Fated for the Billionaire

by Gia Blackwood

  I gesture toward the table. “This is where I sit down to draw out my designs. Once that’s done, I move over here.” I cross the short space to the other half of my studio.

  The other half of the room, the larger half, is taken up by a state of the art sewing machine. The west facing wall is covered by a plethora of neutral-themed fabrics secured with sturdy binder clips and sorted according to earth, jewel, water, muted hues. The other wall is my color wall—that’s where I have my vibrant reds, deep royal blues, purples, the place where rainbows come to life. A high end computer complete with the requisite design programs is neatly tucked by the window. Sure, it’s a bit cramped. But it’s mine.

  Roman nods silently, giving nothing away in his face. For once I can read nothing in his expression and it’s nerve-wracking. What if he hates it? He might decide I’m a fraud and leave on the spot. Just the thought of it immediately fills me with a sense of loss.

  Roman silently inspects everything, bending to see quality, construction. He gently shuffles through the finished and unfinished gowns hanging from a coat rack. His eyes cling to various fabrics on my wall and as well as to the drawings I have pinned all over the place. His attention catches upon a sketch book laid open near my computer. “May I?” he asks, and I realize he wants to look through it. I nod, relieved that it’s not the one filled with sketches of him.

  He spends a few minutes perusing my art, mostly designs, while I sit on my stool and fiddle my thumbs. Why is he subjecting me to this torture?

  Suddenly, he closes the sketch book and turns to me, smile bright.

  “Beautiful. You’re hired.” His voice is chipper. An odd quality to hear in such a sensual voice.

  “I thought I already was.”

  “Well, yes. But I’ll never let you go now.”

  I laugh. What a weirdo. He’s a quirky artist for sure. “I’m just your designer.”

  He only smiles enigmatically. “Is this where you’ll measure me?” He moves to a set of mirrors I positioned in a corner. My measuring tape lies in a bin close by.

  “It is,” I say. “Ready to begin?”

  Instead of answering, he moves to the mirror and spreads his arms wide. He looks at me in the mirror, face expectant.

  I smile to myself and grab my tape. “We…” I consider him. I may actually need a stool to measure certain parts of him. It’s a new predicament for me. “We should take off your blazer, first of all.” I help him out of it from behind and hang it near us so that he’s only in his dress shirt. There. Now I’ll be able to get a more precise fit.

  I can’t suppress a gulp as I take in his size once again. I already know I’m going to be writing down some large numbers. I grab a step stool and place it close behind him. Then I pull my tape wide and pull it tight along the widest part of his torso, just under his arms. The heat… God, it’s getting hot. I have the ceiling fan going, but somehow it isn’t helping.

  Roman is close. So close. I could turn him around, wrap myself around him right now. Make him take me. I want to, much to my own surprise. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone. A long time since I have had sex. And damn it if Roman doesn’t look wildly sexy. His eyes never leave me as I take his measurements. I pull the tape away and write down the number. Large, as expected.

  It does me good to step away from him, if only for a moment. Keep it professional, Allie. Stop thinking about fucking him! Easier said than done. I resume my work, trying to keep my thoughts as clean as I can with Roman staring at my reflection like I’m a thick slice of his favorite dessert.

  His silence is almost unnerving, but I figure its professional courtesy. He’s just letting me do my work. With that in mind, I quickly and precisely gather the measurements for his waist, inseam, sleeve length, and everything else I need.

  Then I step back and pretend to contemplate the numbers, trying to calm my breathing and the flush that I know has come over my chest. My intense reaction is frightening. I wonder if he has this effect on everyone. All I know is that it’s a first for me. And I’ve met my friend Jane’s handsome billionaire husband. Didn’t feel a thing.

  For some reason, Roman is different. “All done,” I say shortly.

  “Pity,” he intones. “I was enjoying the attention.”

  I have no words. I know Roman is flirting with me, but somehow I don’t know how to react. I want him to like me. I want him to embrace me. I also want to be professional. This is a scale I don’t know how to balance.

  Should I wink at him? Keep it professional? Rip my dress off and wrap myself around him?

  He seems to notice my indecision. “I’m sorry, Allison. Do I frighten you?”

  I pause my fidgeting, aghast. I meet his eyes. “To death. But not in the way you mean. Yes, I’m scared. You make me want to feel protected. Vulnerable. That’s a new feeling for me. I’m never vulnerable and I never wanted to be. Until I met you today.”

  His smile is somber. Kind. “You’re safe with me. Of that I can assure you.”

  Somehow his words ring true. I don’t know much about Roman, but he doesn’t strike me as a liar. I nod and hold my hand out to him. “I know. Should we go eat?”

  “I’m starving,” he says. Roman grabs his coat and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. My first thought is how perfectly our joined hands mold to one another, as if exact complements.

  Even when he releases my hand to open the car door for me, I still feel the imprint of his hand in mine. I’m not sure I ever want it to fade.

  6

  Roman

  A lot of men will say they don’t believe in love at first sight, but I’m not one of them. I have a feeling that every time I see her, I’m going to be utterly floored. Allison opens the door and I can’t keep my eyes from exploring her form. Her silky, pale pink dress clings to her hips, sweeps over the rise and fall of her breasts, skims the curve of her belly. Tiny beads on the dress throw pinpricks of light into her face, her entrancing eyes. Her hair curls softly over one shoulder, drawing attention to her lovely neck.

  She’s absolutely stunning. I feel it even now as I pull her gently along the hallway and to my car—the chemistry. The pull of attraction and symmetry and likeness that draws us together. It’s not just her appearance either. I love Allison’s sexy body and beautiful face, but she also has poise, a careless grace in every movement. She’s confident, intelligent, talented.

  In short, she’s perfect. How she hasn’t been scooped up before is a mystery to me. I only know that we are designed for one another. Fated. There’s no doubt of that in my mind.

  I know she feels it too. She couldn’t hide the flush that rose to her chest, the rapid rise and fall as she was near me. I saw my lust mirrored in her own eyes every time she looked up at me while she took my measurements. At one point she reached around me and I felt her breasts against my back. My cock strained against my zipper at the sensation.

  As we drive, she tells me all about her business and the type of work she usually does. I do the same, answering all of her eager questions about my current project, the one she had stayed to watch earlier today. It’s an art gallery, oddly enough, commissioned by a friend—Jack Noble—who dabbles in a bit of everything.

  “You have to come with me,” I tell her. “To the opening. There’s going to be art from plenty of artists, but the main exhibit is apparently one that’s been causing a huge stir. I didn’t look into the specifics honestly, but I still need to attend.”

  “Hmmm,” she says. “When is it?”

  “Hopefully in three weeks. Construction is scheduled to finish in two and then the opening will be a week later.”

  “Okay,” she says, smiling to herself. “I’ll go with you.”

  I’m already looking forward to it. I want to scoop Allison into my arms and keep her there.

  I pull into a parking garage and head to my personal parking space.

  “Where are we?” Allison asks. “This isn’t a restaurant.”

  “No, we’
re at my place,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “Your…” She stutters slightly. “Your place?”

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and draw close to her. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you,” I say. “But don’t worry. We’re only having dinner.”

  I know that she’s not ready. Not yet. I’m going to have her, but it will be when the time is right. When I know she’s all in with me. I won’t risk scaring her off or letting her get away because we move too fast. No. Just dinner tonight. No curvy, baby-making hips for dessert.

  I hop out of the car and dash to the other side to open her door. She giggles as I offer her a hand, looking at me in surprise. After seeing my expression, she takes it daintily and lets me guide her to the elevator and all the way up to the top floor. The penthouse.

  “Wow,” Allison breathes. She steps into the apartment and looks around with wide-eyed wonder. I smile at her reaction; I’d been expecting it but still… it’s adorable to see. Her opinion is worth so much to me and I find myself wanting to show her every wonder in the world. She slowly, silently walks around the huge space, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that give a panoramic view of the city on two sides; the expensive and striking art on my walls; the comfortable and elegant furnishing.

  I let her take all of it in as I prep some food. “I’m gonna prep some steaks,” I say, leaning close to her to kiss her temple softly before heading to the kitchen. The blush that rises to her cheeks and her shy smile makes the surprise kiss worth it.

  “You’re marvelous,” she says.

  All I can think is how she’s the marvelous one. I’ve never had a woman at my place before so it’s a strange experience. A good experience.

  I realize I want her here. And not just for the night.

  Forever.

  7

  Allison

  After I explore Roman’s breathtaking penthouse apartment full of beautiful art, I head into the kitchen. I’m still amazed that he’s cooking for us. It’s gratifying to say the least. The perfect dinner.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” He’s working away at the stovetop.

  “You can grab the salad out of the fridge.” He glances at me, smiling. “These steaks are almost ready. I’m going to broil them a bit longer so they don’t bleed all over our plate. Unless you prefer yours rare?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll eat it however. I’m not fussy in the least.” As a kid, I never had steak except maybe once every year or two. It didn’t matter how the steak was prepared. Steak was a luxury and you ate it however you got it. There was no room in my mind for pickiness. I know things are different now, but old ways of thinking are hard to kill.

  I open the fridge, one of those fancy ones with a touch screen, and almost weep in happiness. Every shelf and drawer is lined with food, all fresh and neatly arranged. Such a difference from my childhood. It had been common to open the door to find only a block of old cheese and some ketchup. That and some packs of ramen would get us through until the next month’s food stamps came in. I still can’t look at a pack of ramen noodles without my stomach clenching in hunger, like I hadn’t eaten in a week.

  Fresh greens and fruits were gifts from the church during the holidays. As an adult now with a good income, I still appreciate fresh, healthy foods. Sadly, for the poor, it’s the unhealthiest foods that are the cheapest… hence the weight. I don’t let it bother me any more though, and I certainly don’t let it stop me from enjoying processed foods.

  Still, salad and steak is a perfect meal in my book.

  My stomach rumbles so loudly that I’m sure Roman must have heard it. I cringe, looking toward him and sure enough his shoulders are shaking in laughter. “No worries, I’ll take it as a compliment. Hopefully you have room for dessert, too.”

  I didn’t fail to notice the homemade peach cobbler in the fridge. It smells divine. The man bakes, too? He’s seeming more and more like a dream come true. “Oh, I’ve always got room for dessert. In fact, I’m convinced that people who don’t like sweets are missing out on at least seventy percent of what life has to offer.”

  “That much, huh?”

  “I love sweets.”

  He gives me a sly look. “Good to know. Any kind in particular?”

  “Red velvet anything.” I pause. “Wait, don’t go delivering a mountain of red velvet cupcakes to my apartment, please.” That’s something a billionaire would do, right?

  He laughs, a loud, bellowing sound that makes me smile. “Well, there goes that idea,” he chuckles.

  “You wouldn’t really do that, would you?”

  “Of course not.” That’s what he says, but I’m not sure I believe him.

  “Please. I don’t need to gain any more weight.”

  He looks me up and down before turning back to the steaks. “You’re perfect. Right now you look better than these steaks.”

  He said it so casually that I’m taken aback. This guy must really like me. “Thanks, Roman.”

  He smiles at me and piles steaks on a plate, more than we can eat in one sitting, bringing them through a doorway to a small table that’s perfect for an intimate evening. I can’t help but wonder how many women he’s brought here. I know if I let the thought fester, it will ruin my night. Better to air it out.

  “How many women have you wined and dined like this?”

  Roman places the steaks on the table. “Who said there would be wine?” I raise my eyebrows. “Fine. There is wine. And there’s only you.” He comes around the table and stands before me. “No one else has interested me enough to bring them here into my personal space. Just you. That’s a promise.”

  Earnest. He’s so earnest I have to believe him. I nod. “That makes me happy.” Slightly puzzled, too, but mostly happy. What about me attracted him, I wonder?

  Wait. What am I saying? Now that I think about it, I am a catch. I’m beautiful, smart, own my own business. Plus, we have similar interests, our love of artistic pursuits. It would be weird if we didn’t like each other. So I need to stop with the self-doubt. It’s been too long since I let a man romance me.

  Or make me feel vulnerable.

  Or fuck me until my legs shake.

  I clear my throat and turn my surroundings to the room before my thoughts get any dirtier. Instead of looking at Roman’s bare throat and the enticing peek of chest hair, I gaze out the window at the beautiful cityscape. A single candle is lit at the table’s center, giving the room a romantic glow. The table is already set as well with beautiful, unadorned plates and silverware.

  “This is marvelous, Roman.” He looks into my eyes, smiling warmly.

  “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. I’ve never cooked for anyone else before so I hope you like it.” Ever the gentleman, he pulls out my chair for me and I take a seat, thanking him. He leaves for a moment, returning with a chilled bottle of wine. “I hope you like merlot,” he says.

  “It’s my favorite.” Warmth and giddiness fills me at the thought of being here alone with Roman. He’s so kind, sweet, and… forceful. When he enters the room, his strength is evident—the fact that he can make me do whatever he wants… yet I know he would always ask before doing anything. I don’t know him well, but I do know that.

  I love being alone with him. I had been expecting a grand, formal restaurant where I would feel so out of place. This is better. Much better.

  “Shall we eat?” Roman asks.

  I drop my gaze to the table and my eyes land on the steak. It looks delicious. I grab my knife and cut a bite of steak off, bringing it to my mouth. A wash of flavor hits me, so good that I almost moan. Lately I’d been so focused on work that my main source of nutrition was Chinese takeout. This beats that by a million and I love takeout. Perfectly seasoned, moist and tender without being too rare. I take another two bites before making myself slow down. It would be gone in a second if I let myself keeping going like this.

  Roman is watching me and seems nervous. “I haven’t tasted anything so go
od in years, Roman.”

  My words seem to relax him. “Thanks,” he says, serving us both a side of salad. “I’m no chef, but I can prepare simple things like this. I can’t help but want to impress you. Not my money but me.”

  I’m almost taken aback. I put down my fork and knife. “I am impressed by you, Roman. Are you kidding? You’re the man behind many of this city’s architectural wonders. And you don’t just draw out plans. You get down and dirty with the men to do physical labor—to build these marvels. You give to charities monthly. You love art as much as I do. And you are so damn attractive. How could I be anything but impressed?”

  I stop, realizing I’ve said too much… realizing I’ve said things I didn’t even know I was feeling. Roman is a catch though.

  “Wow,” he laughs, quietly. “If you put it that way…” He shrugs and digs into his steak. I see his smile reach his eyes. “This is good.”

  “Told you so.”

  “Well, thanks.” He extends a hand to me and I take it automatically, marveling at the callused strength I feel. With his free hand, he pours us some wine.

  “You really are a good cook from what I can see. I wish I could cook steak half as well.”

  “I can teach you how I do it,” he says.

  “I’d like that. My mom…” I pause, my throat suddenly feeling tight. I drink some of the dark wine. Rich and potent, it heats my face and brings a comforting fire to my belly. I don’t drink often, but this is very good. Paired with the steak, it’s divine. “My mom was always too busy to cook anything. Not that we had the money for it anyway.”

  He listens intently as I spill my guts to him, revealing my past, the way my father left us and how my mother grew sick. I don’t know if it’s the wine or the atmosphere, but I can’t stop the flow of my words. It’s like a poison I’ve been keeping to myself for years and telling him is the antidote. Roman doesn’t seem bothered. His eyes are kind and sometimes sad as I speak. He asks occasional questions, but otherwise just listens to me.