Never Never Man Series: Book #1
Recently dumped by my ex, I found myself broke and jobless after five years of chasing stardom in Hollywood. Desperate, I took the advice of my best friend and roommate, Katy, and started my own business in a last ditch effort to prevent a full on meltdown into bankruptcy.
Little did I expect my first client to be a man like Grey Sinclair. Young, rich and cruelly handsome, he had a reputation for making women squirm in his presence. When I first saw his image in a photo, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel an irritating stir in places I shouldn’t have.
Even so, if I failed at making a good impression on him, it could not only mean the end of my business but all my dreams as well. With that much on the line, I would have no problem keeping my urges in check.
This is the first book in a Billionaire Erotic Romance series presented in serial format. It is not a standalone.
An Excerpt from the Book…
I watched as the slender fingers of her hand grabbed the inside of the limo door a split second before her leg appeared through a slit in her dress. I could see the muscles in it flex as she made her way inside. Her legs were long, lean, slightly tanned and obviously fit. I don’t suppose I could have hoped for more, especially on such short notice.
As she took a seat across from me, I allowed my eyes to travel wherever they saw fit. Aside from her tempting legs, she had ample tits, a great ass and a helluva smile. She was a damn beauty, that’s for sure. The picture hardly did her justice. This was going to be a good first night. An unexpected and enjoyable end to an otherwise pain-in-the-ass day.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she began, as she raised her hand and draped it across her chest. “I’m really sorry about what happened out there a moment ago. Please believe me when I say I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”
Just as she finished speaking, the car lurched forward. The tires squeaked on the slick surface of the tarmac and in that same instant, her purse fell from her lap, spilling its contents onto the floor in the process.
“Oh my God!” she gasped.
For a split second, I almost reached down to help her, but when I got a look at her cleavage, I thought better of it. While I got an eyeful, she corralled a stack of paper and an assortment of other random knickknacks and jammed them back into her bag.
Returning to her seat, she flung a handful of her blond hair out of her eyes. It came to rest in an even split along her shoulder, with half of it covering her breast and the other half concealed from my view as it draped down her back. A hint of crimson flushed to her cheeks as I studied her attempt to compose herself. She flashed a closed-lipped grin at me once the fidgeting ceased.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” she began. “I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Sinclair, about what happened when you got off the plane, I’m just… sorry. Can we start over?”
Spreading my legs, I unfolded my hands from their position in my lap and covered my kneecaps with my palms.
“Sure thing,” I replied. “We can do that.”
“Oh, thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” As she spoke, she broke eye contact with me just long enough to start fishing around inside of her purse once again. Within a few seconds, she produced a handful of paper, now tattered at the edges from the mishap moments before.
“What do you have there?” I asked.
“Oh,” she said, as she jumped in with eagerness. Clutching the half-folded stack in her hand she smiled and said, “Well, I… I’ve compiled a list of activities based on the proposal I sent you. You know, stuff you might be interested in seeing or doing in town when you’re not working.”
Raising my hand, I motioned for her to pass the information to me. I took the papers from her, spun them around and placed them in my lap for a closer examination.
“Got a pen?” I asked, as I started to scan the list.
She cleared her throat, and then I heard the now familiar sound of her rummaging through the loose items in the bottom of her purse. After a few moments, the noise ceased as she located a writing instrument.
“Here you go,” she said, extending the pen in my direction.
As I perused the list, it became obvious she’d put a fair bit of time into it. Under ordinary circumstances, I might even enjoy some of the items she’d laid out. Of course, I’d have no interest in doing any of them by myself no matter what. In any case, I decided to have some fun with her about it.
“Yeah,” I said with an exhale as I pressed my back into the seat. “This list… it’s not gonna work. Not at all.”
“Oh,” she replied. Her tone sank.
This would be easier, and far more fun, than I suspected.
“Yeah, for example. You’ve got daytime activities in here, like visits to the museum.” I paused mid-sentence and began to cross items off the list one at a time. As I wrote, the sound of her sinking into the seat across from me filled the air. “You see, I’m working all day when I’m here, so this kind of thing is out.”
She remained silent as I laid waste to her list with the angry tip of my red ballpoint.
“Okay, then here, at night. You’ve scheduled trips to the opera and at least what… two, three, four art shows?” I stopped and glared at her to drive home the point. “You really think I want to go to four art shows in five days?”
Her shoulders drew up towards her ears in doubt.
Elevating my voice I said, “And to make matters worse, for tonight, you have me going to dinner in my hotel. Honestly?”
I lifted my gaze up from the wrinkled pages again to see her pink twinge had deepened in color and spread down to her chest. Before continuing, I gave her a chance to offer up a defense, which she wasted little time in mounting.
“Ugh, Mr. Sinclair. I’m so sorry,” she began. She made a gesture for me to pass the pages back to her. Continuing, she said, “I’ll figure something out. I promise.”
With a flick of my wrist, I pinched the stack of pages between my thumb and forefinger and held them up halfway between us.
“I should hope so,” I replied.
Taking them from me with a ginger tug, she reached up and pulled two long strands of hair behind her ears as she placed the pages flat in her lap. Without looking up, I watched as she traced my markings with her eyes.
“Okay, well,” she stammered. “Let’s start with tonight. You don’t want to have dinner in the hotel so um…”
“Not alone,” I interrupted.
She lifted her eyes from the page. I watched as she swallowed an anxious lump down before she continued.
“Oh, okay,” she began. “Right, of course. Um, I can um, make some calls. I’m sure I can arrange a dinner companion for you.”
“What do you mean, arrange one?” I said. I angled my head down at her, feigning displeasure. “What kind of professional concierge are you? Does Katy know about all these plans of yours and how almost zero of them are of any interest to me?”
“No,” she said. “This isn’t Katy’s business, sir. It’s mine. Now, with all due respect, I’ve apologized to you for how things have gone so far, but I would ask that you please don’t mention any of this to her. Please, I can make this right if you’ll just give me a chance.”
This was almost too easy.
Slapping my hands on my knees once again, I narrowed my eyes at her as I leaned back into the car seat.
“Since you haven’t had the foresight to arrange for suitable escort for me this evening, I’ll have to insist that you accompany me instead.” And then, almost as quickly as she’d flushed moments earlier, the process reversed itself before my eyes. Within seconds a much paler Maddie Olsen locked eyes with me.
“You want me to be your escort?”
I nodded but didn’t speak.
Her eyes darted back and forth for a moment as I assumed she searched for some reason not to do it. Her hand floated up and she started to twirl a strand of her blond hair around her index finger for several seconds. Finally she released it and her hand fell back into her lap.
“This is strictly business, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, I just want to know what your expectations are here.”
Just then, the limousine pulled up to the entrance of the hotel. Maddie glanced towards the bellman as he approached the car to open the door. As he tugged on the handle, the door creaked open and the din of the city evening invaded the intimacy of our exchange.
“It’s simple, Miss Olsen,” I replied. “I expect you to do what I want. That is your job after all.”