A Billionaire's Heart (Erotic Romance Bundle)

by Dalia Daudelin

  Dashing back into the kitchen, my mind screams at me. I want to stand up for myself! I want to tell that rich bitch out there what I think of her antics every time she comes in!

  But then I consider how much money her dress cost, and the idea of that being garnished from my already pathetic wages... Oh, I feel sick.

  The nausea is even worse when I think of my daughter back at home. Amanda, being watched by my saintly mother, growing up in anyone's arms but my own because I have school loans and hospital bills to pay off. Thank God that Dad died before he could see me struggling like this, before he could see me move back in with Mom.

  Today hasn't been the worst day of my life, but it's certainly not the best. I woke up late and so I didn't have time to straighten my wild hair. I had to settle for a flimsy hair tie and a sloppy bun, but glancing in a mirror as I pass by proves that I look as frazzled as I feel.

  Then, my first customer demanded to see the manager because one of my untamed hairs fell into her steak. It didn't really. It was her own hair, but no one believed me!

  And now this. Now I need a new apron, and I know my manager is going to dock my pay for it. I grab one from the hooks as I pass into the wine cellar to pour the clumsy woman a new glass. By the time I take it back out to her, the bus boy has swept up the broken glass and once the woman is nursing her new glass I'm seating a new customer in record time.

  This one, a man, is alone. “Will you be joined by anyone tonight, sir?” I ask, brushing my hair out of my face. I think I feel a zit forming on my forehead.

  “Yes, in a few minutes, but I suspect she won't be staying long. Just bring out two glasses of water and one menu, for me. Thank you, dear.”

  He's older, maybe 50, but his hair is all black and there's barely a wrinkle on his face. What signs there are of his age simply make him look interesting, not old. He has the face of someone who belongs on TV. The restaurant I work in is near DC, so he could be a politician, maybe. Now wouldn't that be something?

  Ah, what am I doing, getting flustered over someone I'll never be able to talk to. He probably barely even sees me as a human being. Let's get real, everyone who eats at La Coste is rich and snobby and looks down at me no matter what I do. I knew that when I got hired.

  The only thing that keeps me going, that keeps me working here, are the tips and Amanda's beautiful face. I know she needs new school shoes for gym, and she'll be turning 10 soon.

  For some reason, I feel compelled to bow before turning to leave. Ah, hell, why did I do that? I can hear his chuckles chasing me into the back room. I grab two glasses and start to pour the water when I feel a presence behind me. I turn my head just enough to see my manager out of the corner of my eyes. Fat Pete, as we call him. Behind his back, of course. Never to his fat face. He takes up most of the small hallway where the water pitcher and glasses are.

  “Yes, Peter?” I say, trying to keep my voice pleasant. I don't necessarily fail at it.

  “We need to talk.”

  My heart drops, and at the same time it jumps into my throat. I pour the second glass of water. “About what?”

  “Look, there's no easy way to say this. You don't need to come back after tonight. We've had another complaint that you spilled wine all over a woman and didn't even clean her up.”

  That rotten bitch! I keep pouring. I swallow my pride. “Can we talk about this after my shift?”

  “Sure, but I can't guarantee it will do much to change my mind.” A bead of sweat falls down his disgusting, round face. I smile and nod.

  “Alright, Pete. Thanks.”

  My mind is blank as I carry out the glasses of wine and the menu out to the customer. I round the corner and see that he's sitting with the woman. I stop for just a moment to see if this is a bad time to come over. She's drop-dead gorgeous, silky red hair down to her hips and a body that puts mine to shame. They seem to be talking about something, maybe a little bit heated. I decide to take the water over.

  “Ah, the water! You arrived right on time.” The woman smiles up at me, a cracked, crooked smile. Her eyebrows twitch as she takes the glass right from my hand. Without a second's hesitation, she throws the water into the man's face and stands up. “You're such a fucking pig, Joe. Fuck you.”

  I stand there with my mouth wide open as she storms off. The water is still dripping from his face. He reaches for the napkin, and I leap into action, setting down the remaining glass of water and rushing to help him dry off. “I'm so sorry, let me help you-”

  “Now, what are you sorry about? Did you tell her to do that?” He laughs, taking the napkin from me and pressing it to his face. He's still smiling, shaking his head at some thought. “No, I'm betting you didn't. I knew she was going to throw that water in my face. That's how we met, after all. I watcher her throw a glass of wine in a congressman’s face when he touched her ass, though I can't say I blame him. Anyway,” He looks up at me, his eyes fierce. Something in my chest flutters, that shy sort of feeling that escaped me years ago. “You look like you've had a worse day than me. Why don't you tell me about it? You could sit down.”

  I look at the seat in front of him, then back at him. I shake my head, clutching the serving tray to my chest. “No, I'm not allowed to.”

  “Okay, then when do you get off work?”

  I think for a second. “Are you hitting on me?”

  His laughter fills the whole room. Some of the other patrons stop eating to stare at us. Even the drunken woman watches as this man chats me up. “I suppose I am. Will you answer the question?”

  I'm blown away. Who would hit on me when I'm looking like this? With disgusting hair and black bags under my eyes, and sweat dripping down my forehead? I set my jaw. “Are you making some kind of joke?”

  His eyes widen and he sits back. He must not be used to being challenged. “Not at all!”

  “Well, I'm not allowed to socialize with the patrons, so-”

  “Would it help if I offered to pay you? Maybe... a thousand dollars?”

  A thousand dollars. That could pay for everything that Amanda needs and more! “Well... I just got fired, anyway, so I'd say I get off work whenever you want me to.” I clutch the tray closer to me, using it to shield me from the energy this man is giving off. It's infectious, but I don't want to catch it.

  The thrill on his face reminds me of when Amanda was a child and I brought home ice cream. It was a rare treat then, so she cherished it. “Wonderful! Since this is clearly not an establishment I'd like to give my money to, considering how poorly they treat their waitstaff, what do you say we go shopping and then go to a real restaurant?”

  “Sounds good to me!”

  He jumps up and juts out his elbow. I take his arm, and he leads me to the door. “I'm Joe, by the way. I work with the President.”

  A man with power! How sexy! “I'm Melissa,” I reply, blushing and looking down.

  “I haven't been able to really treat a woman to anything in forever. I've been dating too many heiresses. Where can I take you?”

  We're about to step out onto the sidewalk when Fat Pete storms out.

  “Where the fuck do you think you're going?”

  Joe and I turn around. I nearly stammer out some lame response when Joe cocks his head. “I'm taking my new girlfriend out to buy the most expensive dress we can find. Good luck with your business. I'll make sure you get a visit from the health inspector, I'm pretty sure I saw a cockroach on my way out.”

  Joe's car pulls up onto the road. We both get in, my head racing from how quickly my night has turned around.

  “You look shocked.”

  I nod. “No one's ever gone to bat for me like that.”

  “Really? A beautiful woman like you? I find that hard to believe.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, well, believe it.” My phone vibrates, and I realize I'm still wearing my apron. “Whoops.”

  “Leave it on, it makes you look cute. Go ahead and take the call, I need to send an email to the President.”

  Noddin
g, I pull my ancient phone out as Joe pulls out his high tech phone. I wonder who this guy is. I don't follow politics enough to know. I watch as his manly hands, their veins showing beneath his skin, types out an email that I can't quite read from the angle I'm in. I look down at my phone, which shows that I missed a call from my mom.

  I speed dial her. The phone rings twice before she picks up. “Hello?”

  She sounds worried. “Hey, Mama. What's up?” I blush, embarrassed that I called her Mama in front of this man that I just met.

  “I got a call from your work, and they said you left. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Mama, I'm alright.” God damn it, Fat Pete. “They fired me, so I left.”

  She sighs in relief. “They said you left with a man, though.”

  “Yeah, I met someone. Will you be okay if I come home a little late tonight? How's Amanda?” I whisper my daughter's name, hoping I don't scare off this amazing man who's whisked me off into some fantasy land that I never thought I'd be in.

  “We'll be fine, dear, but are you sure you should be going on dates instead of looking for more work?”

  “Mama, it's not a date. Well, I don't think it is.” I glance over at Joe.

  One corner of his mouth has lifted, his eyes squinting. He mouths, “It's a date.” I giggle, my face bright red.

  “I guess it is a date. Listen, Mama, I'll be okay. You know me.”

  “Alright, dear. Do you want me to wait up?”

  “I don't know. Probably not.”

  We say I love you and hang up.

  Joe takes my arm and pulls me closer. “She sounds nice.”

  “She is.” His body is warm under his suit jacket. He smells like expensive cologne and the alcohol of aftershave. I want to bury my face into his chest and just meditate on his manliness.

  “Who's Amanda?” He asks, wrapping his arm around me.

  “She's, well, my daughter.”

  He nods. I can't tell what emotion it is that's on his face. “How old is she?”

  “Ten.”

  “No way! You look barely 20!”

  Oh, the flattery! “No, I'm 29. I had her when I was 19.”

  “I've never dated a mother before. I guess you're a...”

  “Don't you dare say it!”

  “You're a MILF!”

  I gently hit his shoulder. “This is our first date, you can't say something like that! And anyway, I barely know you, and my hair is a mess and I'm so gross. I'm definitely not a MILF.”

  His hand, soft and gentle, cups under my chin and forces me to look into his intense eyes. His ambitions and power swirls behind the colors, drawing me in. “I don't do flattery, Melissa. I'm a busy man, I don't have time for it. You may not be looking your best right now, but with the right attention I can see that underneath the dirt you're a diamond waiting to shine. Will you let me show you that tonight?”

  I gulp. I feel like I'm melting into him. I open my mouth and then close it several times, trying and failing to find an answer, and only barely managing to squeak out an, “Okay”.

  “Good. Javier, take us to a dress shop.”

  His driver nods. I barely even noticed him.

  “Now you're going to let me buy you a dress, and you're going to let the women there do your hair and makeup as well. Then, we're going to have dinner. After that, what you do is up to you.”

  “I've never done something like this.”

  “No, I suspect you haven't. Your goal tonight is to never, not even once, say no to me. Not unless you want the night to end then and there.” He tilts my head higher, his eyes falling to my neck. Joe licks his lips. “Do you understand.”

  “I understand,” I breathe. I grip my slacks, pulling on the fabric as a wave of fear and arousal hits my stomach.

  Joe leans in, his lips just lightly touching my earlobe. “Good. Here's your first test.” His mouth hits my neck, hard and fast, his teeth sinking into my flesh. I press against his chest, but I'm careful not to say a word. It hurts at first, but then it feels good. His tongue flicks against my skin, and then he pulls away like nothing happened. I'm left wanting, yearning. Squeezing my thighs together to calm myself down, I bite my lower lip and lean against him. My head is swimming.

  The store is located in the basement of a huge building, but that doesn't make it any less beautiful. As soon as I step in, the smell of sandalwood hits my nose, reminding me of when my mother would light incense on Sundays.

  “Take a look around while I speak with the woman at the counter, Melissa.”

  Joe walks away from me, sliding his hands into his pant pockets after greeting the sales lady with a handshake. I turn to the racks of dresses on the wall, all in beautiful bright colors. Some are long and sleek, others with corsets and larger skirts. There are dresses meant for prom and for weddings, and then there are the dresses meant for hot dates.

  I touch the fabric of each dress on this rack, the soft silks and cottons pleasing my senses. Joe comes up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist. I have my hand on one red dress that's caught my eye.

  “I like that one.”

  “Me too.”

  He takes it off the rack and hands it to me. “I want you to try it on.”

  I try to check the price tag, but there isn't one. “But how much is it?”

  Joe shakes his head. “Don't worry about that. Go put it on. I'll wait for you out here.”

  I walk past the row of chairs that sit in front of the dressing rooms and into one of them. I hang up the dress and check myself out in the mirror. Oh, I still have some wine on my leg. It looks like blood, like I just started my period. And my hair is even worse than I thought!

  Frustrated, I pull out the hair tie and let my mane loose. Bad idea. The humidity has made it so it's poofy and unmanageable. I try to smooth it down as much as I can before giving up and wiping the wine off of my leg. Why can't I just be beautiful and ladylike? What does this guy even see in me?

  I pull off my clothes, making sure not to look at myself naked. The dress, surprisingly, fits me perfectly. Glancing back at the mirror, I'm almost taken away. I look like a woman, with real curves and everything. If it weren't for my hair and face, I might even feel worthy of being on Joe's arm.

  I unlock the door and take a deep breath. I hope he thinks I look good.

  When I finally step out, he's there waiting for me in one of the chairs. At first he looks bored, but then when he sees me his manner changes altogether. He sits forward, leaning on his elbows. His pupils dilate. His face even goes a little red.

  “We're getting you that dress.”

  “Oh, okay,” I stammer.

  He stands up, taking my hips and making me spin before him. “Yeah, we're definitely taking this. Why don't you... let me help you take it off.”

  “What?!”

  Without another word he pushes me into the dressing room and kisses me, hard. He presses me against the mirror, his hand reaching my back and pulling down the zipper to the dress. It falls to the floor, leaving me only in my bra and panties. He unsnaps my bra, pawing at my breasts.

  I almost start to protest. I haven't had sex since Amanda's dad left me 9 years ago. I don't know if I even remember how to do it.

  Joe's hand gets stuck in my hair. “Ow!” I whisper.

  He doesn't even apologize, his mouth pressing against mine. His fingers pinch my nipples. Pressing his hips into my body, I can feel his hardness through his pants. Without even thinking, my hand presses against it. I shiver, imagining how long it must be. This man truly is the whole package.

  He pulls away, leaving me frustrated again. He wipes his mouth, but he can't get rid of the goofy grin on his face. “Now put that dress back on, it's time for Cassandra to do your hair and makeup.”

  Cassandra is the woman working at the store, who I am betting was bribed by Joe to give me the makeover. She quickly straightens my hair, leaving it down with a small wave to accent my face. The makeup she applies is light, except for the red lipstick. When I f
inally look at myself in a mirror, I can hardly recognize myself.

  And then we're off in a hurry again, Joe pulling me out of the store.

  “Did you even pay for the dress?”

  “They have my card on file,” he says, resting his hand on my upper thigh while we're in the back of his car.

  “What? How often do you go there.”

  He chuckles. “Not often. Last time I was there was 3 years ago. It's where my fiance and I bought her wedding dress.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Your fiance? Are you married?”

  “No, no. She died shortly after we bought the dress. She was on a flight, and it crashed.”

  “I'm so sorry.”

  Joe nods. “Me too. Haven't really been serious about anyone since then.”

  We sit quietly for a while then. This powerful man just shared a very intimate secret with me and I can't quite figure out why. Actually I can't really wrap my head around any of this. Imagine me, barely a sewer rat, swept up by the wealthiest king in the world and brought on a tour of the finest sights and tastes. That's how I feel, being driven around my city in this expensive car, sitting next to this man who has so much money he doesn't think twice about buying me a dress that's so expensive the price isn't even listed.

  It's surreal.

  Joe's hand slides an inch up my thigh. Then another inch. It slips under the the hem of my dress and presses up against my panties, just above my clitoris. He pulls the dress up, exposing me.

  “Hang on,” I say, worrying that Javier might see me.

  “You're not allowed to say no, remember?” He leans in and kisses me, his hand pressing hard against my pussy now. “You're warm down there. I wonder if you're wet.”

  His hand slips past my panties and slides into my cleft, his fingers swirling around my sensitive nub. I bite my lip and muffle a moan as he teases me.

  “You're starting to like this, huh?” He whispers into my ear. I nod, my smooth hair falling over my shoulder. He suddenly grabs me by my neck and presses me down into the seat. His face comes closer to mine, so close I can feel the heat of his breath against my cheek. “Tell me you like it.”