Fated for the Billionaire
Billionaires Love Curves Book 2
Gia Blackwood
Copyright © 2019 Gia Blackwood
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed by any means or in any form without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
DISCLAIMER
The characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. The model(s) featured on the cover of this eBook are in no way associated with the story’s characters.
This is a standalone story, but reading the first book in the series first is a good idea if you haven’t already! Find it at the link below:
Curves for the Billionaire
1
Allison
Pencil on paper, I’m in my element. My hand moves freely, effortlessly as I make quick strikes along the parchment before me. Every mark adds a little more detail to the hemline of a new design until the image comes to life. I see the way the garment flows loosely as it’s worn, giving the impression of a free-floating jellyfish. The empire waist will accentuate a woman’s curves nicely. It’s all there in my mind and now on paper.
Soon I’ll have to rise from my drawing table and translate the image to my desktop. I’ll gaze at my fabric wall for a while and contemplate materials. This drawing has an overscaled pattern for visual impact. I think I’m going to be quite proud of it once I’m done. What am I saying? I’m already proud of it, even if it’s only an idea still.
I make one final stroke, finishing this stage of the process. I rise with a groan and stretch my arms. It’s been a long day huddled over designs in my little studio, but the work is satisfying and I feel lucky to be able to do what I love for a living. Most of my life I’ve depended only on myself and it has never failed me.
My deadbeat father was a drunk, always out late at the bars, leaving my ailing mother and me to ourselves. One night he left as usual and never came back. It almost broke me because despite how miserable he was, the man was still my father. Sometimes I even got the impression that he loved me. I cried for months when he left and came out stronger. All I remember about him now are his eyes.
I shake my head to get myself out of the past. There’s no use dwelling on it now. I examine the organized chaos of my studio. If my hands didn’t need a break from work, I could keep doing it all day. I look out the window to see the sun setting on the horizon. I nearly have actually. Where has the time gone? I leave my studio and retrieve my cell phone from the kitchen counter; I try to keep away from it when I’m working to minimize distractions. A series of texts catch my eye and I can’t suppress a groan.
I almost forgot I had arranged to see some possible venues for a business location. A place where I can meet with clients and do fittings that is a bit more professional than my little apartment studio. For now it’s sufficient, but I’ve been saving for months to purchase a storefront property and I’m excited to actually do it.
Or at least I should be. The problem is… my realtor is a creep. Ronald de Santo relentlessly hits on me every time I meet him. I try to kindly dismiss him every time but the man does not take a hint. Or if he does, he ignores it. But… he’s all I have right now.
I send him a quick confirmatory text. I’ll meet you at the first property in an hour.
The alert on my phone is immediate and so loud I flinch. He sent me… a winky face. Really?
I shake my head and walk to my bedroom. I need to look for a new realtor. I strip my clothes and take a long bath, relaxing my aching limbs. It feels so good I almost don’t want to leave the tub. Even if it is a small, cramped one. But I have to. I rise and towel off before slipping into a fitted dress that I know flaunts my voluptuous body. I’m a bigger girl, but my weight has never fazed me. And it’s never stopped a man from hitting on me.
Not that I give them the time of day. I dress nice to feel good about myself. Not to attract attention from the opposite sex. The last thing I need to feel good about myself is a man.
I take a satisfied look in the mirror at my hair and makeup before heading out the door. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find the place of my dreams right away.
◆◆◆
The first location is farther than I realized. I had only taken a cursory glance at the properties Ronald sent me, but now I see that was a mistake. I should have reviewed them more carefully. I mean, I told him what I’m looking for in a place… so why am I here?
I can’t hide the grimace from my face. “Ronald, this is a trailer.”
He chuckles. “You said you’d like a view of nature.”
“Fields of manure and bales of hay are not what I had in mind.”
“Hey, it’s got a lot going for it.” Ronald walks forward and pushes open the door of the mobile home. I hear him clambering around inside before his head pops out of a window. “You can open this up. Make a counter here to better service your customers!”
“I’m a designer, not a food peddler. This won’t work.” I look around at the abysmal setting. I know I’m being dramatic. It’s a perfectly quaint little place. Just not for me and definitely not for my business. “Next place, Ron. What’s the address?”
He climbs out of the trailer. “C’mon, doll, I’ll drive you there myself.”
“I have my car.”
He slings an arm around my shoulders and I want to shudder. “Alright then, doll. 4130 Crestview. A twenty-minute drive.”
I extricate myself from him and hop in my car, eager to get away from him for at least a short while. “See you there!”
◆◆◆
I’m almost relieved to see an actual building in front of me when I arrive. The whole concrete jungle around it isn’t ideal, but it’s also not a deal breaker.
“This is the place, sweetcakes,” Ronald says.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “You can call me Allison. Or Miss Graber.”
The infuriating man ignores my correction and strides forward to hold open the door for me. “Second floor,” he says. “It’s practically in the sky!”
Insane. This man is insane. The second floor of an office building is certainly not the sky. My close friend Violet had been the one to recommend Ronald, saying he was the sweetest thing, but I should have known better than to trust her with something like this. The girl has horrible taste in men.
I take the stairs up, not wanting to be stuck in an elevator with him. No doubt he would try to grab my ass or stare too closely at my breasts. As it is I make sure I follow him up the staircase so he can’t stare at my ass.
I look down a long hallway when we get to the second floor. “Which unit is it?”
Ronald frowns down at his phone. “Uh… 205, darling.”
“205…” I say, looking at the numbers above each doorway. There. A pair of glass doors opens up to a cavernous room. “Wow.” It’s enormous, with windows that wrap around two side of the building.
“A real beauty, right?” Ron says.
“Ron… I think I’m going to give up this time around.”
“What? Why, doll? This is great!” He spins around in a circle along the tiled floor before coming to face me. “It’s a sexy place, almost as sexy as you.” He winks and I see his eyes flicker at my chest.
“It’s too big. I told you a small to midsize location. I don’t need nearly this much space.” I walk forward and gaze down at the street below. There must be millions of people in this city. It’s a nice enough view, but… something’s missing.
&nb
sp; “Don’t be down, sweetie.” Ronald sidles up to me and stands so close I can feel our arms touch. Would it be rude to step away? I decide it wouldn’t and take a casual step to my left.
My anger rises when I feel the man touching me again. This time his hand rests on the small of my back, uncomfortably close to my ass. “We can stop looking for today, doll. Let’s go grab those drinks you promised me.”
I pull away. “I never promised you drinks. What makes you think you can just ignore me every time I say no, Mr. de Santo?”
“Why would you tell me no?” He looks genuinely confused. Sure, the man isn’t unattractive. He’s actually a pretty good looking guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a creep too.
“You know what? Forget it. You’re fired.” I spin around and head for the door, only for him to swing me back around in a hard grip. “Ow!” His hand is gripping my wrist tightly.
“That’s not nice, sweetie,” he croons. “At least give me a kiss before you go. I spent valuable time with you.”
“The answer is no. Let me go.” I try not to panic, but I hear my voice quiver. Damn it.
“C’mon, sugar.” His free hand moves to my waist and he pulls me close. “Just one kiss.”
At the feel of his breath on me I lash out, my fist closing in on his face. Before I know it, Ronald releases me and cups his hand over his eye. “Bitch! You’re asking for it always wearing clothes like that!”
“You’re a pig,” I say.
I see his face turn red, and a stab of fear strikes my heart. He takes a lurching step forward when the glass doors to the unit open behind us.
I swing around, sending a silent prayer of thanks for my good luck. Whoever just walked in…
My jaw almost drops. Whoever just walked in is absolutely gorgeous! Tall and broad, piercing green eyes that latch onto mine, the man looks like a walking god. Smokin’ doesn’t even begin to describe…
“My apologies for the intrusion,” a voice like smoked bourbon says. “I didn’t realize there was another viewing right now.”
“Oh no,” I say quickly, remembering Ronald. “We’re all done.” I race passed him before Ronald gets a chance to stop me. “Best of luck!” I yell out to the handsome stranger. God, if I made clothes for men I would measure the hell out of that man—every blessed inch of him. He is quite possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
Only one little thing bothers me about him, and it nags me all the way to my car. His clothing. It’s too tight. I mean, not so much that he looks sloppy. But any keen eye would be able to see the way it hugs his shoulders, straining the fabric.
I reach my car, heart racing, and slide into the driver’s seat. My ringtone blasting from my purse at that moment almost gives me a heart attack. I fish it out clumsily and put it to my ear.
“Hello?” I say breathlessly. I can feel the automatic smile that curves my lips when I hear the soft voice on the line. It’s been too long since I heard from my friend Jane. She’s married to billionaire Halcyon Craft now and raising their kids. That doesn’t leave her much time for friends, but boy do I miss her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask happily.
“Allie, I have the job of a lifetime for you.” Her voice is tense with anticipation. I can tell that she’s dying to tell me. What can she be talking about?
“A job?” I say hesitantly.
“Yes, a client. I think you’ll like this person very much.”
Why is she being so vague? The way she’s talking it has to be someone big. Someone famous. My eyes light up.
Beyoncé.
It has to be Beyoncé.
“Are you ready?” she says, her voice bursting with excitement. “It’s Roman! Roman Craft!”
Roman… oh. I don’t know him, but I’ve heard of the man. He’s Halcyon’s brother. My bubbling excitement deflates. Definitely not Beyoncé. “Hal’s brother, right?” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
Jane isn’t fooled. “Don’t sound so disappointed. He’s great!”
“I don’t make clothes for men.”
“Well make an exception. I promise you’ll love him.”
Why does she have to put it like that? “It’s a job, not a date. What does love have to do with it?”
“Oh, shush!” Her tone grows serious. “I think you should meet him, Allie. I have a feeling.”
“Jane…” I say hesitantly.
“Please? The man really does need you. Actually he’s been wanting to meet you ever since he saw the dress you made for me for that gala a while back.”
“That long ago?” That’s… interesting. I have to say, my interest is piqued.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I’ll meet him.”
“Great! I’ll pass him along your info.”
“Thanks, Jane.”
“No, thank you,” she says. Something about the way she says that makes me question my decision. But hey, a high profile client is hard to pass up. Even if he is a man.
It could be that Roman Craft is the perfect man to take my career to the next level.
2
Roman
Heart pounding out of my chest, I bring the treadmill’s speed down to zero and grab the towel I left resting on the handrail. Sweat drips down my face, falls onto my torso.
I can’t get her out of my head.
She’s a stranger, just a woman I saw in passing while looking at properties for a new venture. So why do I keep thinking about her? I wipe my face and head to the showers. It’s going to be another long day at a build site, pouring over designs and doing heavy labor under the beating sun.
I had thought that a good, intense early morning workout would help with the restlessness I’ve been feeling since I saw that woman yesterday. It didn’t work. Even now as steaming water pours over me, she’s there—a quiet presence with expressive eyes in the back of my mind. Her image rises before me, lush curves tightly packed in a killer dress. Thick, glossy hair hanging loose down her back, tasteful makeup. Everything about her is refined and artful. I would go so far as to say she is a work of art.
I’ve never felt like this about anyone.
A flicker of interest from my cock makes me turn the steamy water down to a cooler temperature. A cold shower. That’s what I need. Plenty of cold showers.
One thing bothers me though. When I first walked into the room, she’d looked… distressed. That man, he’d seemed angry as well. Could it have been a lover’s spat?
I don’t want to think about it. Either way, it’s best to move on from her. I don’t know who she is and I’ll likely never see her again. With the finality of that thought, I shut off the water and dry off. I’ve already hung out a suit. It’s fresh from my cleaner, cleaned and ironed. I head over to it, slipping into my pants. When I get to my shirt, I pause.
The tightness isn’t new. And it’s getting worse. My blazer fits uncomfortably tight around my shoulders. Damn. I’ve been doing a lot of construction on site and it seems all the labor is making me more toned. I hadn’t even realized how much I bulked up the past few months…
I need a new tailor. No, not just a tailor. I want more. A whole series of new suits designed just for me. Suits are the lifeblood of any business man, even an architect. That first impression can either draw the client in or push them away. I much prefer the former.
I’ve been trying to find a new designer for a while now. Hopefully I’ll get a lead soon because these suits are just not cutting it.
My phone rings from a nearby locker. When I get to it, I see a text message from Jane, my sister-in-law. The contents of the message bring an immediate smile to my face. She’s just answered my prayers.
The contact info for a designer—and just the one I’ve been wanting to meet ever since I saw my sister-in-law wearing one of her designs. It had been sleek, elegant, and wholly original. I’d been dogging Jane for weeks—ever since I noticed the tightness in my clothes—for her contact info. Seems like she finally came through. Whoever this lady
is, she makes clothes that speak of years of experience and a keen eye for fashion that I rarely see anymore. She has to be a lady with taste.
The thought of new suits made just for me clears my head, making my day seem brighter. Some new suits would fix me right up. Wearing fine materials of the latest fashion will make me forget the plump little lady with soulful eyes who very probably has a lover already.
3
Allison
I look dubiously at the hectic maze of construction before me. This is where my new client wants to meet? My eyes search the scene, looking for an office or at least somewhere that looks appropriate for a meeting. All I see is one man after another moving back and forth, hauling materials or working complex machinery. Loud hammering and the humming of machines assaults my ears. How am I supposed to find Mr. Craft in this mess?
I tentatively step out of my car for a closer look. Jane told me I would know him when I see him. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.
Oh well. There’s no point in putting it off. I head straight through the build site, keeping my head held high. Men turn their heads to look at me when I pass, no doubt unused to seeing a woman around. I ignore them until I see a middle-aged man in a work helmet yelling orders. He would know where Mr. Craft is. I hail him, yelling as loud as I can over the noise.
“Excuse me! Sir! Do you happen to know where…?” He looks in my direction. But I’m not seeing him anymore. “Never mind,” I yell quickly.
Behind him, bent over a work table is the man from the day before. The sexy man with dreamy eyes and too tight clothes. He’s Roman Craft?
There’s no mistake. He must be. Jane said I would know him. And this man stands out in a crowd like no other.
He hasn’t noticed me yet so I get to take him in in all his glory. His head is bent over a series of maps, hair damp with sweat and slightly curling around his face. That aquiline nose and defined jaw just begs to be drawn, painted onto a canvas for all eternity.
Fated for the Billionaire Page 1
