Billionaire's Single Mom

Mick's reaction settled it for me: I was wearing the sundress. I took the time to curl my hair so it fell to my shoulders in gentle rings that bounced lightly. I kept my make-up minimal, not wanting to look vampy or overtly sexual. I needed to make it clear in this meeting that yesterday's flashing of my breasts was an accident and I had no interest in trading my sexuality for the job. I was a good-girl, devoted to my fiancé, and just looking for an honest day's pay for my modeling services. Nothing more. Some pink nail polish on my fingertips and toes completed the look, and I left feeling sunny and bright, like a fresh, country breeze in the city.

As I sat in the waiting room of Speed Motorcycles’ executive floor, I began to rethink my strategy. The walls were lined with framed photographs of the company's motorcycles, each with a model looking sexy as sin posing along with it. Their shorts were skimpy enough to show their ass cheeks and their bikini tops left little to the imagination. It was easy to speculate that any of these women would have been willing to sleep their way into successful modeling careers. As I sat there in my prim sun dress, I realized just how much I didn't fit into this world of fast bikes and faster women, where everything was flashy and built for speed.

I stood up to leave, but just then a woman with fiery red hair and a skin-tight, black dress with red stiletto heels came up to me. "Miss Brandt, Mr. Colson will see you now."

"Thank you. Is he the photographer?" I asked casually as I trailed behind her down a richly-carpeted hallway.

"No. He's the owner and CEO of the company," the sexy redhead smirked at my naive ignorance, making me feel even more out of place.

"Oh. He'll be sitting in on the meeting?" I was genuinely surprised. I'd only ever worked on small jobs with just a photographer and once a director. Never had I worked with a CEO, especially for one of the country's b

iggest companies. My stomach began to squirm, and I wrapped my arms around my waist, trying to squelch my nerves.

"No, he is the meeting. It will just be you and him. Mr. Colson is a very busy and powerful man, so try not to disappoint him."

The redhead opened a set of large, oak doors, and I found myself entering a vast office filled with expensive furnishings in an art-deco style, imported rugs lined the floors, and fine crystal lamps filled the room with light. A man was seated at the massive desk in the center of the room. I instantly blushed when I recognized him from being at the audition where I had humiliated myself.

He strode towards me with a welcoming smile shook my hand warmly. "Miss Brandt. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat."

He indicated a grouping of chairs and sofas at the east end of the suite, and I chose one, gasping with surprise as I sunk into the comfortable cushions. My host chuckled and sat in the chair closest to mine so our knees were nearly touching.

He was a very handsome man, with dark black hair cropped close to his head, chiseled features, and the most incredible steel gray eyes flecked with specks of gold and blue. As his eyes peered into mine, I felt as if they could penetrate my soul and see into the very heart of me. Quickly, I averted my eyes, staring down at my hands as if my cuticles had never been more fascinating.

"So, Miss Brandt, I have asked you here to discuss your audition from yesterday," he began, and I couldn't stop myself from interrupting him.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so very, very sorry."

"That I want to talk with you?"

"No, I'm very happy about that. It was such a relief when you called. I'm sorry about everything else. Sorry about my top coming off. I did not mean for that to happen. And, I'm really sorry about knocking over the motorcycle. Did I break it? I'm more than willing to pay for any damages I caused to it. Is that why I'm here? Do you need me to sign some legal papers accepting responsibility for it?"

"Settle down, Miss Brandt. The bike wasn't damaged. Speed Motorcycles are built to be tough. They can handle highway crashes at fast speeds, I'm certain they can survive being toppled over onto a carpeted stage while standing still. I didn't call you here personally to have you sign liability forms."

His humorous smirk lightened my tension and made me see how silly I was being. Instantly, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and smiled. "Okay, good. So, why did you ask me here?"

"I understand you want the job of being a model for next month's issue of Speed Magazine."

"Yes, me and about a thousand other girls," I giggled nervously. Why couldn't I stop my hands from fidgeting?

"Yes, that's true. We literally see thousands of women every year, all of them hoping for the chance to appear in pages of our magazine. After a while, they all start to look the same. I'll say one thing for your audition yesterday; you made it memorable." I wanted to apologize again, but he didn't give me chance and kept right on talking. "That's why I've selected you to be the model for the cover of next month's issue."

"The cover! Are you serious?" I had never been so happy or excited in my life. This was an incredible opportunity, and would launch my career as a professional model. Clasping my hands to keep them from shaking, I cried out happily, "I'd been hoping for something on one of the inside pages; I never dreamed I'd be considered for the cover."

"Yes, well it's a special honor, only 12 women a year ever get to have. There was a lot of debate in the boardroom over selecting a model with as little experience as you have, but I cast my vote for you personally."

"Thank you so much. I don't know how to thank you."

"Well, don't thank me yet. There is a catch. I'm going to need you to do something special for me first before I give you the job. Come with me. I'll have my assistant get a hanger for that dress. You won't want to get it wrinkled or dirty."

"What?" My heart dropped and all my joy drained away. "My boyfriend was right. You only want me for this job because you think I'm willing to take off my clothes for you — and God knows what else. Well, I'm not that kind of girl. I don't care if it costs me this job. I don't care if I never work as a model in L.A. ever again. I'm leaving, Mr. Colson."

"No, wait," he cut off my retreat with his ripped form, and I was more than intimidated as my heart thundered in my chest. If he wouldn't let me leave, I would fight him with everything I had. With trembling hands, I fumbled in my purse, pulled out my pepper spray and aimed the canister at him.

Chuckling good naturedly, Mr. Colson held up his hands in surrender and said gently, "You misunderstood. I don't expect you to strip for me, pose naked, or have sex with me or anybody else in this office. I do, however, intend to teach you how to ride a bike."

"What?" I was stunned and nearly dropped my pepper spray. "You want to teach me how to ride?"

"Yes. It's the kind of thing you can't fake in a photoshoot, so I need you to learn how to ride before I can give you the job. It will be fun and easy, and I'll even teach you myself."