Playboy Billionaire

I really can’t be bothered to continue down a rabbit hole of caring about where Stella is, and I’m not even sure why it bothers me to not know. Stupid is what it is. I’ve got to focus on this meeting. As I prepare myself for the meeting, my potential business partner walks up to the table. She smiles that fake Hollywood-type smile that people swear is real.

“Hi!” I stand up, grasping her hand with both of mine and giving it a shake. She is hot, maybe in her late thirties, tight ass, deep curvy hips. Her tight azure dress hugs every inch of her assets, and I try not to gaze too openly at her. If she was a random woman in a club, there is no fucking chance she would leave without me.

“Lovely to see you again, Antonio.” She sits down, and I follow her, her thick Yorkshire accent making every word sound more interesting. “I hope it’s alright, me calling you, Antonio.”

“Of course, Ms. Blythe.” I take a sip of my champagne. I can’t even recall when they brought it out— too in my head, I suppose.

“Please, call me Chloe.”

“Chloe,” I acknowledge with pressed lips turned up at the corners. Her eyes are shining like they’re made of diamonds as I speak. “So, how did you get into the landscaping business?”

“It’s actually a family business. Mum was a florist, Dad was into design. It was just a natural progression of passions, I believe.” I’m nodding along as she continues, but my eyes continue to glance to the patio, looking for what I know I shouldn’t.

“And what about you?” I shift my eyes back to her confident smile.

“Oh, yes.” Her smile drops a little when she takes a sip.

“How did you get into real estate?” She says with a tinge of despondence.

“Family business as well.” I smile, refocusing on the task at hand.

“You’re quite the talker.” She quips sarcastically, taking a piece of bread, which surprises me with her figure that she even touches bread. Her eyes follow mine as I look back at her, slowly feeding it into her mouth.

“I think that given both of our family business backgrounds, we could really make something work that benefits the both of us.”

“Mutual satisfaction.” She agrees, sounding far too seductive so early into our evening.

“Yes.” I grin widely and accept the first plate brought to the table. She eyes it for a moment and tilts her head.

“We haven’t ordered.”

“We don’t have to. I’ve asked the chef for a four-course, his choice. I like to be surprised.” I take a sip of my Champagne, and she does the same, eyes watching me, lighting up with the curvature of her smile. The night continues like this, we eat, talk, mostly about business, and eventually, when dessert comes, I take the kill-shot.

“So, Chloe,”

“Antonio.” She leans in with laughter.

“I think you’ll find Neptune to be a wonderful investment for Blythe Landscaping. Do we have a deal? All four of the new projects down in the OC?” She purses her lips, takes another sip of wine, nodding slowly, then eyes with fire back to me.

“Deal.” Her confidence exudes, even through just one word.

“Incredible! Neptune will greatly benefit from your partnership!” I give a nod to the waiter for him to bring the best bottle they have to the table, as I planned before arriving.

“I believe the same for Blythe Landscaping.” She nods as the waiter comes around the corner with a large bottle ofEtienne Sauzet, Montrachet Grand Cru, France '03. It's rich, full-bodied, and tastes like what it’s worth.

I like when things end up proving the worth of their expense. This deal is an example of that. We toast, and she tells me they will send the legal paperwork over for us to formally work it out, and the deal is done. I walk her to the front of the restaurant, kiss her on both cheeks to say goodnight, and she walks out the door, making me wish I didn’t have other obligations tonight.

I check the time, half-past nine. My eyes turn back to face the restaurant, and before I can stop myself, I’m walking through to the back deck, pushing through the door and taking a stroll down it. Every table is full, and I glance at each as I pass by until I feel eyes on me from the far corner. Stella is wearing white; that’s all I am aware of because she’s so fucking hot it's stupid.

I hear the whispers as I near their table. About six of her friends have squeezed around it, glasses in hand, looking between her and me.

“Stella.”

“Antonio.” She implicitly tilts her head.

“I thought we were meeting at 9, babe.” The words slip out before I can really figure out why the fuck I’ve actually embarrassed myself like this. Coming all the way to her table with her friends, who I was probably not meant to meet tonight.

“Antonio! We’ve heard so much about you!” A bubbly blonde, who I recognize as supermodel Iris Woods, is batting her lashes at me, craning her neck to get a look.