Jacks: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 1) (4 page)

I fluffed up my still-damp hair and stepped into the revolving glass doors. A blast of cool air shot up my dress and tickled my thighs as I walked into the cavernous marble atrium.

I could hear the sound of water trickling far off in a corner, shielded by a bamboo screen. Music and blue light filtered down from the skylights and somewhere I heard people walking, but couldn’t see them.

Looking around, I found the curved desk of the security guard and walked across an expanse of echoing tile to the uniformed guard. Holding myself as straight and confident as possible I simply asked for Mr. Jack. The security guard cocked his head at me slightly and consulted the clipboard on the desk.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Well, no,” I stammered, “but I think that he--”

“Brienne?”

I whirled around, suddenly wondering what in the hell I was really doing there. How was I supposed to pull this off?

“Oh,” he said, his features a mask of amused confusion, “I thought you were bringing coffee?”

I waved my hand in the air as though that was a small matter that should be immediately forgotten. I’d seen other people get away with that kind of sorcery so why not? I could try it, right?

“Well,” I said, putting on a sultry purr, “I heard that you already had an espresso bar here in the building?”

I raised one eyebrow at him and hung my hand on my hip, trying to look as though I was sassy and confident even while my insides were doing backflips and begging me to hide in a corner somewhere.

To my complete astonishment, it appeared to work. His eyebrows went up in an expression of surprise and mirth. He seemed to be enjoying the tease.

OK. You like the saucy vixen, do you? Well, if this is going to be how I have to play it, I will.

I switched my weight to my other hip, almost biting my lip at the intense stroke of my panties across my crotch. That was a complication. How was I supposed to concentrate on my mission with my labia getting more frisky with every passing second? I felt a flush crawling up the skin of my chest and hoped he wouldn't notice.

“The meeting is over anyway,” he admitted, shrugging. “I assumed you had forgotten. We were just going to lunch. Would you like to join us?”

“I came about the job,” I blurted out with my chin lifted, slightly disbelieving the words as they rolled out of my lips.

I must be insane.

“The job,” he repeated slowly, working his jaw as though rolling the words around in his mouth. I could see a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Well, that is quite a development. Why don't you join us for lunch and we can discuss it?”

“Does that mean there is no job?” I said archly. “This was all some kind of tease perhaps?”

“Oh no no,” he said, quickly putting his hands palm out as though trying to stop traffic and express his innocence at the same time. “Please don't get the wrong impression. We have, uh, positions available in multiple areas. Honestly, I just-- I never really thought you were going to take me up on it.”

He stepped closer to me, his aquamarine eyes twinkling merrily. I had a brief memory of staring into his eyes flash through my mind like lightning. The way he squinted at me, confused and intense. The way his gaze darted down my cleavage and back up again...

“I can't tell you how exciting this is, frankly. There are about a thousand things that I would like to discuss with you. When can you take a meeting?”

Do I say: ‘I’m here now?’ Do I say: ‘I’ll pencil you in?’
I wondered, my body beginning to tremble from the strain of maintaining a regal, authoritative pose while my panties got progressively more swampy.

Maybe that pussy-shaving idea was bad timing. I can practically hear it purring.

Somewhere in the dark shadows of my mind, that small voice that tells me how ridiculous I probably look started hissing at me and I took my millionth cleansing breath. I figured had exactly thirty more seconds before I ran out of courage and started galloping for the front door.

While I considered how best to end the conversation I heard the elevator open behind me. A waft of expensive cologne washed through my sinuses as Lyle walked by and stopped, turning and crossing his arms in one smooth motion as though suddenly diverted by a shiny thing he might like to buy.

“Oh hello,” he said in a low chuckle. His biceps bulged inside of his crisply starched, sky blue shirt and I couldn’t help but remember his fingers grazing across the top of my thigh when he was behind me, pressed up to me, his hips behind my hips as though…

“Haven’t we met?” he said with a devilish smirk. “Didn’t we rescue you from a band of rabid square dancers last night?”

Do not glance at his crotch. Do not glance at his crotch. Do not glance at his crotch.

Aw, fuck.

Owen cleared his throat with a noise that almost sounded like one of those coughs that you use to cover some other word. I turned toward him, grateful for the distraction. My weight slid to my other thigh, dragging my sensitive undercarriage across my panties again, sending a shudder shooting up my torso that ended at my lips.

Did that come out?

Oh my god did I just make a sex sound??

Stretching a smile across my teeth I blinked, twice (I counted!) and took a breath through my nose. I stayed completely still, smiling like a game show model, throwing the last of my courage together with every ounce of strength I had.

Lyle and Owen shot each other a look and then both gave me their full and complete attention. Having their eyes on me at the same time was intense, like a blast of sunlight you’re not expecting. Owen lowered his chin and dropped his eyes to my feet, sliding his gaze back up excruciatingly slowly.

He’s testing you. Hold on!

I didn’t move a muscle, just clenched my jaw and raised an eyebrow so that when he finished scouring my curves with his eyes and met my gaze, I would have an appropriately confident expression on my face.

“So, we should definitely talk,” Owen said in a low, dry voice. His gaze nearly pierced me but miraculously, I didn’t falter. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I’d see both of them at the same time when I assembled my fortitude for this mission. I assumed it would only be Owen. I needed to get him on his own if I was going to have any chance of holding myself together.

“We should all talk,” Lyle added.

All?

What?

Owen sighed, his mouth open as though about to say something. He shot Lyle another glance, and Lyle quirked an eyebrow and nodded once.

“Right,” Owen said finally, as though something had been decided.

What just happened here?

“Tonight we have a… thing,” Lyle suggested. “We can discuss it there.”

“Yes!” Owen replied. “That’s an excellent idea. Brienne, will you accompany us to the Avery tonight? We’re hosting an event…. Give you a chance to meet the key players, get to know the different lines of business…”

Meet the key players… Lines of business…  That sounds legit.

Oh my god I am in completely over my head.

“I’m not sure--” I stammered, feeling myself beginning to falter. My facade began to crumple at the edges and I wondered how much time I had left.

“You can tell us where you think you fit in,” Lyle offered reasonably. I saw a squint pass over his eyes. Could he tell I was bluffing, putting up a front?

I scanned the room over their heads as a last-ditch effort to seem like I had any kind of control over my faculties anymore.

“Uhmmm, yes I think I can do that,” I said, amazed that I still sounded halfway sane.

“Great!” Owen said, clapping his hands together once and then rubbing the palms in some very sexy circles.

Those are the hands that held me up.

I bit my lips together, aware how very close I was to making yet another moany-type noise. If I wasn’t careful, these guys were going to think I was a complete nympho.

“It’s black tie, starts at nine. Can we have a car pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you,” I countered, instantly and cringingly aware that my homeless status might not convey a professional appearance.

“And... Can you wear something like that blue thing from yesterday?” Lyle asked suddenly. I turned to him, my jaw falling open a little bit, unsure what to say. My brain suddenly went red-level alarm status.

Mission abort! Abort! Retreat!

“I’m sure I can find something appropriate,” I said cagily, watching to see if he looked away. He definitely did not.

“I know you can,” he said in a low, sultry voice, taking a half step toward me. The air between us practically crackled with electricity and I was tempted to just let it flow through me. I hadn’t felt this way in… well, ever.

Well, except for when Owen was in front of me.

“I’ll see you at nine then,” I croaked in a throaty whisper that used the last drop of composure I had.

He held my gaze for just another moment and I stayed as still as a wax model of myself, afraid I would shatter if I attempted anything more. Then he cut his eyes toward Owen and turned on his heel.

“Nine, then,” Owen repeated with a model-perfect grin, following his brother toward the doors.

I did it,
I congratulated myself as they walked away, giving me a fine view of a pair of muscular asses in form-fitting trousers.
I totally pulled it off. I was confident and not insane. I did not babble. I even pulled off the super-heated sexual tension thing like a proper bombshell.

They totally fell for it. They totally think that’s the real me. Melita is going to be so proud.

Oh my god. I am in so much trouble.

“You shaved your chocha? What on earth made you do that?!”

“Wellllll…. I mean… I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea?”

“It’s a
great
idea,” Melita said, moving my suitcases under the wooden table with her foot and dropping the tablecloth over them. “It’s just a little, you know… Not really your brand, is it?”

“Well, no, it’s not my brand at all! I stood there panting and heaving like a porn star, when I was trying to be professional. I just wanted to seem confident, but it was like… I could not stop thinking about my crotch.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” she agreed.

“Does everybody just
do that
?” I asked in disbelief.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well not everybody, but… Maybe you’re a little more, uh, reserved than a lot of people. Your cootch was probably excited to be set free!”

“They think I’m a skank,” I moaned, drawing the crocheted afghan over my forehead. Even though it was sweltering in the bungalow, I liked the familiar feel of the blanket on me.

“Oh, come on. It’s good,” she said, folding her legs under her on the flowered sofa next to me. “It’s a good thing. You did good! Guys don’t think like that anyway. I bet you made a helluvan impression.”

“You don’t think I went too far?”

Silence.

“Oh my goooodddddddd,” I groaned.

“Come on, I’m just kidding,” she said unconvincingly. “But, Bree-- Bree?”

“What,” I grumbled from inside my tent.

“This isn’t like… a sign?”

“A sign?”

“Well… you’re not going to shave your head or anything?”

I flipped the blanket down and stared at her. Her face was all twisted with concern. Just the right amount of concern, though: true and earnest.

“Why would I shave my head?”

She shrugged. “That’s how you crazy white girls do in the movies. I dunno. Every time you get a big life event,
whack
, no more hair!”

“I thought you would be proud of me.”

She raised her palms to the ceiling. “Oh I am proud of you, girl, you have no idea. I just wish I could have been there! I’da cut that bitch! And him! I cannot
believe
you just walked out without, like a good nut-punch or
anything
!”

My head fell back on the sofa, half wishing I could see whatever it was on the ceiling she was always talking to.

“Nope, no nut-punch,” I admitted.

“And you just let her get away too.”

“Well, I left him a note?”

“Oh a note?” she said, her eyebrows going up. “What did the note say? Where did you leave it?”

“Um, on his car. It said You Suck.”

She nodded sincerely. “Wow.”

“Shut up.”

“You suck,” she repeated, her voice gravely sarcastic. “You really said all that?”

“Yeah OK, well… You know what? He does suck. And so does she. I can’t help it if I couldn’t come up with anything better, you know, on the spot like that.”

Melita nodded seriously. I knew if it were her, there would have been some impressive fireworks. She would have made the nightly news. Or not - they probably wouldn’t have ever caught her, she’s so cagey.

“Yeah,” I said finally, letting defeat wash over me like a warm, suffocating bath, “well, I guess that’s that. Both of them. Just… They win.”

The words cartwheeled through my mind.
They win.
They sure did win. It all must have seemed so funny to them. I never even had a clue. How long had they been winning for? I cringed to think how casual they seemed about it as they were conspiring to rip my guts out. Whitney definitely seemed comfortable in my house.

“Noooo,” Melita said, her voice drawing out for a long time. “They don’t win. They are stuck with each other.
You
win. You got out, washed that man right outta your hair and outta your vazheen, and look at you. Taking the bull by the china shop--”

“I think you mean horns.”

“Well yeah, girl! That’s the spirit! Grab ahold of them horns!”

“Huuuurgggghhhhh,” I groaned, dragging the afghan over my face again. “No I just wanna hide, Mel. I don’t wanna grab anything.”

“No!” she barked, whipping the blanket off my face. “There will be no hiding, Bree, do you hear me? You already started this
so good
, girl, I mean damn. You’re going to finish what you started. You’re going to go to the thing and get the job you deserve…. Oooh!”

She clapped her hands under her chin, her cheeks plump and pink.

“Did I tell you I was proud of you?” she squealed.

I nodded, trying not to wriggle under her praise though it was just about the only good emotion in my body right then.

“Because I am
so proud of you
!” she practically yelled, eyes to the heavens.

“Well, I was kind of hoping you would be,” I admitted.

“You’re movin on up!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I chuckled. It was hard to resist her upbeat attitude when she was in full-on enthusiasm mode. I could feel it seeping through me like sunlight, although the dark boiling slime of anger and sadness still bubbled just below the light. It was going to be hard to ignore.

“I’m sorry I can’t sit with Tomas tonight,” I said. “I hate letting you down at a time like this.”

She waved her hand in the air like it was no big deal.

“Mama said she’d do it. No worries. It’s not like I’m going to be out super late anyway.”

“Not the magician then?”

“Oh lord!” she rolled her eyes dramatically. “Didn’t I tell you what happened with him?”

“Nope,” I said, cuddling up to a more comfortable position and getting ready to hear the story. Melita had been picking the most unusual profiles off this internet dating site under the theory that they had to be the most genuine. Nobody would claim to be a magician who wasn’t, right?

So far the results hadn’t been stellar. The guy whose profile picture featured the pink bedspread and the samurai sword raised over his head turned out to have… well, a girlfriend and a collection of samurai swords. Go figure. I thought that was pretty obvious but Melita still believed she was going to find an undiscovered treasure if she just dug deep enough, like pulling a Gucci crocodile tote out of the dollar bin at the thrift store.

The magician's profile picture showed him peeking out from behind a fan of cards, naturally. More photos on his profile showed him tearing cards into pieces with a wide-eyed expression of dramatic surprise and pulling small red balls out of the various orifices on his head. I had high hopes for the magician.

“Well, we already knew that he lived with his mama,” she started.

“Yeah, which was not that weird.”

“It's weird if you're 50 years old,” she said, her head bobbling on her neck like it was attached by a spring. “But I was willing to overlook that because she is like 90 and maybe he's just a good boy who takes care of his mama.”

“Which could be a delightful character attribute,” I said helpfully.

She fanned her fingers and nodded once. “That's what I'm saying. I was, like, trying to keep an open mind. Just in case, you know.”

“So what happened?”

She seemed to get uncomfortable and shifted on the sofa, twisting up her features and squinting hard.

“Well, let me see if I can describe this to you. He takes me out to see a movie… But not any movie. Not, like, a grown-up movie. He takes me to see a cartoon.”

“Wait, what?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, not an adult movie with explosions and making out and stuff, you know, things that you might want to cuddle up to your date for. No. He wants us to go see a full-on kids movie with like songs and shit.”

“Huh.”

“So, I am just figuring this is going to be an entirely G-rated experience, right? I mean, what grown-ass man takes a grown-ass woman to see a kids’ movie?”

“I have no idea.”

She shrugged theatrically. “So imagine my surprise when we get back to his shiny Toyota and he suddenly… Oh, geez, how can I explain this? You know how a Pez candy dispenser will have a head on the top of it?”

“Yeah?”

“And you like push with your thumb and the mouth opens and the candy comes out but, like, the whole top of the head has to go backwards in order to do it? Yeah, it was like that. Like, he moves to kiss me or whatever…”

“Oh no!”

“And the whole top half of his head unhinges and he opens his mouth and it's like he's going to eat me or something! I mean, he just comes at me and instead of kissing me his mouth covers, like, the whole bottom half of my face. With slobber and everything!”

I choked behind my hand, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Her horror was palpable. She fanned herself as though she had narrowly escaped a tragedy.

"I mean... I could have drowned!”

“Oh my god,” I gasped between convulsions and stomach cramps. “That sounds horrifying!”

“I barely escaped with my life,” she nodded seriously. “There is not enough good boy mama points in the world to make up for that.”

“Were you wearing that black cherry lipgloss by any chance? Maybe he was overwhelmed with hunger.”

She perched her fists on her hips and gave me a scowl.

“I really do not think that this is funny.”

“Yes you do,” I countered.

“Yeah, okay. It is kind of funny. But how does a man get to be 50 years old and not know how to kiss?”

“That's a good question. Little did he know he was dealing with a kissing prodigy.”

“Damn straight!”

“So you've exhausted the samurais and sorcerers on this dating site. What kind of sideshow freak could possibly be left?”

“Well!” she said excitedly, her fingers wiggling in a jazz-hands motion. “I found me a real country singer.”

“After our honky-tonk disaster experience, just last night? I can't believe it.”

“Well, maybe I was inspired. But he has a cowboy hat and everything. And a guitar!”

“Are you sure you want to be immortalized in a country song? You know those things never end well.”

“He is just the cutest thing, though. He actually has a picture of his ass in faded blue jeans. You know I love me some ass in faded blue jeans!”

“I know you do!”

She nodded vigorously, her lips pressed together and glistening under what I believed to be a permanent shellac of lipgloss. I had never seen her without it. It was like her superpower.

“Just be safe, okay honey?” I said, suddenly feeling serious and I reached out to tap my fingers on her knee. “You know you never really know somebody. Especially a complete stranger; you can't just believe everything that you hear.”

“I'm just trying to get laid, don't you worry,” she reassured me sincerely. “I don't think either of us is in much of a position to be giving our hearts away. I just want me a little white boy penis to play with.”

She shrugged as though that was the most natural thing in the world to say.

“You should get you some penis too,” she suggested. “That might be just the thing to clean out your cootchie real good."

I rolled my eyes and pulled the afghan up to just under my nose.

“I really don't think I'm ready for that. I just hope I didn't unintentionally make an offer to those men that I can't come through on.”

Melita's eyes went up to the ceiling.

“Unintentionally, you say? It sure sounds intentional to me.”

“Oh, come on, Melita. You know I'm not like that. I was just trying to be confident. Maybe I overshot the mark a little bit on the job thing, is all."

“Overshooting the mark could be really good for you. Maybe this is the new you! This is your chance to start over, after all. You should try being a slut for a while... you might like it!”

I pictured Whitney in my mind. Sluts sure do seem to get whatever they want, after all.

“So what are you gonna wear?” she said, getting up and going over to the closet, flinging the door open. Though this was the living room, its closet was full of clothes just like every other room in the small house. Melita had a lot of clothes.

“I’m more worried about where I’m gonna live,” I called across the room.

Her head popped out of the closet, sideways.

“What are you talking about? You’re gonna live here!”

“Melita, I couldn’t…”

“Well, not forever, but… I mean you’re kidding right? Of course you’re gonna stay here!”

“You’re sure?”

She disappeared behind the door and reappeared with four red dresses on hangers, two dangling from each hand.

“Of course I’m sure,” she said irritably. “You say the weirdest shit sometimes. Of
course
you’re staying here! Now… which dress?”