Curves and the Billionaire

I try to avoid raising my eyebrows in surprise at the number. Two hundred people sounds like a lot more than close friends, but who am I to judge? My only job is to make sure that this party has all the food and desserts anyone could possibly need.

“Absolutely,” I tell him with a polite smile. “I can accommodate your needs without a problem.”

Now it’s his turn to smirk at me, obviously catching my not-intended double entendre.

“I mean-“ I start, trying to save myself, but it’s no use. He starts laughing out loud and I quickly follow suit.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, catching my breath. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just meant that I won’t have a problem getting enough food.”

“I know, but it’s not every day I meet women who aren’t afraid to joke around with me. It’s pleasant.”

I blush, but try not to. His words warm my heart in ways he could never imagine. I made him laugh and he’s a billionaire who just told me that I’m not like all the other girls. He has no idea how amazing it is to hear those words.

Though I’m not terribly self-conscious about my size or my dating history, it doesn’t mean I’m used to people judging me before they get to know me. Once people find out that I’m a professional baker and chef, the knowing glances are enough to make me want to tear my hair out. I’m not fat because of my job! Furthermore, I don’t think it’s particularly fair that no one looks twice at a skinny person who happens to work in the food industry, but as soon as a chef happens to be overweight, it’s the end of the world.

End of soapbox.

“Let’s talk about your menu ideas,” I say, trying to shift the discussion back to business. The event is, after all, only a few weeks away. If Nathan wants everything to be perfect – and I know that he does – then we need to get to work as quickly as possible.

He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and almost whispering, “Any chance you’ll be on the menu?”

If I was wearing panties, they’d be soaked right now. Is he serious? This is so not what I expected when I woke up this morning, dreading this meeting. I thought I might have to suffer through a few fat jokes or listen to him be better than us normal people. I did not expect this man to hit on me.

At least, I think he just hit on me.

I’m almost positive.

A look of panic crosses my face and my eyes go wide. I don’t know what to say. What do I say? What do I do? How do I respond to the advances of the wealthiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on? Is he just messing with me?

And then it hits me: he’s the wealthiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

And now I mostly want to know if he’s just messin

g with me.

“If this is your idea of a joke,” I say, finally finding my voice, “then this discussion is over. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Thompson.” I grab my folder and stand quickly, turning to leave without waiting for an apology.

I don’t know why I ever got my hopes up.

Ever since my first boyfriend, Joe Bralke, made fun of the way my tummy jiggled when I was on top during sex, I’ve never stopped wondering if that’s how all guys think. While I’m proud of my body and I think I look pretty good most days, there are times when I wonder if I’m going to be single forever because all men want a model.

I hurry to the elevator, trying not to feel ashamed and sad. I don’t know why I even came today. I should have just sent my assistant. Everyone seems to like her better than me anyway.

Drowning in my thoughts, not daring to turn and look at him, I stare at the closed elevator doors. But before the doors can open, I feel his hand on my elbow and his hot breath on my neck. Nathan Thompson is standing directly behind me, so close that if I move at all, I’ll find myself pushing against his body.

And self-pride aside, I definitely want that.

“Emily,” he murmurs. “You have no idea just how gorgeous you are.”

Then his hand slides from my elbow up my arm to my shoulder, and he’s turning me around. I face him, trying so hard to put on a brave front. This man is a client. A client. Our relationship needs to be strictly professional, but right now, I just want this professional to be strict with me.

I want Nathan Thompson to tie me up and spank me like the bad girl I keep hidden away.

I want him to lick me from my toes to my nipples and everywhere in between.

I want his cock ramming down my throat until I choke.

I want him.