Bound to You--A Hot Billionaire Workplace Romance

by JC Harroway

  I’d barely heard half of Shingo and Yumi’s pitch because I’d been reliving our night together. I don’t normally struggle to concentrate when I’m considering investing my hard-earned cash.

  But one night with Monroe could make a man forget his own name.

  We meet each other halfway across the expansive foyer, the symbolism appropriate. I kiss her cheek, my head awash with the delicious scent of her, and I immediately remember her naked. I can’t seem to stop.

  ‘Dove. You look beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you. I like your shirt. Blue suits you.’ Her smile carries its usual warmth, telling me our small professional difference of opinion is surmountable. Monroe is a passionate woman. Driven and tenacious. Especially when it comes to fighting her cause. But, if we’re to salvage this week, I either need to stop thinking about her in a sexual way or break my one-night rule and continue our fling until we leave Tokyo for London in three days’ time.

  ‘I’m glad you changed your mind about saké.’ I slide my hand to the small of her back and ignore the tightening in my groin that touching her provokes. Monroe and I spark white-hot—sustaining a few work-related flesh wounds is a small price to pay for that kind of chemistry.

  ‘I had a nap and awoke feeling energised.’ She shoots me a look, confronting the issue head-on. ‘I don’t want to miss out because we forgot to keep what happened last night out of the office.’

  Her view is as valid as mine—our stipulation about unanimous agreement for large investments has stood us in good stead all these years. No need to disrupt our perfect working model over a handful of unforgettable orgasms.

  I smile. ‘Quite right. Sex is sex. Business is business.’

  Nothing is more important than Bold. Making money saved me from a life of feeling as if I didn’t matter. I made my first million working day and night for a big firm after university, before branching out on my own. With my first solo investment, I finally felt that I had a purpose in this world. That someone was benefitting from my birth. That I wasn’t useless trash to be discarded time and time again.

  After my inconsistent start in life I could so easily have taken a wrong path. Instead I took all of my negative feelings and channelled them into the hard work that’s brought me to where I am today. I’m good at making money. Money makes a big difference in all areas of life. No one ever said I have too much. And I have plans to expand Bold, as well as my charity, Blackhearts.

  ‘I’ll do better to observe the demarcation.’ I direct her through the hotel’s revolving door to my waiting car and driver.

  ‘No, I’ll do better.’ She climbs into the back seat, smoothing her dress over her long legs.

  I join her with a chuckle. ‘It’s like that, is it? We’re going to bring competition into restraining ourselves?’

  She shrugs, giving me a playful sidelong glance. ‘You’re a man of excesses. I’m guessing that you suck at restraint, so I can’t lose.’

  ‘A man of excesses?’ It’s true my life now contrasts wildly with the unpromising boy I was, but the only thing I do to excess is work. Work at making money. Which gives me the ultimate control of my life. I don’t have to ask anyone for anything. I wear and eat what I like and live where I choose.

  ‘Don’t make this too much of a challenge now, Dove.’ Renewed desire shoots though me—she’s irresistible. All my shaky good intentions disintegrate. Why not continue our seduction game for a few more days? ‘Perhaps I’ll just let you think you’re winning, the way I let you be on top.’

  She laughs and relaxes back against the leather. ‘Well, the point is moot anyway. We agreed to only one more night.’ Her small sigh tells me she might now regret that as much as me.

  I press my lips together and nod slowly, my mind working on a compromise. I’ve struggled to keep my hands off her since our shower this morning. I don’t normally physically escort her through doorways and into cars. She’s perfectly capable of walking unaided. But there seems to be no end to the compulsion to touch her in sight.

  ‘Of course, we’re our own bosses,’ I say, warming to the idea. ‘One is just an arbitrary number we plucked from thin air.’ A number I now realise was wholly inadequate. I want more.

  Her stare sparkles, intense and assessing. ‘Well, if you think about it, all numbers are arbitrary.’ I think she’s playing along, but then she looks away and my stomach twists with something akin to dread. Perhaps she’s done.

  ‘Did you...reschedule your missed date?’ something makes me ask. The pulse in my neck throbs loud and fast.

  She raises her chin defiantly. ‘Not yet. Ben asked to meet tomorrow instead.’

  Acid burns my throat. ‘Ben?’

  She nods. ‘Ben Haslam—do you know him?’

  I know everyone who’s anyone that does business in Tokyo. ‘He’s in commercial property development, right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s him.’

  ‘And you’ve never met him before?’ I’m struck by a second flare of jealousy in twenty-four hours. The first was when she mentioned Sterling in the office earlier—I felt a searing, primal wrenching in my chest I’ve never experienced before.

  ‘No.’ She looks at me curiously.

  ‘You won’t get along.’ I’ve never been more emphatic. Ben is a serious guy, bordering on dull. He’ll stifle the life out of her. But, unlike me, he could probably offer her the full package—a relationship, marriage, the happy family.

  Monroe stiffens beside me and I realise my mistake. She’s like a bull at a red flag. The surest way to make her do something is to tell her she shouldn’t.

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ She watches me intently as the car grows stifling with caged energy.

  ‘Of course.’ My voice is tight. I want to drag her mouth to mine and remind her how good we are together. How explosive is our chemistry. How many orgasms she had at my hands. How she could have more if she forgot about Ben and I forgot my one-night limit.

  ‘So, let me tell you about this saké place.’ As bright flashes of Tokyo pass by the car’s windows, I talk about Gansue, one of the city’s newest, hippest saké bars. I spout some facts about saké, trying to act normally while my mind trawls everything I know about Monroe’s blind date. I should butt out and allow her the chance to click with another man. Not that she needs my permission. Instead, I plan ways I can selfishly nudge him out of the running.

  It’s not a long drive and we’re there before I succumb to the urge to scrap the evening entirely and persuade Monroe to come back to my place. But, much as I’d like to, I can’t imprison her naked and in a state of orgasm-induced coma. That doesn’t mean I won’t play dirty in my role as host. She embraced the seduction game. If we keep it going, she’ll have no need for any other downtime but with me.

  Inside the tiny, dimly lit bar we sit at the counter, which runs along the narrow open kitchen so we can watch the chefs prepare our food. The atmosphere is relaxed. A wall of colourful saké bottles and one-of-a-kind pottery saké cups warms the clean tones of the interior décor. I thought of Monroe as soon as I saw them—she has her own collection of pretty bone china teacups at home.

  ‘The locals call saké nihonshu,’ I say, gesturing to the various brands lined up behind the bar. ‘There are as many different varieties and unique flavours as there are wines or beers.’ I’ve become something of an enthusiastic convert to the Japanese national drink. Yet, now, the idea that Monroe might keep her date with Ben fucking Haslam leaves my throat too dry to swallow a single drop.

  ‘I love it here.’ She flashes me her radiant smile. ‘Good call.’

  Gansue’s intimate and eclectic atmosphere brims with authentic Japanese elegance, and I can tell from the appreciation gleaming in Monroe’s eyes that she’s enchanted.

  Something shifts in my chest—the warmth of intimacy. I felt it this morning when we shared a moment in the shower. I know this woma
n. Aside from being long-term business partners and temporary lovers, we’re also friends. I respect her place in my life. I enjoy her company, her warmth and her big heart. Putting that enchanted look on her face could become addictive.

  I observe the uniqueness and delicate beauty of her features, marvelling at how different her familiar face looks through the lens of a lover. She’s piled her dark, silky mass of hair on top of her head in a relaxed up-do. It exposes her neck, and I’m reminded of how she moaned and clawed at my back when I kissed her there last night. I want to kiss her there now and test her resolve.

  Can she move on and ignore the kind of sex that all other encounters are measured against? I knew from last time that we’d be great together but being trapped in a cocoon of intimacy by the storm seemed to heighten every touch, as if we could hear the countdown ticking. We barely slept. I couldn’t seem to get enough of her. And now, even if I could walk away, I don’t want to just yet.

  I slowly lift my hand to brush an escaped tendril of hair from her cheek. Her eyes widen with surprise.

  ‘Hudson...’ Her voice is hesitant, almost a plea.

  I drop my hand, gathering my scattered wits. We stare, the connection that bound us together in insatiable need last night still there.

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’ She touches my leg under the bar, looking up at me with seductive eyes. ‘In terms of the arbitrary numbers you mentioned earlier, don’t you think five has a nice, clear ring to it?’ She trails her fingers along my thigh. For the first time since we stopped kissing and touching and started work this morning, I breathe easily.

  I grin, elation tugging at my cheeks. Five is the number of nights she’s in town.

  ‘I’d have to unequivocally agree with you there, Dove. Five is a perfect number for a game of seduction.’ Making it competitive keeps it light and playful. And with a set end-date there’s no risk of emotions sneaking in. We’ve got this.

  I lean close and enjoy her small shudder when I exhale on her neck. ‘Wanna get out of here? If I had my way, we’d have never left your hotel.’

  Her throaty laugh makes my cock twitch. Excitement flares in her eyes. ‘I want dinner and saké.’

  My smile widens. ‘I guess we should eat, as we’ll be burning up so many calories.’ I can tell from her shallow breathing and the pulse fluttering in her neck that she’s thinking about the four remaining nights every bit as much as I am.

  We order food I’m no longer hungry for, and are quickly served warm saké in an ornate pottery bottle with matching cups. Monroe moans at the first delicious sip.

  ‘Good?’

  She nods, her eyes half closed in delight. ‘So good.’ She licks her lips and I look away to block out the memories of that mouth wrapped around my cock this morning.

  Guilt slams into me; I’d planned to bring both Monroe and Sterling here. Instead I fucked my friend’s ex-wife all night long. I respect the hell out of Sterling and he’s the only person I know who’s as ballsy in business as I am. And yet I have the same plan for tonight. I take a slug of saké to dash the shame robbing my appetite.

  The feeling worsens as I recall how he’d come to me for advice after their marriage imploded. It was a tense time for us all, professionally and personally. My role shifted from that of the outsider, one I was used to, to being the one caught in the middle of two people I care about. Both were hurting and grieving and desperate not to cause the other further suffering. All I could offer was an unbiased ear and support in the office. I had no personal wisdom to share, having no experience with what they were going through. Out of self-interest, I advised them to keep the lines of communication open, for the sake of their years of hard work in building a business. And it succeeded.

  ‘You’ve drifted off. Are you okay?’ Monroe strokes my arm and my body clamours to be closer.

  ‘I was remembering the day we all met. How fearlessly you and Sterling propositioned me.’ We share a smile. I’d given the keynote address at the European Investment Summit in London when they’d approached me to suggest a partnership.

  ‘Yes.’ There’s a twinkle in her eye. ‘We’d been plotting for weeks. Sterling had read about you in the Financial Times. We knew you were speaking, and thought, why not go big and present one of the industry’s best with an opportunity he couldn’t refuse?’

  I’d laughed them off initially. I was doing all right on my own. I couldn’t see why I needed a couple of younger hotshots who had ambitions beyond simply working for me. Needing partners had never previously crossed my mind. But they’d been so passionate and driven. They reminded me of me. Once I’d given them a chance to pitch their figures and projections if we joined forces, I was hooked. We’d set a trial period for the newly formed Bold, but six months in none of us had any regrets.

  Our food arrives. Deep-fried broad beans, Yakitori, and Takoyaki—delicious octopus balls topped with nori flakes and Japanese mayonnaise.

  Monroe picks up her chopsticks and digs in, popping a broad bean into her mouth and sighing with pleasure.

  ‘Just think how dull your life would be if we hadn’t convinced you that three is better than one.’ Her smile is flirtatious but layered with intuition and compassion.

  She couldn’t have known at the time what a huge step it was for me to allow anyone into my life. A step I might not have taken if our meeting hadn’t occurred during a week I was feeling particularly isolated. On some unfathomable impulse I still can’t explain, I’d reached out to the first foster parents I remember, Wendy and Bill, only to discover that Wendy had died years earlier from her long battle with cancer.

  ‘Yeah, well, you just happened to catch me on a bad day.’ My smile feels brittle. Learning of Wendy’s passing had opened up those childhood wounds, resurfacing a deep loneliness I thought I’d overcome. Rather than take my usual solo stance, I’d been open to taking a risk with two new business partners.

  Looking at Monroe now, even after last night’s veer into personal territory and this morning’s professional wobble, I know the gamble paid off. And this new risk...breaking my rule to have her in my bed for the next four nights...? Let’s hope neither of us regrets it down the track.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hudson

  ‘LET’S WALK TO the crossing,’ she says after dinner.

  It’s a beautiful, balmy evening. At this hour the crowded streets are bustling—youngsters in search of night life, commuters heading to the station and tourists enchanted by the big city glow from the overhead neon lights. I’ve grown used to the crush of bodies around Shibuya’s famous intersection—the Shibuya Scramble Crossing—but I took Monroe’s hand the minute we left the bar. My mind says keeping her close is a safety thing, but her hand in mine is scarily natural.

  I watch her, admiring her wide-eyed excitement for the atmosphere. ‘You love it here, don’t you?’

  She beams. ‘Yes. Don’t you?’

  ‘I guess.’ I’ve lived in Tokyo for three years and it still doesn’t feel like home, but then nowhere does. A man without roots can live anywhere.

  ‘Sterling and I had a whole sightseeing itinerary planned this trip, things we missed out on during previous visits.’ She shrugs. ‘I guess I can do some of it alone.’

  ‘What kind of things?’ I owe her an insider’s tour. Every time I visit them in London and New York, they invite me to new places and include me in their social lives.

  ‘I’d love to see some cherry blossom, as I’m here at the right time of year, and Sterling wanted to visit the Sensō-ji Temple, but we can do that next time we’re here together. Otherwise I’m happy to just eat and drink and absorb the ambience.’

  ‘You want to see a bunch of trees lose their petals?’ I grin, wanting to kiss away her adorable outrage.

  ‘I do. What—too romantic for you, Black?’

  My grin widens. ‘No comment.’

  She laughs and th
en looks down. ‘I need distractions. Mum’s memorial is next week.’ When she looks at me again, the excitement has faded from her eyes.

  I wince. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I know it’s a hard time for you.’ I squeeze her hand and clamber for something appropriate to say to a woman still grieving her mother’s passing. ‘Remind me. How long has it been?’

  She sways closer until her arm is flush with mine and pastes on a bright smile. ‘We lost her just over four years ago. Every year since, my family hosts a memorial at Dad’s place in Cambridgeshire, although we try to make it more of a celebration. My sister Claire organises everything, despite having three children. She’s the one who still runs Mum’s business. It’s normally just us and a few friends and Mum’s old work colleagues. People whose lives she touched.’

  She swallows hard, clearly struggling with deep emotions. She was close to her mother. We don’t normally discuss much of our private lives when we meet up, preferring to focus on the work we love, and socialising after hours. But I recall Monroe’s devastation when her mother died vividly. I’d felt helpless, and inadequate to help. The same feeling renders me uncomfortable now.

  ‘Will Sterling be at the memorial?’ Sterling had been her husband. He’d know exactly what to say if he were here right now. For her sake I hope he’ll be there next week, but jealousy writhes inside me nonetheless.

  ‘Yes, he’ll be there.’ Her searching expression leaves me restless.

  In the early days of our partnership, I was inexplicably envious of Monroe and Sterling’s relationship—not because I was attracted to Monroe, although I was. Their closeness made me wonder for the first time ever if I might be missing out. Their love, their happiness, at times heightened my loneliness. I was the odd one out, reminded of the years I’d spent as a boy, passed from family to family, home to home, school to school.