, I’m all over it, and I just feel fucking awesome and know that this is the time to act, if there is any at all.
“You’re incredibly beautiful,” I say to her, as I step forward and kiss her on the lips. I put my hand on her cheek and gently pull her head towards me, farther into the kiss.
She kisses me back, and her lips taste like the most delicious thing on the planet. They are soft and plump and moist.
I’m not able to contain myself. And she isn’t either. We didn’t need much to get us going. After the kiss, our hands are all over each other.
She’s grabbing my ass with both hands, and pulling me against her. I feel her breasts and body against me. It’s warm. Her breasts are soft but her body is firm. She’s the perfect size for me. Something just feels completely right about this. Her body feels like it’s made for me and me alone.
“I’ve wanted you ever since this morning,” she says, breathily whispering into my ear as I bite her neck gently. She moans.
Since this morning? That’s weird, since I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever seen her.
Something in the back of my head tells me to think a
bout this further: after all, she seemed to react strangely earlier when I mentioned seeing her for the first time today. Have I met her somewhere else, in some other context, and simply not remembered her?
My mind’s trying to run through the possibilities. In my line of work, after all, you have to be pretty careful. People are always after your billions and your possessions. But my body tells me to screw it, and my mind obeys. Soon I’m not thinking about it at all. Now my mind is filled just with the soft pleasures of her flesh. Just holding her against me is one of the most divine pleasures someone could imagine.
“I want you right now,” I say, whispering into her ear.
“I want you too,” she says. “I want you inside me.”
My cock is already hard and pressed into her flesh, only separated from her by her dress and my pants. But upon hearing this my cock suddenly gets another rush of blood. It’s so strong and hard that it’s actually almost painful to feel it. The pressure is intense. I seriously worry that my pants might actually explode just from the force of trying to contain my intense erection.
“But where are we going to go?” she says.
“Out here?” I say, glancing down at the ground. The grass is soft, but it might not be the right temperature. Plus, another guest is liable to come this way at some point, and I don’t need another scandal with the newspapers saying that I’m fornicating on people’s front lawns. (Even though that’s not exactly what happened.) That’s just part of being a famous billionaire—people are always looking for scandals. People are always looking for you to misbehave.
But, hell, I’d fuck her right here. I don’t care about what people think about me right now. She’s far more important than public opinion.
But by her face I can see that she’s not going to go for it. So I come up with an idea instantly. That’s something that’s also good for running a business—you see a problem, and your mind doesn’t stop racing until you’ve found the solution, whatever it is. Whatever it takes—that should be written in all the business textbooks of the country. Hell, those textbooks don’t tell you anything, though. I went to college and everything, but it didn’t help me one bit. Dealing with people, facing problems head on, and cutting deals—that’s what’s gotten me my money and nothing else.
Running Back's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 18
