Baby Batter

by Alexis Angel

  I pace the office, quiet but tense.

  Finally, Andrew breaks the silence. "I might have a solution."

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Really? If so, I'm all ears. Give it to me."

  "Have you heard of Athena's company?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine.

  "Wait, you mean Athena Hawke? The Athena Hawke of Millionaire Matches, Inc.? Of course I've heard of her. She eats men for breakfast. She's ruthless, which explains why she's so successful."

  "You scared of her or something?" Andrew laughs.

  "Of course not. I'm Malcolm fucking Bane. Women don't scare me—not even women like Athena. It's just an observation."

  "Good, because her entire business model on matchmaking is like a contest you could enter.”

  "Contest?"

  "She calls it 100 Days," Andrew says. "And only Manhattan's richest are invited to play."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because the buy in is $100 million per person," he smiles.

  I let out a shrill whistle. "Pretty steep for a contest. You gotta to be fucking kidding me, Andrew.”

  "I'm serious as a heart attack," Andrew says. "Of course, you're supposed to be going there to find love … but you can be like those people who go to her to play this like a game. “

  "I'm in no fucking position to be playing $100 million dollar games, Andrew. C'mon, man. This is serious. I need to make money, not spend it."

  "Just hear me out—let me finish. There's more. If you win, the payout is $4 billion dollars."

  "Okay, now you've got my attention," I say, turning to face him.

  “That’s the total amount that has been paid in through the buy-ins to date,” Andrew says. “Minus whatever Athena takes as her cut. But people go in thinking they’re been able to not fall in love. They bet $100 million they’ll win. They come out happy to pay because they find they’re happier losing.”

  “Fuck that,” I say with a snort. “No such fucking thing.”

  "I told you," Andrew says, his grin widening. "If you win this pot, your problems are solved. It's that simple."

  "But what makes you think I even have a shot at winning this?" I ask. If I'm fucking honest, this sounds too good to be true. And when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.

  "Because this is a game you know all too well," he says, standing up and clapping his hand across my back.

  "And what game is that?" I ask.

  He turns to me, and smiles. "Women."

  "Now I'm confused. Women? What about them?"

  "Over the course of 100 days, Athena will be pairing you up with women—beautiful fucking women, gorgeous women—and to win this game, you can't fall in love with any of them. Not a single one."

  I can't help but laugh out loud. "Is that fucking it? I just have to keep myself from falling in love with any of them?"

  "That's it," Andrew says, shrugging his shoulders. "But it's harder than it sounds, believe me. I hope your cock doesn't get in the way, and make you lose it all."

  "Let me tell you something," I say. "My cock doesn't do love."

  "You say that now…" Andrew smirks, giving me a sideways glance.

  "I mean it. Love is like a foreign word, from a language I don't fucking speak," I smile. "This will be the easiest fucking money I've ever made. Trust me."

  “I got it up on my phone if you want to make an appointment to enter yourself,” Andrew says.

  And before Andrew can say another word, I'm already taking his phone and signing up.

  This is too easy.

  $4 billion dollars here I come.

  Athena

  An African proverb has it that love is a despot who spares no one. I tend to agree, and that’s why I break men for a living.

  Hey, don’t look at me like that.

  You might think I’m an evil bitch, but men are the ones taking me up on this challenge. They come to me with high hopes and expectations, and they risk it all. And love, like the despot it is, crushes them under its heel. Okay, that might be too harsh of an expression; that’s just the way I see it, though. In truth, all of my clients leave me with a wide smile on their faces and a galloping heart. They come to me looking for love and that’s exactly what they find. In the process, I line my pockets with their hard-earned money.

  Money for love—it isn’t such a bad trade off, is it? Money makes me happy, love makes them happy; in the end, everyone benefits.

  There are two kinds of men that come and ask me for a meeting, though. The first type comes in with a full wallet and an empty heart, and they look at me like the gatekeeper to a happy life next to a woman they can love. The second type is pretty rare, and they come to me looking for an easy payday—they think they can dodge love and its traps (and take my money in the process) but, in the end, they surrender to it all the same.

  Once again, love spares no one.

  If I’m not mistaken (and I rarely am), the man I’m meeting today belongs to that second category. His reputation as a hedge fund manager precedes him, and the same can be said of his sexual escapades. Whenever you talk about Malcolm Bane, you also end up talking about money and sex—and that in the same breath.

  “Your eleven o’clock is here,” my assistant tells me through the intercom. Leaning forward in my chair, I press the red button blinking there.

  “Make him wait a couple of minutes and then send him in,” I say, even though I’m not doing anything right now. The first rule when dealing with men like Malcolm Bane is that you have to make them wait. And that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.

  I lean back on my chair, take a deep breath and drum my fingertips against the surface of my desk. Sun is streaming through the open blinders, flooding the spacious room with its warm light, and I stretch lazily as I ready myself mentally for the meeting.

  I take another deep breath and that’s when I hear a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I say, and then the door swings open to reveal one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve already seen pictures of Malcolm before, but he looks so much better in the flesh. If the Gods ever walked the Earth, I doubt they looked as handsome as this.

  With a perfectly symmetrical face, his jaw seems to have been chiseled in stone. And the same can be said of his body—standing at least a head taller than me, his dark suit clings to his body like a second skin, hinting at a rock-hard layer of muscles hiding under the fabric. And his eyes … piercing and smart, they’re the kind of eyes than can make a woman grow weak in the knees.

  “Welcome. I’m Athena Hawke,” I say, pushing my chair back and going up to my feet as I introduce myself. I offer him my hand and, closing the distance between us, he takes it in his.

  “Malcolm Bane. Nice to meet you,” he replies, looking into my eyes and allowing his gaze to wander around the room, one of his eyebrows cocked. The décor in my office is minimalist and sleek, a warm and bright white coating the walls, just like the tight blue dress I’m wearing right now, and everything in this room was designed to appeal to the senses.

  First impressions are important, right? Especially when you’re dealing with love and seduction. That’s why, when choosing an office for me, I settled on one that was both intimate and intimidating at the same time. Small and comfortable, but still big enough to tell everyone I’m meeting that in here, I’m the one in charge. “So, I’ve heard you’re quite the miracle maker,” Malcolm says as he sits down in the chair facing my desk, putting an end to the first niceties that are inevitable in meetings of this kind.

  “When it comes to love, yes, that’s right. That’s what you want to find, right? Love,” I ask him, locking eyes with him and showing him the hint of a smile.

  “Well, I had already given up on finding a woman I could love. But then I heard about you and your miracles … and, well, here I am,” he replies, but his tone is so confident that I can’t help but feel doubt stirring inside of me: did he really come here looking for love? Or i
s he after the guarantee I provide to all of my clients? If I can’t deliver on my promises, they receive a hefty payment. That's never happened, of course, and it won’t be Malcolm who’ll change that.

  In truth, the payment has gotten larger and larger as each person who comes through the doors has found love. Nowadays, people come based on the payout itself - but they all leave with love.

  “You came to the right place,” I say, allowing the grin on my face to fade slowly, letting him know that I don’t take the promises I make to my clients lightly. “You come in here looking for love, you’ll find it. Now,” I open one of the drawers under my desk and take one the questionnaires I have there, “please fill out this questionnaire and be as detailed as you can. The more details you give us, the easier it’ll be for us to find you a match.”

  “Details, uh…” he mutters, taking the sheet of paper out of my hands and allowing his eyes to wander over the questions on the page. “Lots of questions in here,” he raises his eyes to meet mine, clearly not impressed with having to put in the work.

  “That’s how it works. We have to get to know you before we can find you a match.”

  “And are you sure you can do that?” he asks, raising his eyes from the page and looking straight at me with an expression that screams I doubt you can pull it off.

  “Of course,” I reply, looking back at him, but there’s an insidious whisper inside of me that tells me that Malcolm is going to be a problematic one. Hotter than Hell’s cauldron itself, he’s more experienced with the opposite sex than most men that walk inside my office. He seems like the type of man who doesn’t really believe in love, and you can trust me when I tell you that I know the type. I fell for a man just like him before, and I’ll never make that mistake again.

  “So, how does this work…?” he asks me, folding the questionnaire in half and placing it inside his jacket.

  “You make the buy-in and then, according to your profile, we’ll arrange a few dates for you. Eventually, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “In that case, you’ll be entitled to $4 billion. It’s all in the contract you’ll sign.”

  “That seems like a risky proposition … for you,” he says, lowering his voice and leaning slightly forward, his eyes never leaving mine. I mimic him, leaning toward him as well, and I notice his eyes being drawn by my lips.

  “I never fail, Mr. Bane. Ever,” I whisper, narrowing my eyes as I feel the pressure in the room grow and grow, almost as if the air around us has become heavier.

  “We’ll see about that, won’t we…?” he says, his voice so low that his words are barely a whisper. Leaning back, I notice his gaze hiking down to my cleavage, and he’s completely shameless about it.

  “We’ll see about that,” I repeat after him, my heart suddenly picking up the pace.

  Suddenly, I’m not so sure about this whole thing.

  This isn’t going to be easy.

  Malcolm

  "Sweet and salty," Stacey purrs, licking a stray drop of cum from her lips before reaching for a chocolate truffle. "It's the perfect combo." I can't help but marvel at how exact her lipstick matches her nail polish—a candy apple red, with a gloss that looks wet.

  Instead of responding, I give her a nonchalant nod as I pull on my pants.

  Athena knows how to pick a hotel suite; I'll give her that. And she knows how to pick women. Over these last two months, she's thrown every trick in the book at me.

  And let me tell you—this room drips opulence and seduction.

  There's a tray of strawberries on the coffee table, a handful of the finest dark chocolate truffles I've ever seen, and two flutes of Dom Perignon White Gold champagne, popping and glittering like two scoops of diamonds.

  Of course, I know this is all part of Athena's game.

  It's a trap—a gilded cage, really. But a damn good one at that.

  The nicer the room—the props—the girls—all of that is supposed to lure me into falling in love, but so far this has been easier than I could've ever imagined.

  Like I said, love is a foreign concept. I wasn't kidding when I told you that.

  One of Athena's most recent girls—Stacey, is fastening her bra across her back.

  Sure, she's hot—a fiery red-head with a perfect heart-shaped ass and great tits that she's been flashing in my face all night, and she just gave me a grade-A blow job, but I'm not in the least bit interested in fucking her, let alone falling in love with her.

  Just thinking about that as a possibility almost makes me laugh.

  After she finishes pulling her clothes back on, she reaches down and pinches a strawberry in between her fingers.

  She smiles, and slowly brings it to her lips, taking a bite while keeping her eyes locked on mine. I watch as a small, ruby-colored drop of juice escapes from her lips and drips down her chin.

  "Whoops," she giggles, scooping the juice with her fingertip, and licking it. "Want a bite?" she asks, holding the strawberry in my direction.

  "Maybe another time, doll," I say, pulling up the zipper of my pants with a quick, metallic zing.

  It's an act of finality.

  She looks disappointed. Downright deflated. Even her hair has lost some of its volume. She knows her time is running out with me, and she's ready to pull out all the stops.

  "How about a bite of these?" she purrs, squeezing her breasts together. Her nipples are popping out above the top of her bra. For a split second, I think about using my tongue to give those tits a quick taste, but I shake that thought from my mind.

  And then I wonder if something's wrong with me.

  Am I defective? I mean, here's a beautiful woman throwing herself at me, and I'm not in the least bit interested in fucking her.

  My cock isn't even hard.

  What. The. Fuck.

  In fact, I haven't been interested in fucking any of the girls Athena's sent my way. Don't get me wrong, they've all been hot—some of the hottest women I've ever seen—but I'm not interested, not even tempted. And that's gotta be some kind of record for me.

  And it's not because of this '100 Days' game either.

  Sure, I'm competitive, and I want to win … but if I'm honest, the real reason I'm not interested in fucking any of these girls is because I can't get Athena Hawke out of my mind.

  She's unlike any woman I've ever seen before.

  Confident … and yet, indifferent.

  I'm intrigued by the way she didn't fall over herself when we met. Most women do, but not her. She acted as if she didn't care if I was in the room or not.

  I've never experienced that before.

  And I had no idea she was so … hot. Those sharp stilettos, tight pencil skirt, and perfectly tailored blouse hugging her curves… now there's a woman who knows what she's doing. Her business acumen is enviable, and she knows how to command a room better than any woman I've ever met.

  The more I think about it, the more it dawns on me that she'd make an interesting conquest. What man wouldn't want to conquer something like that? But then again, it's probably best that she's not in this game.

  Why am I still thinking about her anyways?

  I never think about a single woman this much. I can hardly remember a woman's name, let alone a face. And now I'm obsessing over one.

  So, why Athena?

  Why now?

  It bothers me a little bit that I'm even fucking thinking about her this much, after just one, brief encounter. I don't like the thought of a woman getting under my skin, especially now. Not like this. I need to keep a cool, clear head to win this fucking game.

  But honestly, I'm not worried.

  "Maybe I'll see you around?" Stacey says, her voice thick with hope. I almost forgot that she was still here. She has her purse slung over one shoulder, and is nearly out the door.

  "Sure doll," I say. "Maybe."

  But even she recognizes that as a lie, and without another sound, she steps out the door, closing it behind
her.

  In her silent absence, I wonder if I'm even capable of falling in love.

  But I shake that thought from my brain like flicking ants off of a picnic blanket.

  It's a nuisance following those thoughts.

  It's not fucking worth my time.

  This is about business, and right now, my ass is on the line. My future wealth depends on it. It's the difference between the penthouse suite and a cardboard box, remember?

  I'm looking for money, not love. It's really that fucking simple.

  At this point, I'm halfway though the game, with only a couple of months to go.

  50 days down, and 50 more to go.

  I'm in the home stretch, baby. I can smell the money.

  Athena

  Well, I was right—Malcolm's trouble. I threw the best girls I had on file at him, and he still didn’t take the bait. And when I mean the best girls, I really mean it—they were all smart, witty, and beautiful. Malcolm didn’t even bat an eye before sending them back. I mean, he didn’t even fuck any of them; the farthest he went was receiving a blowjob. The man is a challenge, but what else was I expecting from someone like him? The moment I saw him for the first time, I knew right away that he was a hard man when it came to matters of the heart. Sure, he has a reputation when it comes to sleeping with beautiful woman, but I don’t think anyone on Earth has ever heard of Malcolm falling in love.

  Which is a pity, really. If Malcolm was a serious guy capable of love, I’m pretty sure he’d make some lucky woman very, very happy. At least between the sheets. I mean, when it comes to looks, the man is perfect, and I’ve only seen him inside a suit. God, I can’t help but wonder how he’d look outside a suit, wearing nothing but a layer of muscles, his cock hard and ready to …

  What the hell am I even saying? I need to keep my head between my shoulders, not have it rolling around in the gutter. “Jesus, this is bad,” I say as I go through the documents in front of me, briefings detailing the women I have on file. After throwing my best ones at Malcolm, I’m slowly starting to run out of options.