hit 18 but is somehow still America’s sweetheart? This is her first serious role since she was released from rehab and you're accompanying me to the film festival to keep her on the straight and narrow and ensure all press is good press."
Five seconds ago he was asking me to finger myself and now I was flying to Europe? "I can't just go to Europe!"
He didn't even look up. "You have a passport, yes?"
"Well yeah, but I-"
"All expenses will be paid, of course. When you're not essential, you'll be free to see the sights or whatever your heart desires."
I stood up, my mouth hanging open, not sure if I should pinch myself. I turned to gather my clothes. If I was dreaming, I didn't want to wake up.
"Leave the clothes."
I shot him a look. "I'm certainly not gonna traipse around in-"
"Look beneath the chaise."
I frowned and bent at the knee, pulling out a long white box tucked underneath. I shook it like a kid at Christmas before easing the top off. Tucked inside a sheer sheet of tissue paper was a sleek black trench coat with the tag still on it. "I can't keep this! It costs more than a month's rent!"
"As my assistant, you're an extension of me," he said sternly. "It means you must look the part, Leila."
I fingered the expensive fabric for a moment before slowly pulling it on. The inside felt like cashmere on my skin and I couldn't stop the smile that crept across my face.
The phone on his desk beeped and the sultry voice of his secretary floated around the room. "Mr. Whitmore, your car has arrived."
"Thank you." He slid back from his desk and walked toward me. His hand found mine and when his lips pressed against my knuckles, I closed my eyes, committing the tender moment to memory. As I followed him out of his office and toward the executive elevator, I couldn't quiet the voice that told me that saying yes to Jacob Whitmore meant my life would never be the same again.
––––––––
Part Two
The Billionaire’s Touch
“Y ou deserve this,” I told myself as I pulled the slinky number over my sweaty skin. I didn’t sound too convincing, so I said it again. “You deserve this.”
I smoothed the front of the last dress, the chiffon tight in the bodice and the hips until it flared out at the skirt. The color reminded me of red wine and when I spun in a circle, it swished around my knees.
Each dress I’d stepped into over the last hour was more beautiful than the last and every one fit me like sin. But the excitement of wearing dresses I’d only seen in magazines paled in comparison to how I felt when I displayed them for Jacob’s approval. His deep blue eyes drank me up inch by inch and in his gaze, I saw myself. I felt beautiful. Desired.
We’d shut down Le Magnifique on Fifth street because Jacob couldn't shop among mere mortals and before we headed to Venice for the film festival, I had to have a new wardrobe.
I'd stolen glances at the price tags so I knew the tally, but I still couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe there were people out there that could spend hundreds of dollars on a bolt of fabric and I definitely couldn't believe that I had an allowance for such things now.
All because I’d tripped in those stupid heels.
I brought my chocolate curls off my neck, biting my lip as I remembered the fear bubbling in my gut as he marched me down the stairwell after our run in. Who knew that the billionaire playboy was not only tenacious when it came to business but also when it came to needs of the flesh?
I rocked slowly from side to side as classical music hummed from the overhead speakers, letting the memory of his hands do its work. This dress wasn’t made for board meetings, after all. It was made to set fire to the dance floor. Jacob would own the moves as we spun and every twirl, dip, and heated gaze would tell me all the ways he would make love to me when we were alone.
Jesus. ‘Make love’?
I dropped my hair and gave the wide eyed girl staring back at me a stern look. I had to