Billionaire Badboy

by Kenzie, Sophia

“You want to run your father’s holding company one day, am I right?”

  “Of course, but what does that have to do with…?”

  “But he’d never give you a shot if you stay on the path you’re on now.”

  She kept cutting me off. It was frustrating me beyond all belief.

  “Well maybe if you stopped twisting every little thing I do into a headline…”

  “Think of me as your teacher. The more I tell the world of your immature ways, the faster you’ll be forced to grow up.”

  “And the more you exaggerate them?”

  “The better you’ll do at learning what it is to be an adult.”

  That bitch. I had to slow my breathing to make sure my face didn’t turn beet red with the anger I felt toward her. I don’t know what right she thought she had to speak to me in that way, but I could’ve bent her over my knee right then and there and gave her a good spanking.

  That quick thought of her over my knee turned into a full-blown fantasy as I stood in the middle of the foyer with her. I have to tell you, watching a memory of a fantasy as you’re in the process of dying is one of the more interesting things you could do in your lifetime. Well, actually, would this moment really be considered part of my lifetime? Or is it already my afterlife? Are there different schools of studies on this subject?

  Not the point.

  The point is, in some episodes of these memories, I was actually part of them, feeling what was happening, saying the words. At other points, I was watching them, as if I was an onlooker. I could see myself and I could hear myself. But with this fantasy, something else happened. I knew that the night of that party I had a fantasy of Ashley and I, but it was nothing more than that. I know this event did not happen. I really do know that, one hundred percent, and at this point in our relationship (the complete and utter hatred phase), it never would have happened.

  But as I relived the memory, the fantasy took on a life of its own. I was in my body, I knew what was coming next, and I let the fantasy play out.

  I grabbed her hand and drug her up the stairs into my study. She was startled, but not resisting me. Without a word, I swung her around and sat her down in my leather chair. She looked up at me with a bit of concern in her eyes, but I more so think she was playing the part of the victim. I think she was enjoying this role-play just as much as I. I then stood up straight and began circling around her, listing off her misbehaviors. With each bullet point, she tensed, as she no doubt knew she was in for some sort of chastisement. I then leaned into her to ask if she was ready to pay for her crimes. Her breathing labored the closer I got to her face, but it only made the game more fun. I stood her up, offering a warming smile just to let her know she was safe. Even while acting out what I knew was a fantasy, I didn’t want her to have any real fear toward me.

  We didn’t know each other that personally yet, so before entering into any games, I wanted her to be sure she could trust me. I then unwrapped her scarf from her hair, watching as her curls fell into her face. I asked her to turn around as I replaced the scarf, but this time over her eyes. My mouth moved to her ear as I explained that I needed her to fully focus on the sensation of her punishment, and that taking away her ability to see would surely aid in that task. Then, I put my hands on her shoulders and described in detail why I would need to take her jumper off. I then instructed her, if she ever planned on talking back to me again, to wear a skirt. That would make her reprimands easier.

  While I certainly wasn’t averse to stripping her naked, I wanted to let her know there were options. I slowly moved my fingers down her back until I reached her zipper. Then I quickly tugged it down, delighting in her startled breath. I moved back in front of her, pushing the fabric off her breasts. They bounced back up; I wanted so badly to suck and bite at her nipples, but I reminded myself that this moment was about her punishment, not her pleasure. Denying myself her body would only make the time when I could finally take her that much sweeter. I forcefully shoved off the rest of her outfit, taking in the body that was hidden underneath it.

  She was even more beautiful than I could’ve imagined, and I was quite sure she was even more beautiful than I was allowing my fantasy to imagine. That level of attraction only made my fantasy seem more real. I lead her back to the chair, where I sat down, spreading my knees out wide. Then I guided her down across my lap. Her bare back and buttocks were lying in front of me, for the taking. Her skin glistened from a thin layer of sweat, no doubt the mixture of the warm summer evening and the growing anticipation. I placed my palm on her ass, rubbing the spot I was about to strike. I asked her if she was ready before I pulled my hand back, but I knew what her answer would be. She would be ready. And she would like it. That’s when I started her punishment. I punished her again, and again. At first, she begged me to stop, but then she begged me to continue. And I did continue. I continued to spank her until I had gotten off from nothing more than her screams.

  But it was only in my imagination; I knew nothing would come of it.

  “Just leave, Ashley.”

  Now knowing I had more control over these flashes than I had originally assumed, I hit the metaphorical pause button. Even as a dead man, I needed to recover from the fantasy I had just let myself live. Up until that moment, the memories seemed distant, untouchable. But that one… that one I felt. I felt my hand on her. I felt my desire for her. I felt myself waking up to a feeling I had been trying to hide for so long.

  “Feisty, that one.” My father’s voice snuck up behind me. I was back in the memory. It started back up without me. Maybe I didn’t have as much control as I thought.

  “Yeah, you could say that.” I groaned.

  “Who is she?” He was staring into the crowd after her.

  “She’s no one, sir.”

  “Don’t lie to me, boy. She’s at our party. She has to be someone.”

  “Really, she’s not worth…”

  “Come off it. She’s beautiful, and I don’t know her. That needs to change.”

  I knew the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice. He was determined to find out more about this mystery woman. And if he were to find out on his own, I was sure it would be in a way that would not be… healthy… for any party involved.

  “Her name is Ashley.”

  “Ashley what?”

  “Leigh. It’s Ashley Leigh.” I groaned her name. This was not going in a direction that was making me comfortable.

  “That sounds familiar. Ashley Leigh.” He rolled her name around his mouth.

  “She writes that column about me.”

  He stood up straight, staring me in the face. “Son, you know better than to fraternize with the likes of her.”

  “I wasn’t, Sir, believe me. She just showed up and ambushed me.”

  “Will there be another article in the paper tomorrow?”

  “Most likely.” I darted my eyes away from him.

  “Then you didn’t take care of her like you should have done.”

  “She doesn’t need…”

  “Do not step on my words, boy. You take care of her, or I will.”

  Then he walked away from me, finding the closest person outside our little huddle. He made a stupid, overdone joke followed by one of those laughs where he liked to kick his head back, just to let me know he was finished with the discussion.

  If I didn’t take care of her, he would.

  In normal circumstances, that might not seem like the biggest threat, but as I mentioned I wasn’t a normal man, nor would I consider my father one. At the time, he was the chairman, president, and CEO of Stoneguard Holdings, a multinational holding company headquartered in New York City. The thing about holding companies is that they don’t produce anything tangible; they simply own other companies, either outright or in pieces. Stoneguard Holdings currently owns a number of restaurant chains, a few record labels, pieces of banks, insurances… the list goes on, but I’m sure you get the picture. When you spend your entire life overseeing so many differen
t companies, both in number and type, your stress level doesn’t do a great job of staying low. One of the ways my father battled his stress was by bedding women half his age. He said his father did the same thing, and they both promised me I was following in their path. It was just part of the life we were meant to lead. And I allowed myself to believe them. I didn’t question them. I never questioned them.

  I played bodyguard the rest of the night. I stayed hidden in the shadows, and every time I saw him try to approach her, I sent in another high society twit to distract him.

  There was an article Ashley once wrote about me regarding that night. She said I kicked her out of the party because I didn’t think she belonged. That was never the case, and I’m sure, after hearing about my father, you can better understand that now. She did belong. She actually seemed to belong there more than anyone else.

  Ashley carried herself very well among the poised and proper. She laughed lightly, not in that cringe-worthy, otter-like way she had introduced her laugh to me. She touched the men with her delicate fingertips during their silly conversations and danced whatever dance was thrown at her. It was as though she was meant to live among the rich. She really did belong there. So why did she hate us so much? Why did she intend to bring us down? Was it just out of jealousy?

  Two of my buddies snuck up behind me, tackling me to the ground. They had obviously had too much to drink, something I wished I had joined in on.

  “Teddy, where’s your beverage?”

  “Early day tomorrow, gents.” I laughed as I rolled onto my back, looking up at them. “And I really don’t care to move back into the city with a hangover.”

  It was an excuse, and they knew it. It wasn’t as though I was moving into college housing. My family owned, and still owns, a quaint little mansion on the corner of 85th street and Central Park West. With five floors, eleven bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, and twenty-seven rooms, it falls in at about half the size of our Lloyd Harbor mansion. I had spent about a third of the summer there, getting reacquainted with the city after four years in New Haven; so, I wasn’t really moving in the next day. My things were already there. Being hung over would’ve made no difference.

  The reason I wasn’t drinking was because of her, and because of the threat my father had made.

  Speaking of which… I rolled to my side, trying to find her in my view, but I was too late. My friends had unknowingly distracted me just long enough. He was already going in for the kill. I had to do something, and quick.

  I didn’t think; I rolled to my feet and jumped on stage, pulling the cord from the laptop, and stopping the music. Everyone turned in my direction, letting out a groan of disappointment in the process. I pulled the microphone to my mouth and pointed at Ashley.

  What was I going to say? She was walking away with my father. I knew exactly what he had in mind, and she was falling for it, the way women fall for it with me. So I called her out. I told everyone who she was and why she was there. I told them she didn’t belong and never would belong among a crowd of our caliber. I badgered and embarrassed her in front of the entire party.

  I didn’t want to feel bad. After all, she deserved it. What she had put me through the entire summer was unforgivable. She deserved to be shown her place. She deserved to be kicked out of my party. At least, that’s what everyone told me. But I couldn’t shake the terrible feeling I felt in my stomach knowing I had hurt her and she had no idea why.

  She left, as she was told to do. She disappeared and the party went on.

  My father found me later and with a small chuckle, whispered into my ear. “All she needed was a good fuck from me and she would’ve known her place. She would’ve shut her mouth forever.”

  Ladies and Gentlemen, that was the motto of the man meant to be my role model, the man who was supposed to teach me about the important things in life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HUNTINGTON HERALD

  You Can Take the Bad Boy out of Long Island…

  By Ashley Leigh

  I know I told you all that you would have to wait until next summer to hear of the tales of Teddy, but it looks like I’ve found a loophole! Yes, I am writing this article from the heart of New York City, and our favorite billionaire is up to his old tricks.

  Only three months into law school, and he’s already developed a reputation on campus. My avid readers, Theo the IV has started his own gambling ring. Craps, Poker, Black Jack: you name it; he’ll take your money. His games have become so popular that there are even professors rumored to frequent his tables. Look out, Columbia, there’s a new kingpin in town!

  As of the penning of this article, nothing worth reporting has come from our billionaire’s new hobby, but hey, it’s only November!

  What is worth reporting, however, comes from a very credible source. We all know Teddy is used to having his way with any woman he deems worthy, but last night things might have gotten a little too heated. While I wish, as I’m sure you do as well, that I had more details on the matter, all I know is Teddy left an off-campus apartment with shame on his face, and by shame, I mean a bright red handprint. It looks like his successful sex endeavors might have finally come to an end.

  Poor Teddy! At least the gambling seems to be bringing you a handful of wins!

  Until next time…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Teddy

  I wish I could tell you that the dying process was peaceful, but it’s not. It’s really not at all. Especially when your body is thrown over the steering wheel, through the windshield, and into a two hundred year old tree. You feel every bit of that death. You know how people always say when a loved one dies that they’re “in a better place”? Well, I truly believe that the pain you feel as you’re dying is to get you ready for that “better place”. There’s no possible way that heaven wouldn’t be absolute nirvana compared to the pain you just felt leaving earth. They planned that nicely.

  And then, not only are you forced to feel this extensive amount of physical pain, but you are also obligated to watch emotionally scaring scenes from you past. Needless to say, I don’t recommend dying.

  So, back to the next scarring scene: I landed on campus at Columbia. It couldn’t have been much more than a few months after I began law school. I was sitting on this stone, or maybe marble structure, that reminded me of the funny sink that opened into the secret chamber in those wizard books that were so popular a few years back.

  Okay, hold the phone. You were just judging me for not really caring much for those wizard books, weren’t you? I’m allowed to have my opinions and you’re allowed to have yours. And if my opinions make you hate me, so be it. I’ve had my share of hatred pointed in my direction. Nothing new. You don’t have to like me. And anyway, you shouldn’t like me, because you’ve previously promised not to become attached to me. I die, remember? If you’re feeling sad right now, you’ve already broken our pact. This story is about Ashley. Become attached to her. If it makes you feel any better, she loves magic. We’ll talk about that in more depth later, but believe me; she was all over those books.

  So I was sitting there, reading case files for an upcoming class, when something compelled me to look up. What did I see but her bouncy little blonde bob coming right my way? Her mouth dropped and eyes widened when we made eye contact, but then she darted to the right, down the stairs of the courtyard.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” I called to her as I chased her to the bottom of the platform. “You get back here.” I reached out my hand to stop her, but she twisted away from me.

  “You lay one hand on me…”

  “Whoa,” I shot my hands up, letting her know I was harmless, “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Just tell me why you followed me here.”

  She began to laugh, the laugh that made my face twitch, as she looked up to the sky and reached into her back pocket, producing her wallet. She flipped through the cards until she came upon the one for which she was searching. Ashley then handed me her student ID.

  “You go t
o school here?” I was shocked.

  “I do.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  She was so clear and to the point. I wanted her to show some emotion. I wanted to see that I affected her, but she was so put together. Nothing seemed like it would break her.

  “Going to class?”

  “No.”

  Oh, this woman was driving me crazy. “The correct response would then be to tell me where you’re going.”

  “But you didn’t ask.”

  “Assume that I did.” Never once had a girl made me so much want to physically hurt her.

  “I’m going to the library to study.”

  “Mmm, no you’re not.”

  “I’m not lying to you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of that.” I narrowed my eyes at her, grabbed her books out of her hands, and wrapped my fingers in hers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you drunk.”

  She didn’t argue. She didn’t actually say anything to me. She simply let me lead her to a little local bar on 106th and Columbus.

  I ordered a shot of whiskey for each of us. And then I ordered another. And another. Then we moved onto beer, but by this time, she was exactly where I wanted her.