Billionaire With Benefits: Make Her Mine-Book 2

by Winter, Alexis

  “Well, your sister got hit on by a hot boxer,” Jazz says, wrapping her hands around Damon’s arm.

  “That’s gross,” Damon mumbles, picking up his water and taking a sip.

  “I didn’t get hit on. I got invited to a private lesson.” I smile, just hearing myself saying the words.

  “That’s worse. Who is this guy?” Damon looks between the two of us, brows pulled together and eyes bouncing from her to me.

  “I didn’t catch his name, but he has sweaty muscles for days, dark hair, a face I could mount, and bright green eyes. Like, his eyes were green-green. Not your dull, boring green.”

  Damon holds up his hands and waves them back and forth violently. “I NEVER want to hear those words again, Maddie. Jesus!”

  “I think your eyes are gorgeous, babe,” Jazz says, squeezing his arm.

  Damon smirks as he turns to admire her.

  When they start kissing, I can’t help but roll my eyes and sigh loudly. I’m still not over the disgust of watching my brother suck my best friend’s face.

  “We seriously need to find Maddie someone to settle down with,” Jazz says, running the tips of her fingers up and down Damon’s forearm.

  “You guys are killing me. I mean, can’t we just have dinner like we used to? You know, you two throwing insults at one another, making me laugh? Now it’s like a god damn porno every time we hang out.”

  “Oh, I have my first doctor’s appointment tomorrow. We get to find out how far along I am and see our little baby,” she gushes, ignoring my comments.

  “I thought you were six weeks along?” I ask.

  “Well, that’s what I’m guessing, but I have no real way of knowing because we were just doing it all the time,” she laughs. This is usually the talk I like, but knowing my brother is involved makes me want to barf.

  “Ew, all right. I’ve had enough. I’m going to grab a hot and ready pizza on my way home. You two, enjoy your night,” I say, scooting out of the bench.

  “No, Mads, please stay. We don’t hang out much anymore,” Jazz says, trying to stand up to stop me, but she’s on the inside of the booth and Damon isn’t moving.

  “You know, I’m really tired, and I’m just going to crash. But thanks for the invite and for going with me.” I’m already walking backward toward the door, so they can’t stop me.

  The moment I step out into the cool night air, I feel like I can finally breathe. I suck in a big breath, hold it a second, and let it all out. I can feel the annoyance and stress leave my body at the same time. I hope Jazz and Damon don’t think that I’m not happy for them, because I am. I’m celebrating that they got together, but I’m also mourning the loss of my best friend. She’s no longer just my best friend; now she’s his fiancée, and soon, she’ll be a mom.

  Jazz just got her dream job too. Her life is going places, and I’m still stuck in the mailroom, waiting for my desired position to open up. When I started a year ago, I was told it would only be a couple of weeks before I could move into data configuration, but here I am, still stuck sorting mail.

  I don’t have my dream job. I don’t have a special person to share things with. I’m not about to have a baby—thank god. And, I no longer have a best friend that’s always down to hang out. What do I have?

  I have a large pizza to myself. I smile as I look down at the warm box and take in a big whiff of the gooey cheese.

  When I get home, I kick off my shoes but don’t bother to change. I drop all my takeout on the coffee table and flip on the tv. I flop onto the couch and pull the blanket around myself. As I search for something to watch, I move all the food up onto the sofa, so I don’t have to reach for it. I look around my lonely, quiet apartment and wish I had someone to share this with. I never understood why people got into serious relationships until I saw Jazz and Damon. They’re literally never alone. They work together and then come home to each other. They always have someone to talk to, someone to eat with, and someone to hold them when they feel lonely. Maybe I should put myself out there and make it clear I want a relationship instead of random hookups and flings.

  I shake my head. What the fuck am I thinking? I like being single. I like getting dressed up and looking hot. I like the chase. I like a no-strings-attached fling. I like having complete control over the TV, and I like for things to be where I left them. I’m obviously way too tired if I’m even considering giving all this up.

  I push all thoughts away as I dig into my food and watch reality TV all alone, with nobody to complain.

  2

  Bennet

  “Who was that girl you were practically eye-fucking over there?” Phillip asks, taking off his gloves and tossing them into his bag.

  I shrug. “I don’t know who she is. And I wasn’t eye-fucking her. What are you, a seventh-grader?” I tease, pulling my shirt on.

  He laughs. “You know what I mean. You were obviously flirting. I haven’t seen you help someone with their technique like that in a long time. Since Bethany, I think.”

  I think back to Bethany. We had hit it off immediately when she came in for some boxing lessons. Sparks flew and we had the fling of a lifetime. But, like most girls, she wanted more, and I wasn’t willing to give anything else. Our relationship consisted of nothing but flirting, fucking, and leaving. It lasted a good three months before it ended, and I’ve been on the lookout for someone to have fun with since. I’m not a complete piece of shit; I let the women know out the gate I’m not looking for anything more than a good time.

  I wave my hand in the air. “I doubt this girl ever walks back in here again. She seemed kind of…”

  “Hot? Really into you? Almost jumped you when you were pawing at her?” he inserts.

  “Shy,” I finish.

  “She didn’t shy away when you grabbed ahold of her.”

  I laugh. “That was the test. But did you see how red her face got when I caught her talking about me? I invited her for a private lesson, but I doubt I ever see her again.” I grab my bag and pull it up over my shoulder. “I don’t have time to get involved with a woman who doesn’t know how to handle me, if ya know what I mean. I’ll see ya tomorrow night.”

  He waves as I walk out of the locker room.

  I toss my bag into the passenger seat of my convertible Mercedes-Benz AMG and hop behind the wheel. Twisting the key, the engine roars to life. I hit the gas a couple of times to rev up the engine before shifting into gear and taking off, causing the tires to squeal off the damp concrete.

  I drive through the city, thinking about making a stop at my favorite club, but I end up deciding that I’m too tired to play the usual games tonight. You know: find the girl, woo the girl, take the girl home. I don’t feel like having to ask her to leave in the morning. Plus, it’s a Sunday night. I have to be at the office bright and early in the morning. I don’t need to give my dad any more excuses to try to take the company back.

  I pull into the drive, my sensor opening the gate. I pull the car into the garage and make my way into the house.

  “Good evening, Mr. Windsor,” Quinn, my house manager, says, standing at attention. She’s normally gone by this time of night. I’m tempted to ask her why she’s still here so late but don’t bother.

  “Evening,” I respond, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. I turn and look at her. She’s young, and her blonde hair is pulled up high on her head. She has long tan legs and big tits I’ve noticed more than just a few times and a pink pouty mouth. She looks just like any girl I’d pick up at the club. Only problem is, she’s my employee, and if I sleep with her tonight, I’ll end up having to fire her soon after. That’s how it always goes, I’ve learned my lesson after hiring, fucking, and firing three house managers in a six-month period.

  I shake the bad idea from my head. “I’m heading up to bed. Have a good night.”

  “You too, Mr. Windsor.”

  God, her voice is so sweet. She’s like a siren, singing a song that only I can hear. I get to the swinging door and turn around, gi
ving her one last look, trying to talk myself into asking her to come up to my room. She looks at me with her big blue eyes. Her pouty lips part and her full chest rises.

  I open my mouth, about to say to hell with it, but I snap it shut and leave the room before I can change my mind. The whole way up the stairs, I’m fighting with myself. Just ask her to come up. But if I do that, I’ll end up looking for another manager by next week.

  Quinn was hired by my mother when I mentioned needing some assistance around the house. I refused to tell her why I let the last one go, but it was because I got trashed and invited her to my room. After a week of trying to get her to understand that it was just a bodily need and poor decision made under the influence of alcohol she still insisted we were ‘meant to be.’ So, I had to fire her. She would get all pissy when I’d bring other girls home. I even found her naked in my bed one night. I like women and the comfort they bring, but I also like having my own life and space. I don’t want someone else’s life intertwined with mine.

  I let myself into my room and walk straight through to the bathroom. Turning on the hot water, I strip down to nothing and step beneath the flow. The heat eases the sore muscles in my back, and it calms all the thoughts inside of me. I’m no longer thinking about women, drinking, or sex. Finally, my head is quiet, and I can relax.

  I hit the button that turns the shower into a steam room, and I have a seat on the bench while drinking my beer. I lay my head back against the wall and close my eyes. At first, there’s nothing but darkness that I see, but then, out of nowhere, the girl from the gym pops into my mind. All I can think about is her body, how it felt against my palms. She’s tall and thin with slight curves in all the right places. Her lips are full and pouty, her eyes a brilliant blue, and her hair is so dark brown, it’s almost black. She’s different than the girls I usually go after. She isn’t sexy in an overt, obvious way and she hasn’t tanned her skin to the point of it looking and feeling like leather. She’s pale and soft. I bet she used to be goth in her younger years. I’ve never met a girl with skin that fair and hair that dark that didn’t go through a goth phase in her youth.

  My lips curl up at the corners while thinking about her accepting my invitation for a private lesson. I want my hands back on that body of hers. I want to be able to taste the sweat that drips onto those plump lips from working her so hard. My ears fill with the sounds of her grunts and whimpers that she let out as she punched the bag. My dick twitches when I think about being the one that makes her make those sounds.

  I wish I would’ve caught her name. Or asked her out for a drink. But, like I said before, she’s probably too shy to let loose with me. Then again, I like the chase, the waiting…the anticipation.

  I’m sure she’s the relationship type. She’s gorgeous, but she’s not easy. Usually, it’s only the easy girls that take me up on my offer the first time it’s given. I know one thing for sure: I’ll be back at the gym every night until she shows up again.

  I wake in the morning and dress for work. I step back and look myself over in the mirror. My new haircut with this suit doesn’t look right. Usually, I keep my hair a bit longer, so I can style it. It really pulls the power suit thing together. But every year, around the time that I start training for the championship, I shave it off.

  My work persona is a totally different me; it’s the fake bullshit I put on to please my family. I’m not just some rich prick that sits in an office all day. I’m driven by danger and adrenaline. I need my heart pumping at full power to feel alive. And sitting behind a desk doesn’t do that for me. However, if I didn’t keep this part of my life, I’m sure I’d be disowned by my father. To him, a real man doesn’t run around fighting. A real man sits behind his desk and gives orders, making others do his dirty work while he sits back and collects his money. My father hasn’t seen the real me since I agreed to take over this company a little over a year ago. He doesn’t know that I still box. He doesn’t know that I race, or skydive, or anything but work for that matter.

  I adjust my black tie and grab my briefcase. Heading down the stairs, I bump into Quinn again. She has her uniform unbuttoned a little more today. Maybe she picked up on my inner turmoil from last night regarding her. Either way, I’m a different me today. When I put on this suit, I’m not the man who has testosterone pumping through his veins from a good fight. This suit means I’m respected and feared and won’t be controlled by my dick. It also means I’m a fake asshole. I’m getting sick of this game of pretend.

  “Good morning, Mr. Windsor. Breakfast is ready for you in the dining room.” She reaches out and takes my briefcase like every other morning.

  I skip the pleasantries, offering only a small smile, and turn down the hall. Walking into the dining room and taking a seat at the table. I pick up my paper and read over it while she gets to work on pouring my coffee and making my plate.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asks sweetly.

  “No. Thank you,” I clip out, picking up my coffee and taking a sip. The sweet mixture helps to ease the stress away—the stress that I put on with this suit.

  She bows her head before leaving the room, leaving me in peace, just as I like it. I can’t help but feel like I’m not the only one faking it. Quinn’s sweetness seems a bit too much at times, like she’s up to something.

  As I read over the paper, I eat my eggs and bacon and drink my coffee. I glance at my watch to see that it’s going on seven-thirty. I finish up and stand, heading for the door. She’s already there waiting, holding my briefcase out for me to take. I’ve never asked her to pretend to be a fifties housewife and wait on me hand and foot. In fact, I’ve insisted she shouldn’t, but it doesn’t seem to get through to her.

  “Thank you, Quinn.” I take it from her, letting myself into the garage to get behind the wheel of my car.

  When I get to the office, I take my private elevator directly to the top floor. I step off, and my secretary, Sarah, is already holding my door open with a cup of coffee in hand. “Good morning, sir.”

  I take the coffee and walk in with her following along behind me to read me my messages.

  “Your sister called. She didn’t say why she was calling but did request for you to call her back.”

  “Probably needs more money,” I reply, shrugging out of my jacket and sitting down.

  “Also, Callan called and said that he would be late for your golf game this morning. He had a late night and missed his flight home from Rio.”

  “Actually, can you call him back and cancel? I’m not in the mood to swing clubs today.”

  She nods. “Absolutely. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Sarah, I need last week’s data reports.”

  “Of course.” She walks out without another word.

  Figuring I better call my sister back before she calls again, I pick up the phone.

  “Hello?” she answers.

  “Well, you’re up early for an art student,” I joke.

  “Shut up. I’m not a student anymore. I graduated, remember?”

  I laugh. “Did you though? Graduating means you don’t have to be broke anymore, and you start making money. Are you doing that?”

  “I have no idea why you’re the favorite. You’re such a dick.”

  “Probably because I have a job and don’t keep asking Mom and Dad for money.”

  “I have a job!” she argues.

  “Okay, what is it that you need?” I ask, waiting for the answer I already know is coming.

  She lets out a long breath. “You’re not going to make me say it, are you?”

  “No fun in letting you weasel out of it,” I say, smile stretching across my face.

  “I need money, Bennet. My rent is due, and I can’t swing it this month.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I laugh, and that causes her to breathe heavy into the phone. “I’ll have Sarah send it to you by this afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers, and I can hear the way he
r heart is breaking from having to say those words yet again.

  “There’s nothing wrong with saving your passion for your hobby, Val. I’m doing it.”

  “I’m not a sell-out, Bennet.” Without another word, she hangs up the phone.

  Is that what I am? Does she think I’m a sell out because I accepted Dad’s offer to run his company? I’m making more than enough money to survive, and I still box and race. I don’t think too long on the topic because I don’t want to accept the truth that I am a fucking sellout.

  Sarah walks back into the room. “Sir, the data reports are not ready. Brian has been out with the flu.”

  I let out a sigh and rub my eyes. “In this whole building, there’s no one else that can write up a report? Find someone!” I yell, getting aggravated.

  She nods, her gray hair falling into her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  She leaves the room as quickly as she appeared.

  It’s only after I’ve scared her off that I realize that I forgot to ask her to send my sister money. Instead of going out there or calling her back in here, I type out a quick private message and send it directly to her computer.

  After everything is set up, I move on to my messages, calling people back, reading and replying to emails, and generally kissing ass. I go over my schedule for the day and prepare for meetings. When I look up at the time, I see it’s almost noon, and I still haven’t gotten those data reports. I let out a deep breath and push the button that calls Sarah into my office.

  “Yes, sir?” she asks, walking in.

  “Reports?” I ask, sounding bored and tired of asking for them.

  She nods in a hurry. “Yes, we finally found someone. A girl that’s been waiting for the position to open up. She’s working on them now and will have them up soon. Why don’t you go have an early lunch, and I’ll send her in as soon as you’re back.”

  I nod, not trying to take my anger out on her. I know it’s not her fault. “Okay, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be back in an hour. I have to present them to the board, Sarah; this isn’t just a friendly request.”