The Billionaire's Obsession

Jack

Sliding my zipper down slowly, I keep my eyes on her pictures and off her mouthy complaints. If she can look this submissive and sweet, then maybe she just needs to be put in her place. I can do that, and I will do that, right after I take care of myself. Why rush to take care of someone so unpleasant when I can give myself a few minutes to warm up to her, so to speak.

One hand on my cock, the other scrolling through her Instagram. Each of her pictures sweetens the fantasy of her hand or mouth wrapped around my dick instead of my own fingers. I have to admit I’m happy she’s “living her best life” online and I can enjoy this side of her. Charlotte shows off bathing suits, lingerie, even clubwear on her page. Each outfit highlights her curves. She gives a good mix of naughtiness and innocence that I like.

Her complaints on Facebook make her sound like a bitch, but these pictures make her sultry and intoxicating. I don’t know which is real, but I’m not going to deny myself the view as my hand smooths over my cock, again and again, moving faster and faster as I get closer to releasing the stress she has already caused me. I find a video of her crawling across the floor and sitting back on her knees, then giggling as she teases the camera in a slutty Halloween costume.

I bet she’d like to crawl under my desk and wrap those red lips around something better than a straw in her drink. Groaning hard, I finish and pant at my computer. Once my lust dies down and the weighty pleasure of coming wears off, I go back to the Facebook page I had set up for my residents.

This Charlotte English woman has already become a thorn in my side, and she’s lived here all of three days. She got the link to the Facebook group when she got the welcome packet for new residents. My building manager also sent apologies and a card for a comped meal at the restaurant next door when we had to delay her move-in date due to necessary maintenance and cleaning.

After all, changing someone’s move-in date with that little notice is an inconvenience, no matter who it is. Three days and it’s been nothing but complaints despite my attempts to be proactive. And, like most people, she wants everything fixed immediately. As if I don’t have to put in work orders, get the right person for the job, and obey their work hours and rules. As if I only exist to fix her problems.

She’s a spoiled brat, an entitled “influencer” who thinks getting views is the same thing as getting love and validation. I shake my head and close the pages I opened to stalk her on Facebook. Getting pissed over this isn’t going to help me get anywhere.

After I take a deep breath, I run my fingers through my hair and look over her complaint again.

Charlotte: I was asked to wait an additional five days to move in after we already agreed on a date due to “maintenance and cleaning.” That’s fine and good, though really annoying. But when I get here, there’s nothing but problems. It looks like the fridge hasn’t been cleaned since it was purchased, the floor feels unsteady, and the A/C won’t stop rattling. And those are just the biggest issues! I thought this was supposed to be the lap of luxury, but I feel like I’m at Motel 6. Actually, Motel 6 would be better!

I know what condo she’s in, just like I know that it has been cleaned by the professional cleaning service we hire after every change in a renter. Sure, there’s a possibility that they messed up, but that’s rare.

I could head right to her condo, look everything over—as I did before she moved in—and get to the bottom of it. I could call her and let her know I’d be happy to take a look, but she hasn’t reached out to me at all, so that might be weird. But I could also say fuck professionalism completely and bend her over and beat the attitude out of her. I feel a slight grin spreading across my lips at the evil thought. She’s pretty fuckin hot for such a little whiny bitch.

No. I’ve had difficult people before. There’s always a way to win them over. I take another deep breath.

I message her directly through Facebook.

J Hamlet: Miss English, I see there are some problems with your condo. Why haven’t you reached out directly to maintenance?

I hope that would set her in the right direction. Some people are convinced that if they bitch loudly enough, things will move faster, that they will get exactly what they want without a minute to spare. I just have to gently correct that method of thinking and it will be fine.

Charlotte: I shouldn’t have to when the delay he gave me cost me an extra grand in hotel rooms. And then I get here and see that none of what was supposed to be done had been done. In fact, it’s worse than when I originally looked at the place.

J Hamlet: So, you tell Facebook rather than the person who can fix it?

Charlotte: I’ve tried talking to the handyman and didn’t get any answer at all. So, I had to take matters into my own hands. I know how to get things done in the world.

JHamlet: There are a lot of ways to get to a resolution. You should reach out to maintenance directly. It’ll go farther than complaining on a public page.

Charlotte: Why do you even care? You’re just some faceless Facebook asshole who wants to get involved in the latest group drama.

I groan. I wanted this to be professional. Clear. Direct. Apparently, she’s unwilling to cooperate even when it’s for her benefit. Does she expect someone to just fall at her feet begging for forgiveness? Willing to change everything with the snap of a finger? Because that’s definitely not how the world works.

J Hamlet: If you want to complain on social media for attention and sympathy, be my guest. If you want things fixed, go to maintenance.

Charlotte: Don’t talk down on me, you dick. You clearly don’t know who I am.

J Hamlet: You’re a tenant who wants something fixed. That’s it. Your online presence doesn’t change that. Check the attitude if you want results.

Charlotte: Or I can just take this whole conversation and post it all over.

J Hamlet: And show what? You being a whiny brat at nearly thirty years old.

J Hamlet: Have fun.

Getting up from my desk, I shake my head. I shouldn’t have let it go that far. Apparently, immaturity is fucking contagious. Not only did I let her drag me down, I gave her the validation she wanted. She got a reaction from me. Once she figures out who I am, she’ll post screenshots and I’ll have even more shit to wade through.

Even though I don’t want to reward her terrible attitude with results, I don’t feel like I have a choice. I get through a shower, using the time to rub the frustration out of my muscles and think over the conversation we’ll have. I need to be professional, polite, and clear. No more personal attacks or judgment.

This is a business matter, not a bitching contest at some high school reunion. I get dressed in gray slacks and a pale orange button-up. I roll it up to my elbows and roll my neck out. The name of the condo and yacht club is stitched in the right-hand corner. I slip the lightest amount of product in my hair, so it holds even while damp.

Then I head up to her condo. It’s one of the more expensive homes offered, with a view that overlooks the club, the marina, and the private water access offered. Not to mention the infinity pool that almost looks like the ocean itself.

Looking over the view from the main hallway on the fifth floor helps ease my tension. The salty ocean air and the sounds of people working on boats and playing ease the tension in my jaw so I can offer a more natural smile. I just have to remind myself that I love my job—providing people paradise and helping to maintain it.

If I can overlook the conversation and focus on the problem at hand, it will be easy. I repeat that to myself as I knock on the door and hear a slam from inside the condo. I take a step back from the door, not wanting to crowd her. The door jumps open, revealing Charlotte, the girl I stalked (only mildly) online just an hour earlier.

Her blonde hair suits her face, rolling gently over her shoulders in a way that’s so soft and fluffy, so inviting. Her crystal-blue eyes look me over slowly as she bites her red lip. She isn’t wearing much makeup today, just the devilish red lipstick. She’s curvy, but still delicate, hardly looks what most people think when they hear twenty-nine.

After a second look-over, she opens the door a bit wider exposing her breasts and half a smile. “Yes? Can I help you?”

I hold up my phone, showing my Facebook profile. Immediately she pales and moves to shut the door. She pushes it even though I have my foot in the doorway and my hand against it.

“Let’s be adults about this, please.”

She groans and gives up on the door, glowering at me. “You’re Mr. Hamlet?”

I take a deep, calming breath. “I’m Jack Porter. I’m the right person to complain to about the issues you’ve been having.” I offer her my hand and try my goddamn best to smile. I’m sure I look as happy as a guy getting a colonoscopy.

She stares at my hand, then gives me a weird look. “Jack? You’re the maintenance guy?”

“Yes. That’s right, I’m Jack the maintenance guy.” There really is no need to correct her and say I actually own the property. “You didn’t call, but I’m here anyway.”

She just looks at me, probably trying to figure out whether I’m telling the truth.

“Are you gonna let me in? So I can look at what you’re having problems with?”

She still keeps looking at me. Then she bursts out laughing. “Oh no, I’m not falling for that one.” More laughing. “I’ve heard that one before. Does that line even work?”

I can’t believe this girl. “Look, lady, don’t flatter yourself, alright? I’m just here to help you out and fix up your condo, and I’m about five seconds from walking away.”

Her eyes narrow again. “How do I even know you’re who you say you are and not some sick poser? J Hamlet’s profile picture is a cat! Lots of psychos out there, you know. You should know, I have—”

“Hamlet is my cat.” I exhale, summoning all my willpower to not completely lose my shit. “I use his name on my profile so I can keep up with renter issues anonymously. Now, do you want to get whatever problem you have fixed, or was that just you kicking up a stink on social media?”

She looks at me straight, neither of us talking in this ridiculous standoff. “That’s creepy as hell,” she finally says. “You don’t have to stalk people to fix their stuff, you know?”

“Stalking?” I scoff. I drag my hand through my hair again, shaking my head. “No. I just like to ensure the happiness of the people living here. That’s why I came up here after our delightful conversation on Facebook. You said you have a problem, I’m here to fix it.”

Charlotte looks me over again, taking note of each detail, then tries to nudge my shoe out of her doorway. “I do have problems. This place isn’t clean, the A/C is loud as hell, and the maintenance guy is a creep. Who should I talk to about that?”

I try to bite back my tongue. I already told her to talk to me. Is she trying to push every button? I try so hard not to let this explode into something childish, but between the look she’s giving me and her tone, and the fucking… I glower at her and take a step forward, practically shoving her foot out of the way as I close in on her space.

She pushes against my chest. “You can’t just come into my condo! I don’t care who you are!”

“Do you want this fixed or not, Charlotte?”

She pauses and looks up at me, both hands still splayed out on my chest, warm and enticing. She swallows and blushes. “You’re interfering with my work right now. Come back tomorrow.”

“If you’re going to be so clear on Facebook that these problems are so huge you should get more than a free meal, then I need to see to them right away.”

“No!” She shoves me again. “It can wait. I’m working.”

“You call taking selfies and making videos for social media, working? That’s your version of professional, Charlie?”

I can see the fury on her face. I almost expect her to hit me. Instead, she bites that delicious looking lip and slams the door in my face, directly. I wince as it hits my shoulder and the slam echoes down the hall.

“Don’t fucking judge how I make a living. It’s a job just like yours. At least I can do mine correctly. Send someone tomorrow to clean this place up, or I’ll go to the owner.” She screams through her closed door at me.

I chuckle and knock again. She doesn’t open the door. “Charlie, do you want the A/C looked at or not? It’s not like I’m going to ask to be on camera. Plus, if I wait to look at it tomorrow, it could take even longer to fix.”

“It’s Charlotte, not Charlie. I have work to do, even if you don’t see it that way. Go piss off someone else.”

“Don’t hurt yourself with all the fake smiling and clever captioning.” I blurted.

“Dick.” I hear softly from behind the door.

It doesn’t matter that she’s a bitch. My dick doesn’t seem to care. The fact that she’s even more attractive when riled up, that she’s willing to fight for herself and literally kick someone out of her house is sexy as hell. She’s fiery and fierce. Spoiled, maybe, but a fighter who’s got pride she’s willing to protect. Not to mention the lust in her eyes when she put her hands on me.

At least I know I’m not the only one frustrated. I almost don’t mind that she went off on me, and I doubt I’ll mind it in the future if she looks as sexy as she did today. The little white and blue sundress that tempted me to touch and explore just enough to ruin the illusion of innocence, that dress would look better on the floor.

I grin at the thought of her harsh tongue and gorgeous self being put in her place. I don’t need to act on the fantasies, but I can’t resist the challenge she offers, stealing glances and battling that fierce temper. Bring it on.