Bidding For Her Curves: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 208)

by Flora Ferrari

  Jules McPherson.

  A name, a work address, and about a minute from finding out everything my company has on file.

  I punch in her name on my laptop, scouring the vast database of my companies, and there she is… her employee profile at least.

  I feel another grunting gasp escape me, her picture filling half the screen, her details underneath.

  My finger traces her lips, but my other hand. That’s got a life of its own.

  In a second, I have my dick out under my desk, feeling my hand pounding against the hardwood underneath, my own wood nowhere near relieved by my own touch.

  I need her hands on me, not mine.

  My urge to climax, just at the thought of her is so powerful, so strong, but my will is stronger. Slowly, I stop palm fucking myself, and bring my hand to where I can see it.

  “I have to save it for you, Jules,” I tell her picture. “Every bit of me. It’s all for you now.”

  It’s pointless to try and put it back in my pants though, not yet. I haven’t been this hard since… well, I don’t think I ever have been, come to think of it.

  Confirming what the guard said, I can see she does work just a few blocks away, and I frown when I see her address.

  A rough side of town. Not somewhere I want her staying a minute longer than she has to.

  But why run?

  I ask her in my mind, going back to her photo.

  For the first time in probably twenty years, I feel something I haven’t ever felt. Self-doubt.

  I know I’m Mason Thorne. I know I own half this town. I know I get whatever I want.

  But what if?

  What if she’s really just not into older guys?

  I have to push the thought aside. I can’t afford to think like this.

  Leaning back, still keeping her picture up, I put my feet up on my desk, noticing how hard I still am. I start to thumb through the program.

  Wondering if there’s anything about her in here somewhere.

  It doesn’t take long.

  There’s a list of all the candidates, hundreds by the looks, who’ve signed up to be auctioned for the charity of their choice.

  Jules’ photo is the same one as her employee profile, and it looks like she’s auctioning her services for a soup kitchen downtown.

  I feel a swelling of something else inside.

  Pride.

  I’m proud of her, putting others ahead of herself, going through all the nonsense of some auction style public humiliation.

  That’s how I’d see it.

  But when I see the starting bids in a Column next to the names and faces, I plant my feet back on the ground.

  Standing, I push myself back into my pants and zip up.

  I feel my anger rising again.

  Starting bid: Twenty-five dollars.

  I notice some of the other girls, even the men have bids ten times that.

  There must be a typo?

  Out of habit, I call aloud for Nicholas. Groaning when I remember he’s not here.

  It takes a little doing. I’m ashamed to say I’m not quite used to having to look up information for myself and even dial my own phone calls.

  But in a few moments, I’m talking to someone from Jules’ office.

  Someone named Karen.

  A quick glance at the auction program has her pegged for five hundred bucks starting bid, although I just can’t hear that kind of value in her voice.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jules

  I can hardly see through the tears I’m holding back, but I feel myself skidding over some of those stupid programs.

  A part of me knows I must be wrong. Mason Thorne just carried me to a couch, he was a mere inch from my face, practically groaning with... satisfaction?

  But no.

  I can’t believe it. I don’t see how a man like Mason could see anything in me, I must have a fever nearing delirium if I really believe he’d want me from anything. And now I’ve messed up the one job I had all over again.

  Somehow, I make it to the elevators and out of the building, back to the street but I decide to walk this time.

  I’m pretty sure the last cab ride took all the money I had on me anyway.

  After about a block I start to calm down a little, having to stop only once because I still feeling so dizzy. But hey, I haven’t thrown up yet, so maybe I’m getting better.

  Sighing loudly, I resign myself to returning to the office, not expecting Karen to be their anyway.

  I may as well get started on the rest of the stuff she put on my to-do list anyway. I can always just say I dropped off those programs like she asked, which I did.

  Kind of.

  She wouldn’t believe me if I told her Mason Thorne was there anyway. The man is an enigma, rarely seen by anyone, and only briefly when he does make an appearance.

  It’s not as if he’s gonna call her up and tell her there was a problem, we’re a small department. A cog in the Thorne machine.

  Nobodies.

  Getting back to the office a lot quicker than I thought I would, I feel the pit of my stomach lurch all over again and the room sway from side to side once I step inside.

  I can hear Karen’s voice, and it fills me with dread.

  Worse than that, once I step past her office door, I can overhear what she’s saying… who she must be speaking to.

  It can’t be. It isn’t.

  “Yeah? Well, I’m tellin’ you, whoever you are, we had the proofs checked twice during editing and once more before they went to print…oh really…? Is that a fact…?”

  She sees me out the corner of her eye and starts snapping her fingers, looking mad, and ordering me inside her office with a wave of her skinny finger.

  I gulp down hard and feel a painful lump at the back of my throat.

  It’s not Mason. He’d never call, not over something so…

  “Well, she’s just walked in, so maybe you’d like to ask her yourself,” she says, pressing the phone to her chest and rolling her eyes, hissing at me in a whisper.

  “Whatever you did. You fucked it up, idiot! Now I’ve got some bug from Thorne’s office crawling up my ass. He’s trying to say you sent the wrong programs over. That there’s something wrong with them. Deal with it!” she spits, thrusting the phone into my hand. She sits back for a moment with her hands to her temples, then gets up and storms into her bathroom.

  Holding the phone to my ear, I feel like the floor’s about to swallow me up. I kind of wish it would.

  But as soon as I hear his voice, that deep, commanding tone with a degree of concern still, I feel myself melting all over again.

  Mason Thorne is calling and he wants to speak to me!

  “Is she gone? Jules, don’t let on it’s me. It’s Mason.”

  I stifle a squeal as my heart leaps into my throat, it’s like someone up there has finally decided some good needs to happen to Jules McPherson for once.

  “This is Jules McPherson,” I say, hoping I sound normal but my voice sounds like a wobbly recording trying to play itself.

  He exhales loudly, and I can hear a chair creaking on the other end of the line.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You ran off before I could…”

  And there it is again. He stops himself.

  “Before you could what?” I ask, trying not to sound deflated again, but it must be a reflex of mine, making sure I always come out bottom of the pile. Every time.

  “Before I could go over these programs,” he adds, creaking forward in his chair along with the sound of pages turning, sounding more businesslike.

  It actually sets me at ease.

  “Well, I think Ms. Perkins… Uh… Karen might’ve already said… we had them all proofed before printing.”

  I hear him breathing through his nose and making a low sound. Dissatisfied.

  “Well, and this is just an example,” he starts, sounding as nice as he can about correcting me, “Next to your photo, your starting bid…”
he says, and I screw my face up. Rolling my eyes and kicking myself for signing up for this stupid auction in the first place.

  “Are you telling me those numbers are correct? Next to Karen’s. I mean, Ms. Perkins. There’s a much higher starting bid and reserve-” He continues. I Interrupt him clearing my throat when Karen comes back out of her office bathroom, giving me evil eyes and pointing at her watch before streaming out into the main office area.

  Mason breathes through his nose again, and there’s a long silence between us. I feel all my butterflies coming back, wanting so badly to say something more to him. Wishing I’d kissed him instead of running away like I did.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally manage. “For spilling all those programs… for running away,” I practically whisper, hardly believing I’m even having this conversation, let alone reminding myself I actually did run a mile when this man had me in such a vulnerable position.

  Such a perfect position.

  “I wished you’d stayed,” he says, roughly.

  It’s all he has to say. I feel my heart in my throat again and I get the best kind of dizzy just hearing him say those words.

  “I wished I had too… but…” I start to say, and he wants to know why I didn’t.

  I know the answer, but I can’t bring myself to tell him. I don’t ever want to lie to Mason, not ever but right now, I just can’t bring myself to tell him it’s because I think he wouldn’t be interested in me.

  That someone like me would never have even a one in a trillion shot with a guy like him.

  It seems too surreal a thing to say to such a man, the Mason Thorne, to even put myself in the same sentence feels foolish.

  Fantasy.

  I should’ve kissed him, let him kiss me. I should’ve lifted up my skirt and told him to-

  Karen suddenly appears in the doorway, and I know my time’s up. I tell Mason I have to go and register his hurt.

  The space on the line filled with our feelings but neither being able to say a word.

  I open my mouth to say something, anything, but Karen struts over, pressing the receiver down.

  I can’t believe it. A dry croak is all I can manage.

  “That’s quite enough of that!” she hisses. “What the hell were you two talking about? Who the hell was that guy anyway?” she probes, pushing me with her eyes, leaning in close.

  But I’m still in total shock.

  I hope he doesn’t think…

  But I don’t even have time to think myself, Karen’s list has only gotten longer, and she launches into it all over again, barking orders at me like I’m some kind of machine.

  I feel like telling her. Telling her that she just spoke to and then hung up on Mason Thorne.

  The Mason Thorne.

  But something in me tells me to stay quiet about it.

  I recall his words in my mind, reminding me of all the things I think we might like to say to each other but can’t. Not yet.

  ‘I wished you’d stayed.’

  It makes me smile when I should be mad. The thought of Mason suddenly makes me feel strong when I was feeling so ill just a few minutes ago. His voice, the memory of him, the scent of his cologne still on me.

  I have to trust, to just know that it’s not my imagination, that maybe, just maybe…

  A toilet brush appears under my nose, bringing me crashing back down to earth.

  “You can start in there,” Karen grunts. “I have to go to the hairdresser’s now, and then pick up my gown that you ruined.”

  I look at the phone again, half expecting it to ring. To have Mason’s voice in my ear again, to have him tell Karen she’s fired.

  But nothing happens.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” she growls, and I straighten, taking the brush and heading for her bathroom.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mason

  I know Jules wouldn’t just hang up like that, and glancing over Karen’s photo again, then her employee profile, I get the picture.

  How do we hire people like that?

  I make a mental note of the charity Karen has chosen and also of the one Jules picked out.

  My reflex is to call back, to introduce myself to Karen, and maybe ask her to come down for a little chat about her performance, but my mind is so full of Jules right now.

  Glancing at my Rolex… again, it’s a good five hours before I even have to be at the auction.

  So much for not even wanting to go.

  I’m not sure I feel like going that long without Jules either, plus I never actually confirmed she was going. She mentioned she was feeling sick.

  Yet she’s at work on a Saturday.

  That’s the kind of employee Thorne Industries is all about.

  My hand hovers over the phone, and I imagine her there on the other end, waiting for me to call her back.

  I groan to myself. I’m forty not fourteen.

  She makes me feel like a teenager all over again though. These butterflies in my stomach. I can’t think about anything else.

  Not to mention this damn hard on.

  Reasoning with myself that she’s not only in the auction catalog, but also works for the department in charge of organizing the event, I tell myself she’ll be there.

  If she feels anything like the way I do, she’ll be there.

  If all else fails, I have her home address.

  Pacing in front of the huge floor to ceiling windows of my office, I start to feel dizzy myself and wonder if this fever is catching.

  It’s doing me no good to mope around here, but it’s too soon to get ready for tonight and I don’t want to ruin my chances or scare her off by just showing up at her office either.

  I honestly don’t know if I could control myself if I saw her alone again.

  It should be safer at the auction.

  Feeling cooped up, I call down for a car to be ready and notice my arousal has finally reached an acceptable level to be seen out in public. I head down and decide to go check out the charity Jules picked.

  It’ll also give me a chance to see her neighborhood. Which is about as close as I dare get to her right now.

  Traffic is light, and it looks like rain. There’s more than one shitty side to this city and it pains me to think Jules is stuck living in one of the worst.

  I find to the soup kitchen she’s nominated as her charity. It’s always open by the looks. Parking out front, I decide to head inside and have a look around.

  I wouldn’t describe myself as a celebrity, but people generally know my face. And it seems the tougher people do in life the more they seem to retain the face of the rich.

  But I don’t mind. I’m here to do some good, and not wanting to be an asshole, I get in line with everyone else.

  A few people frown and point. One guy gets nasty, asking if I really need a free meal.

  I crease a smile, figuring I should expect some folks to be taken aback. But I want to get a feel for the place.

  I’d like to see the manager if they’re about.

  “You looking for someone?” A voice behind me asks, and I turn to see a man who looks more than a little down on his luck, but who can tell based on appearances, right?

  I know people who dress better than I do, live larger and have nothing to their name. They just happen to owe a half a billion dollars, but everything is relative, I guess.

  “Jules McPherson,” I hear myself saying, sounding protective, feeling myself tense up, and loom over the man slightly.

  He shakes his head. “Name’s don’t mean much here, buddy. Maybe you’re in the wrong line.”

  I turn away from him, not wanting to start anything.

  The line creeps forward and before long I’m facing a friendlier, but somewhat confused looking older woman who blinks over fogged up glasses as she serves some fairly decent looking soup with crusty rolls.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, looking me up and down, and eyeing, my Rolex.

  “I’m looking for the manager,” I tell her, “an
d some information about Jules McPherson.”

  I’ve put on my friendly face. Be nice to me and Mason Thorne is your new best friend. Be an asshole and… well. This lady seems nice.

  “I’m kinda busy right now,” she says. Then looking around, she motions to someone to take over for her.

  “Let’s talk in my office,” she says, and I follow her to what looks like a broom closet next to a row of bench tables which must be the ‘kitchen’.

  I barely fit in the tiny room, but the woman introduces herself as Florence and takes a seat on a crate behind another crate which looks like it serves as a desk.

  “Are you with the police? Is Jules alright?” she asks, making me feel protective of Jules all over again.

  “Why would you think that?” I ask, trying not to clench my jaw.

  “She helps out here sometimes, but we haven’t seen her for a while. I just thought…” she says, looking past me to see the line’s still moving, and then smiles back at me.

  A friendly face, for sure, doing god’s work no doubt.

  “I’m just interested to know more about her and her work here. About the charity,” I tell her truthfully.

  Florence gives me the run down, about how they run on empty most months. How they have maybe two weeks before she’ll have to close up. The city used to help out but lately, they’ve made moves to close down kitchens like this one.

  “Public health risk,” Florence says, looking down. “But we all know it’s because of the developers wanting to move in, wanting all the poor people out of the area,” she adds, almost in a whisper.

  “Developers?” I ask, frowning, looking around the room again, and remembering the neighborhood.

  “Yeah,” Florence says, sighing. “That Thorne fella. One of his groups of companies anyway, they came in a few months back, pretty much told everyone to get ready to move out. I’ve heard they bought up most of the Southside years ago too, did the same thing. Turned it all into high rise condo’s on the waterfront.

  I feel my frown deepen. My eyes narrow and I take in a sharp breath.

  “Who owns this building?” I ask her.

  “The city, they own most of this neighborhood. Made some deal and sold it all off now. Cheap too I hear,” she sighs.