Selling Out to the Billionaire

"Yes," I say, but it comes out as nonsense. He’s rolling a condom down his cock, and I can hardly wait to feel him inside me again. He pushes my panties aside and slides into me.

His mouth is against my neck, his tongue tracing patterns along my collarbone. "I'm not going to drop you." His hands squeeze my ass as he thrusts all the way into me. I feel the way

I felt in front of the window—open and vulnerable. Derek starts to pound into me, and I think he might be right about his office hearing me. The way he's filling me up over and over, touching every part of me with his strokes, my orgasm is already building again. He's harder than I've ever felt him, and I know he wasn't lying when he said he's thought about this moment.

I let out a small sound as he starts to move faster, every movement gathering that bright pleasure into one place. His breath is coming in short gasps, and I know he's close too. The frame on the wall next to us rattle as he fucks me, slamming in with a final burst of speed. I let myself fall forward as I break open, biting his shirt to keep quiet. Derek is the one who loses, coming with me and letting out a yell as he does. I feel him coming even as I'm shuddering through the pleasure of my orgasm, and the heat of his release sends of spams inside me. Aftershocks of pleasure.

His cock twitches inside me as he finishes, and I take a deep breath, releasing his shirt from between my teeth. Slowly, he lets me down. I fix my skirt and my panties, he puts himself away, but neither of us move away from the other. We don't want to leave each other's space.

I look up at him, and I'm not sure what the emotion is in his eyes. It's different. Lighter than I've seen before. He kisses me with that same soft hesitancy; it's sweet and tender. I let it smother my doubts about our weird relationship. Because I have so few good things in my life... and even if Derek is using me... I'm liking it.

When he pulls away, we're both smiling.

Derek unlocks the door and turns off the light, and I blush as we come out of the room and find a young employee scurrying by, eyes averted. Several more people are looking deliberately down and not at us.

Derek just laughs. Chewing my lip, I link my fingers in his and pull him towards the exit. "Where are we going?" he asks me.

"We're going to your new house."

10

It looks stunning in the afternoon light. With the light reflecting off the ocean, it almost has a halo around it. I try not to take that as a sign, but I feel the hope rising in me anyway. The style is modern but not harsh, employing curves instead of angles. It almost feels like we're walking up to some sort of exclusive spa—though I don't say that out loud as I don't know if Derek will take that as a compliment or not.

This house is bigger than all the other ones we've seen, with three floors and a finished basement. There are several skylights and windows, filling the room with a comfortable and natural light. The only enclosed space on the first floor is the kitchen.

While it's not the kitchen we saw yesterday—literally nothing is going to beat that kitchen—it's not too shabby. It mimics the rest of the house with its openness, the space punctuated by large marble countertops and silver hardware. It's easy to see someone preparing a lavish meal in here.

I narrate the house as best I can, but somehow with this house, the perfect house, I feel the need to let it speak for itself. Derek is a different kind of quiet in this house, contemplative. I tell myself that it's a good thing. If he's contemplating, then he's thinking about it. That's further than we got with any of the other houses.

I lead the way up the stairs to the second floor, and I feel his eyes on me. I ignore the flash of heat, wondering if he's thinking about the conference room.

The second floor is a bit more traditional with divided rooms. The ones at the back of the house have stunning views of the Pacific. All the walls are painted a creamy white with touches of the sea here and there.

Deep blue linens cover the beds, and a matching wall has been painted in one of the guest rooms. It's clean and uncluttered. If there is a house that's a breath for fresh air it would be this one.

I intentionally saved the master bedroom for last. It has a wall of windows, looking at the sea. When you're close, you could almost imagine you're going to fall into it. Two balconies extend on either side, running the remaining length of the house. I avoid the master bathroom. It's beautiful, but I don't want him getting ideas right now. I'm so close to closing the deal, I don't want him to be distracted, even if that distraction would be delicious.

"That's it," I say, "Is there something you want to see again?"

Derek doesn't answer, instead he wanders out of the master bedroom and back down the stairs. I follow him as he goes out onto the deck from the first floor. It leads down to the beach and the breeze coming in off the ocean plays with his hair and the collar of his shirt.

Windswept Derek, yet another ad campaign that anyone would kill for. I need to start carrying a camera around.

I have him, I know I do. This house is everything. He's looks out at the ocean for a few minutes before turning back to look at the house, and at me.

"No," He says.

I feel like the deck is falling out from under me. "What?"

"No, this isn't the house."

"I don't understand," I say. "This house has everything." And it does. There's just no way he couldn't want this one.

He looks at the ground, not at me. I can feel myself collapsing. I turn and walk back into the house, wanting to escape before he sees me boil over with tears. It's over. I can't believe that he's saying no.

The door closes behind me and I know he's come inside. What an arrogant ass, to sleep with me, make me think that he might care, and then in the end ruin me. I was going to be fired. Fine, if that's that, I'll at least tell him off.

I turn to him, and he looks…I don't know. He doesn't look sad or sorry. Maybe resigned? It doesn't matter, I don't care.

"Why did it have to be you?" I ask.

He startles, finally fixating on me. "What?"

Tears prick at my eyes and I don't fight them. "I was so excited to sell houses. I thought my first client would be the start of something big. I needed this so damn bad and then you had to come along and end it before it even began." The tears are flowing now and I'm sure my face is a mascara-streaked mess.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't let him. "Don't you understand? If you don't buy this house—the house of your goddamn dreams—I am done. I'm fired. I have no place to go and no money. Do you get that? So that's why I'm asking why it had to be you. I could have had anyone, and anyone would have been simpler. Why?"

His voice is bitter, his eyes dull—cold and hidden like all of his emotions. “Idiot. I could ask the same thing.”

Sniffling through my ugly tears, I stutter out, “What?”

He's no longer watching me. Derek's face is all shadow, his neck tight with visible muscle fibers. “Why did you have to be the one trying to sell me a house? You talk about money... you're just like everyone else in this world. And once you get what you want, you'll be gone. I've seen it a thousand times.”

I'm hiccuping now. Talking is a lost cause.

He says, “I should never have gotten so close. I should never have kissed you or...” He stops talking, twisting around so he can walk past me. I hear the front door close.

The man who lifted my spirits then dashed them on the rocks is gone. Whatever he said at the end about money and kissing didn't matter—I failed.

I make my way over to one of the dining room chairs, and I let myself cry. This is it. I have no job, no money, and whatever I thought I had with Derek isn't real.

I sit there until the most violent of my tears are gone. At least I brought my own car this time, and I can drive.

Screw hangovers, I'm getting drunk.

11

Anna comes as soon as I call, and she's armed with various bottles of alcohol. She doesn't need to ask me what happened, she can figure it out from my need to get drunk and how I'm still crying. It comes and goes, and I try to hold it in. But then I remember that unless I ask for help I'm homeless and jobless and all the tears come back.

She makes the drinks, and I drink them. I don't ask what's in them because it doesn't matter. We watch crap TV and make drinking games out of the more ridiculous characters.

Later, when it's early in the morning and w

e're both laying on my couches thoroughly drunk, Anna speaks up.

"So what happened?" Her words are less slurred than mine.

"He's an ass. That's what happened."

She laughs, an infectious giggling that I can't help but follow. "Seriously though, what happened."

I shrug. "He didn't want the house."

"But I don't understand," she says. "You were so sure he was going to love it."

"He should have! He really should have. But he didn't. He just walked around and looked at it and said, 'no.'"

"That's stupid." Anna reaches to the coffee table to take a sip of her drink.

I sit up. "It is, and when I told him that this was it, that it was my last chance, you know what he did? He gave me some big talk about money and using him."

"Asshole," Anna says, but she's already reaching for the clicker. We're too drunk to really dig deep into why he's an ass, and I don't really want to. We disappear into re-runs of some fashion show, and eventually I fall asleep.

It's my dreams that get to me. Derek is in them, his face solemn, his voice soft and gritty and full of sadness. “You're like all of them,” he tells me.

I'm not. I don't know what he means, but whatever he thinks... it isn't true.

I'd never be someone who could make him look so sad.

I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. My head snaps up, and I realize that I'm still sprawled on my couch. "Oh god." The headache slams into me in the next moment. My mouth tastes terrible too. My phone is still ringing, and I shove myself off the couch, stumbling towards the door where I left my bag. I dig through for the phone, hoping it doesn't go to voicemail before I find it. "Hello?"

"Penelope." Jeremy's voice sounds painfully in my ear. Shit, he's calling to fire me. I thought he'd have the grace to do it in person.

"Hi, Jeremy," I say, shuffling back to the couch. I notice that everything is clean, and there's a glass of water and some aspirin on the coffee table with a note from Anna: Feel better!

I take the aspirin and swallow them. "Look, I'm really sorry."