Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Chuck slowly walks away, and once he’s back at his own table, I sit down again. “I apologize.”
“You know that guy?” Megan asks softly.
“Unfortunately.” I take a sip of my scotch, trying to calm my rage. “He’s a scumbag wannabe businessman who’s pissed that I wouldn’t finance one of his many failed companies. Now he just likes to annoy me.”
Megan nods. “It must be hard being rich. Always having people come to you for money.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You mean people like you?”
She opens her mouth to respond but stops when she realizes she’s got nothing to say.
I chuckle. She’s cute when she’s caught.
“It’s all right.” I smile, taking her hand again. “Tell me about you, Megan. What do you do? What do you want to do?”
Her cheeks are red. Her palm’s gone clammy.
Brushing her hair back, she takes a deep breath. I steal a glance at her tits as they rise in her dress, her line of cleavage making my mouth water. My cock would fit perfectly between them.
“Well, right now I’m a waitress. But it’s my dream to be an artist.”
“What kind of art?” I ask. “Drawing? Sculpting? Painting?”
“Painting.” She nods. “But art supplies are not cheap. Neither is art school—”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re here tonight.”
The façade she’s been trying to keep up finally falls. Her expression changes, and I find myself staring at the real her.
She shakes her head, looking like a criminal who’s just gotten busted by the police. “No, I’m here because I’m two months behind on rent, and my friend Trish double-booked two dates tonight.”
“Two dates?” I laugh. “This friend of yours is a busy bee.”
Megan lets out a tiny chirp of a laugh and takes a sip from her glass. “I don’t know how she does it. I didn’t even think I could do this. And I was right.”
Our waitress arrives with our appetizers. I pluck a lobster ravioli from her plate and raise it to Megan’s succulent lips. She looks at me, hesitates, then slowly opens her mouth. My balls ache as I feed it to her. The urge to take her swells within me. Who knew watching a girl eat could be so goddamn sexy?
“Well, Megan, every artist needs a patron,” I say. “I have an unused wing of my manor. I’ll set you up in there. You’ll have a bedroom, a bathroom, access to my own private chef, a studio, and all the supplies you need.”
Her eyes go instantly wide, and she quickly swallows, shaking her head. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly—”
Pulling her closer, I stare deeply into her eyes.
I could lose myself in these. Forever.
“Megan, you don’t understand,” I say, my voice low. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”
3
MEGAN
My heart is going to explode as I walk with Orson out to the Rolls Royce sitting right in front of the restaurant. I guess that’s a perk of owning the place; you get to park wherever you want.
I don’t know whether to be smitten or scared as he opens the door for me. Maybe a mixture of both…
The city’s most eligible bachelor just told me I belong to him now.
When I left the apartment tonight, I thought at best I’d come home with a few hundred dollars. Now I’m being pulled into a whole new world. A lavish lifestyle that even Trish can’t imagine.
As I slide into the car next to Orson, I stare at him in absolute awe. Is this actually happening?
The way he got up in Chuck’s face…defending me like we’d been together for years. I thought for sure after he exposed my lie that he’d walk out, leave me to find my own way home. Instead, he marked his territory. Showed everyone in the restaurant that I was his.
And now he’s taking me back to his house—his manor—where I guess I’m just going to live from now on?
“I wasn’t asking your permission.”
His words replay in my head as we drive. I focus on my breathing, fighting back a panic attack as we leave the city behind. Orson says little, mostly just talking about the house and how much I’m going to love it. But when he puts his hand on my knee, I nearly jump out of my skin.
If only he knew this is the closest I’ve ever been to a man. The most contact I’ve ever had from one. What’s he going to think when he finds out?
He’s not going to want me.
He must have had hundreds of women—thousands. I don’t even know. But what I do know is he’s ridiculously hot, richer than God, and beneath that custom-made suit, he has a ripped body. He could have anyone. Anything. Why pick me?
Just as I’m starting to get my heartrate down, we pull up to a massive wrought-iron gate. A plaque with a massive B carved into it proclaims the status of the place. The wealth. Orson squeezes my knee, sending a jolt through me, and presses his thumb to a screen I hadn’t even noticed.