Serving the Billionaire
Page 10
When I returned and set the full bottle beside Mr. Sutton, he said, “You don’t miss anything, do you?”
“I try my best, sir,” I said, eyes lowered. The short hairs on the back of his neck looked soft to the touch. I imagined the way they would bristle beneath my palm.
“Who’s this?” one of the guests asked, gesturing to me with his glass.
“Cocktail waitress,” Mr. Sutton said dismissively. “So, Nathan, you were telling me about the latest merger.”
Another man crooked two fingers at me, and I crossed to his side. He was older, his dark hair sprinkled with gray, and he looked tired. “Get me a bottle of red,” he said. “I don’t care what. Something good.”
“Of course,” I murmured, and went to speak with the bartender.
When I returned with the man’s wine, he handed me a folded bill and said, “You must be new.”
I saw no reason to deny it. “Fairly new,” I said.
“Sit down,” he told me.
I hesitated, but there was enough room on the sofa that I could sit without having to touch him, and I couldn’t see any polite way to refuse. I sat down gingerly, smoothing my skirt out of the way. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything inappropriate. I really, really wanted to keep this job, and pissing off one of Mr. Sutton’s guests probably wasn’t the best way to do it.
“I like a pretty face,” the man said, leaning toward me. “You look so exotic. What are you?”
My least favorite question. I gritted my teeth and tried to look pleasant. “My ancestry is Filipino,” I said.
“You mean from the Philippines,” the guy said.
Worse and worse. In desperation, I looked toward the couch where Carter—Mr. Sutton—was sitting. He met my gaze, cocked his head to one side, and then motioned to me with one hand.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the man, springing to my feet. I crossed the room and bent toward Mr. Sutton, pretending as though I was listening intently to his drink order. My heart was beating more quickly than I could account for. I was really glad he’d rescued me from that creepy guy.
“Stay away from him,” Mr. Sutton said, voice low. “Be as rude as you need to. You don’t have to make him happy. You only have to make me happy.”
Now my pulse was racing for a different reason. “How can I make you happy, sir?” I murmured. That was full-on Sadie, right there: not something I, the real me, would ever in a million years be able to say.
Mr. Sutton looked up at me, eyes glinting. “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”
I wet my lips unconsciously, tongue flickering out of my mouth. Mr. Sutton’s gaze followed the motion, and I inhaled. His eyes darted back up to meet mine. There was a deep, understated heat in them that I didn’t fully comprehend. Was he angry, or aroused? Was it because of me, or because he was watching Scarlet gyrate on a man’s lap while he sucked on her nipples?
“Stay close,” Mr. Sutton said, and I nodded and straightened up. I was happy to stay beside him, and not only because the other guests made me nervous. I wanted him to look at me, to think about me, and not the naked dancers. If he touched either of them, I would probably explode from jealousy.
I stayed in the corner near Mr. Sutton for the rest of the night, leaving only when one of his guests requested a drink. Other than that, I hung back in the shadows and watched Sassy and Scarlet make the rounds. They both ended up without a stitch on them, and Scarlet looked like she had at least one (possibly faked) orgasm, but as Germaine had told me, all of the men remained fully clothed. It was oddly polite for a private sex party.
At the end of the night, after the guests had left and Sassy and Scarlet had tottered off in their heels, Mr. Sutton lingered in the room while I cleaned up empty glasses.
“You did very well tonight,” he said.
I didn’t look up from piling glasses onto a tray. “Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Regan,” he said. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t have resisted the command even if I’d wanted to—not when he spoke to me in that low, firm voice. I stopped what I was doing and turned to face him.
He looked me up and down, eyes raking my figure, and I blushed helplessly. I felt like he was undressing me with his gaze, and I was completely exposed before him, stripped bare and helpless. I wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy. From what, I wasn’t sure. From the way he was looking at me. From the way he made me feel.
Without speaking, he pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and held them out to me. I was on the other side of the room; he was going to make me walk over to him in order to take the money.
I drew in a deep breath and went to him, feeling unsteady in my shoes. Even though earlier I’d wanted nothing more than to be close to him, I was suddenly reluctant to draw too near. Like he was the sun, and he would burn me if I had the audacity to enter his orbit.
I came to a stop in front of him. He pressed the money into my hand, and with the other, tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes as I felt his fingers trace down the side of my neck.
“You’re flawless,” Mr. Sutton said. “I’m holding another gathering on Wednesday. Will you serve for me then?”
“Yes,” I said, without thinking.
“There’s a catch,” he said. “I want you to do it topless.”
Chapter 4
“You’re going to do what?” Sadie shrieked.
“Shh,” I said, looking around nervously. The sales lady had already given me a few pointed glances. I got the feeling we weren’t her usual clientele, and we were definitely not up to snuff as far as she was concerned.
“Okay, okay,” Sadie said, and went back to flipping through the rack. “Seriously, though, you’re kidding, right?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I haven’t decided yet. It’s a lot of money, Sadie.”
“How much?” she asked.
That was Sadie: practical to the bone. She would probably prostitute herself to the president if he paid her enough money. Girl’s gotta pay the bills, she liked to say, and that was the only reason I hadn’t immediately told Mr. Sutton to fuck off. I was still being Sadie, at that point, and my inner Sadie had gone wide-eyed at the thought of five thousand dollars.
Five thousand. That’s what he’d told me, while I stood there and stared at him. He wanted me to wear heels and tights and a skirt and nothing else: walk around bare-breasted with a cocktail tray and entertain his companions. No touching, he’d told me. Just looking.
“I try my best, sir,” I said, eyes lowered. The short hairs on the back of his neck looked soft to the touch. I imagined the way they would bristle beneath my palm.
“Who’s this?” one of the guests asked, gesturing to me with his glass.
“Cocktail waitress,” Mr. Sutton said dismissively. “So, Nathan, you were telling me about the latest merger.”
Another man crooked two fingers at me, and I crossed to his side. He was older, his dark hair sprinkled with gray, and he looked tired. “Get me a bottle of red,” he said. “I don’t care what. Something good.”
“Of course,” I murmured, and went to speak with the bartender.
When I returned with the man’s wine, he handed me a folded bill and said, “You must be new.”
I saw no reason to deny it. “Fairly new,” I said.
“Sit down,” he told me.
I hesitated, but there was enough room on the sofa that I could sit without having to touch him, and I couldn’t see any polite way to refuse. I sat down gingerly, smoothing my skirt out of the way. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything inappropriate. I really, really wanted to keep this job, and pissing off one of Mr. Sutton’s guests probably wasn’t the best way to do it.
“I like a pretty face,” the man said, leaning toward me. “You look so exotic. What are you?”
My least favorite question. I gritted my teeth and tried to look pleasant. “My ancestry is Filipino,” I said.
“You mean from the Philippines,” the guy said.
Worse and worse. In desperation, I looked toward the couch where Carter—Mr. Sutton—was sitting. He met my gaze, cocked his head to one side, and then motioned to me with one hand.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the man, springing to my feet. I crossed the room and bent toward Mr. Sutton, pretending as though I was listening intently to his drink order. My heart was beating more quickly than I could account for. I was really glad he’d rescued me from that creepy guy.
“Stay away from him,” Mr. Sutton said, voice low. “Be as rude as you need to. You don’t have to make him happy. You only have to make me happy.”
Now my pulse was racing for a different reason. “How can I make you happy, sir?” I murmured. That was full-on Sadie, right there: not something I, the real me, would ever in a million years be able to say.
Mr. Sutton looked up at me, eyes glinting. “Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”
I wet my lips unconsciously, tongue flickering out of my mouth. Mr. Sutton’s gaze followed the motion, and I inhaled. His eyes darted back up to meet mine. There was a deep, understated heat in them that I didn’t fully comprehend. Was he angry, or aroused? Was it because of me, or because he was watching Scarlet gyrate on a man’s lap while he sucked on her nipples?
“Stay close,” Mr. Sutton said, and I nodded and straightened up. I was happy to stay beside him, and not only because the other guests made me nervous. I wanted him to look at me, to think about me, and not the naked dancers. If he touched either of them, I would probably explode from jealousy.
I stayed in the corner near Mr. Sutton for the rest of the night, leaving only when one of his guests requested a drink. Other than that, I hung back in the shadows and watched Sassy and Scarlet make the rounds. They both ended up without a stitch on them, and Scarlet looked like she had at least one (possibly faked) orgasm, but as Germaine had told me, all of the men remained fully clothed. It was oddly polite for a private sex party.
At the end of the night, after the guests had left and Sassy and Scarlet had tottered off in their heels, Mr. Sutton lingered in the room while I cleaned up empty glasses.
“You did very well tonight,” he said.
I didn’t look up from piling glasses onto a tray. “Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Regan,” he said. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t have resisted the command even if I’d wanted to—not when he spoke to me in that low, firm voice. I stopped what I was doing and turned to face him.
He looked me up and down, eyes raking my figure, and I blushed helplessly. I felt like he was undressing me with his gaze, and I was completely exposed before him, stripped bare and helpless. I wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy. From what, I wasn’t sure. From the way he was looking at me. From the way he made me feel.
Without speaking, he pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and held them out to me. I was on the other side of the room; he was going to make me walk over to him in order to take the money.
I drew in a deep breath and went to him, feeling unsteady in my shoes. Even though earlier I’d wanted nothing more than to be close to him, I was suddenly reluctant to draw too near. Like he was the sun, and he would burn me if I had the audacity to enter his orbit.
I came to a stop in front of him. He pressed the money into my hand, and with the other, tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes as I felt his fingers trace down the side of my neck.
“You’re flawless,” Mr. Sutton said. “I’m holding another gathering on Wednesday. Will you serve for me then?”
“Yes,” I said, without thinking.
“There’s a catch,” he said. “I want you to do it topless.”
Chapter 4
“You’re going to do what?” Sadie shrieked.
“Shh,” I said, looking around nervously. The sales lady had already given me a few pointed glances. I got the feeling we weren’t her usual clientele, and we were definitely not up to snuff as far as she was concerned.
“Okay, okay,” Sadie said, and went back to flipping through the rack. “Seriously, though, you’re kidding, right?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I haven’t decided yet. It’s a lot of money, Sadie.”
“How much?” she asked.
That was Sadie: practical to the bone. She would probably prostitute herself to the president if he paid her enough money. Girl’s gotta pay the bills, she liked to say, and that was the only reason I hadn’t immediately told Mr. Sutton to fuck off. I was still being Sadie, at that point, and my inner Sadie had gone wide-eyed at the thought of five thousand dollars.
Five thousand. That’s what he’d told me, while I stood there and stared at him. He wanted me to wear heels and tights and a skirt and nothing else: walk around bare-breasted with a cocktail tray and entertain his companions. No touching, he’d told me. Just looking.
