2. Orson
ORSON
This girl is not Trish. But I don’t care. It’s like an angel just walked into the room. I wasn’t even hungry when I arrived, but she’s got my appetite raging. She is stunning, and I can tell by the way she moves that she doesn’t even know it.
She’s unsure on her feet, which means she doesn’t wear heels that often. And she keeps adjusting her dress, smoothing it down on her hips with her palms—hips which are just begging for my hands.
And those lips…
I barely even hear her as she introduces herself. I’m too busy picturing them wrapped around my cock while she looks up at me with those big brown eyes. Christ, what a beauty. Not a diamond on her, and she’s the most eye-catching woman in the room.
For just a moment, I feel something in my heart I haven’t felt since I was a boy: excitement. An actual thrilling moment as I take her soft hand in mine and hold it, drinking in every inch of her beauty with my gaze.
She’s not just another gold-digger…
That’s what I want to believe, but I know I’m just lying to myself. Of course that’s what she is. She knows who I am, and she’s here for my money. Trish set this whole thing up to make her friend some extra cash. Smart move.
And it’s not like this isn’t something I’m used to.
All the girls want me for my money. I’m a billionaire from an old-money family that owns half the city.
I could buy this girl’s life and sell it at a loss if I felt like it.
I’m not even interested in going on dates anymore.
I just do it to keep my mom off my back.
She wants me to get married. Settle down.
So I book a few dates now and then to shut her up.
And so far, it’s been working. But the last thing I want to do is buy this girl a meal and have William drive her home. No. I want to keep her. Spoil her rotten and give her everything the world has to offer. And that’s a feeling I’ve never had before.
Christ, what’s happening to me? She’s been in my presence for less than a minute and I’m losing my mind. Losing control.
“Won’t you sit?” I ask, finally finding my voice. She smiles, and the entire room lights up. The entire world.
“Thank you.”
Her voice is trembling. She’s putting on an act—trying to be Trish. But behind the fake confidence, I can hear the timidity. The tenderness. The soft honesty of a girl who has yet to be corrupted by the world.
“So, Trish, would you like a drink?”
She adorably waves her hand and twists her lips. “Oh no, I’m not old enough to drink.”
She just keeps giving herself away. Trish would have gladly ordered a martini or some wine. If for no other reason than to get me drinking so I’d be willing to blow more money on her later.
But not this beauty…whoever she is.
My blood rushes through my veins like magma, sending my body temperature soaring. I take a breath and nod, my eyes drifting down to her tits. Christ, so plump and perky. I flex my fingers beneath the table, imagining what it would be like to slide my hands down the front of her dress and squeeze.
“Your age doesn’t matter here,” I assure her. “I own the restaurant. They’ll do what I tell them.”
Her jaw drops, but she quickly tries to hide it. Yep, definitely not Trish.
“I’m actually not a big alcohol girl,” she mutters. “Just some sparkling water would be fine.”
“Whatever you’d like.” I raise my hand for the waiter, who arrives instantly. “A scotch for me and a sparkling water for the lady.”
“Yes, sir.”
The curves of her hips get my mouth watering as she crosses her legs but not like she’s trying to be sexy and show off. More like she’s trying to curl up a bit. She’s self-conscious, which is crazy considering how sexy she is. Is it possible she doesn’t know? How could a girl like this not know?
I watch as she picks up the menu and frowns. Watching her eyebrows furrow sends blood rushing to my cock. Jesus, I’m like a horny teenager again and the date’s just started.
“Don’t read French?” I tease, causing her to look up. She looks panicked for a moment, then quickly tries to save face.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s best?” she asks, putting the menu back. Nice save.
“No problem. I usually get—”
“Orson!? Orson Brooks?!” a shrill voice calls out from my left.
Cursing under my breath, I turn and see Pam, a girl I went out with once last year, rushing over to me.
Without hesitating, she throws her arms around me like we’re dating and kisses me on the cheek.
“I thought that was you! How are you? Why haven’t you called? ”
Gee, I wonder. Maybe because you asked me to buy you a car after we finished dessert?
“Pam, this is Trish,” I say, pointing at not-Trish. “Trish, this is Pam, a…friend of mine.”
Not-Trish nods, doing her best to be polite, but I can see she’s annoyed. And why wouldn’t she be? Maybe she’s just here for my money—to be spoiled—but even if that’s the case, she doesn’t want another woman getting in her way.
“Oh, is that what I am now? A friend?” She tosses her hair, leans forward, and puts her tits in my face. “Do friends normally—”
“Get out of here, Pam,” I growl. I’ve had enough. This girl was annoying last year, and she’s even more annoying now.
Both of the girls gasp, but Pam looks like she’s been shot in the chest. She steps back and opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but thinks better of it and walks away. Not before glancing back over her shoulder at my date and flashing her a dirty look.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
“Not a problem.” She smiles. “I bet you get that a lot…being who you are.”
I let my gaze linger on her before nodding. “Lots of women? Of course. But they don’t want me for me.”
An unmistakable flicker sparks in her eyes, but she looks away quickly as the waiter returns with our drinks. I order for us both. I actually can’t wait to see how she reacts to the food. This girl has never been to a restaurant like this before. She’s going to have her mind blown.
“So…” she says slowly, feigning confidence. “That car you sent for me was nice—”
“Let’s cut the bullshit,” I interrupt, scooting my chair right up to her. At this distance, I can smell her, and she smells delicious. Better than any dessert on the menu. “You’re not Trish.”
Her pupils dilate, and her breath catches in her throat. “What do you mean? Of course I am!”
“I’ve known since you walked in,” I tell her. “I wanted to see just how long you could keep it up.”
“Orson—”
“But let’s drop it now,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “I want to know who you are.”
Her palm is not soft. This isn’t some girl used to having men pay her way. This is a working girl. That’s why Trish sent her here tonight: to give her a break from the grind. To try and squeeze some money out of me.
Normally, I’d just roll my eyes and move on. But tonight, with this angel, I actually want to pamper her. Give her the princess treatment. Show her a whole world she’s never seen before.
Nervously, she bites her lower lip, causing my blood pressure to spike. My eyes are locked on to her. I couldn’t pull away if I tried.
“Okay, you got me,” she says slowly. “My name is Megan. Trish is my friend. She sent me here tonight.”
“Megan…” I reply slowly, tasting her name on my tongue. It’s so natural, like I was born to say it countless times. “I want you to thank Trish for me.”
She frowns, adorably confused. “Thank Trish? For what?”
I chuckle, tracing her palm with my index finger. This touch is like an appetizer, making me want more. So much more.
“For sending you to me.”
A tiny whimper escapes her perfect lips. No one has ever complemented this girl. The innocence just radiates off of her, hitting me like a drug. Most girls I run into are professionals. They know how to dress up, put on a show, and work a man for all he’s worth.
But Megan? She has no idea what she’s doing. And ironically, that just makes me want to spoil her even more.
“Damn, who is this beauty?” My teeth clench together. This is the one voice I do not want to hear tonight.
“Chuck,” I growl, turning to see the obnoxious prick standing by our table, a glass of champagne in his hand. He’s actually wearing red and green checkered pants. His eyes aren’t on me. He’s checking out Megan and not being at all discreet about it.
“Aren’t you just lovely?”
My adrenaline spikes. Primal urges rise up inside me. I may have just met this girl, but she is mine.
He reaches out to touch her, and that’s when I snap.
In a flash, I’m on my feet. All conversation in the room halts as I slide between them and get right up in his face. “Back off. Now.”
Chuck’s lips twist, and his eyes narrow. He goes tense, and for a second, I actually think he’s going to take a swing at me.
You’ll regret it, pal.
Thankfully, he knows this and takes a step back. “Hey, relax, buddy! I was just trying to be friendly.”
“Sure you were.” I nod. “Now get lost before I have you removed.”
Glancing past me, Chuck licks his lower lip at Megan, and I nearly break his nose.
But I don’t want to make any more of a scene than I already have.
Not tonight. Not in front of Megan. Sure, she came here on a lie—maybe she was just looking for a payout—but I’m going to make tonight special for her.
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 fa?ade 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.”