Mr. Black's Proposal (Part Two: A Billionaire Erotic Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

bottom of the cage. I sighed. “I’m not going to ask her.”
    “A million dollars, dude,” Clint said. “Take the bet.”
    “No.” I pressed my lips together and tried not to think about Steph.
    “You don’t even have to go through with getting married. Just the proposal. Just—”
    “”No bet! Just shut up about it, alright?”
    I jumped up and grabbed Otis’s tennis ball from the top of the machine.
    “Man, he really is worked up over this girl,” Clint said. Jake nodded sagely.
    “I’m not,” I grumbled.
    “I think he might be falling in love,” Jake said.
    “I’m not!”
    I curled my palms around the bar and squatted. It was the most weight I’d ever lifted, but I didn’t even feel it. My teeth were gritted hard as I did another rep.
    I wasn’t falling in love.
    And I definitely wasn’t falling in love with the only woman in New York City who didn’t want anything to do with me.
     
    The next day I had a photography shoot. Normally, doing a shoot would calm me down. The day to day business of Black Media Enterprises was boring, all meetings and paperwork. Photo shoots were my one creative outlet. I loved looking at skimpily-clad models through a photo lens.
    Or, at least, I used to love it. Now, I stared at the slim brunette laying on a tiger skin rug in her lingerie with a feeling of dread. I took picture after picture, but it wasn’t inspiring.
    “Arms over your head,” I told her. She obeyed, her lips plumping seductively as she stared into the camera.
    Click.
    “Okay, now arms down,” I said.
    Click.
    “Push your tits together a bit more,” I said, squinting through the lens. She obeyed, but on her small frame there was not much to work with. I put the camera down.
    “Can we get some more cleavage here?” I asked impatiently.
    One of the makeup assistants ran over and began dabbing furiously at the poor girl’s chest. I sighed. There wasn’t anything to do here. I just wanted to be looking at Steph, not this girl.
    “Is this better?” the model asked. Her eyelashes fluttered at me.
    “Sure,” I said, not sure at all if anything had changed. I raised the camera back up to my eyes. Nope.
    Click.
    “Okay, now on your knees,” I said, not bothering to keep the boredom out of my voice. I’d done a thousand photo shoots just like this one. They had always been fun. I had always enjoyed taking artfully designed photos of beautiful women.
    I remembered how Steph had looked up at me from on her knees. Her eyes, wide and sweet. Her tongue, peeking out at the corner of her mouth. What would it be like to marry a woman like that, to wake up every day next to those eyes, that tongue? I sighed.
    “Mr. Black?”
    It was the model. I blinked and looked down. I hadn’t been taking any photos, I realized.
    “Would you marry me?” I asked.
    The model froze, her eyebrows arched in shock. I’d already forgotten her name.
    “Are you serious? You’re asking me to marry you?”
    I shook my head.
    “No, I’m asking you if you would marry me. As a hypothetical.”
    “Oh.”
    She looked disappointed.
    “Would you?”
    “I mean, yes. But you’re not asking for real?” Her voice sounded hopeful.
    “Just a hypothetical,” I explained. Okay, so at least someone would marry me. That gave me a bit of hope.
    No! What was I thinking? Hope? I wasn’t going to marry anyone anytime soon, if ever. Anyway, Steph seemed like the kind of girl who might not ever want to get married. She was so proud of being independent, after all. I wondered what she would say if I asked her. Maybe she would slap me. Or maybe she would say— “Mr. Black?”
    It wasn’t the model. I knew that voice. I spun around to see Steph standing with a clipboard in her hand. Her eyes dragged over the thin model in front of me, her hands splayed over the tiger skin rug, and her brows arched.
    “Steph!”
    I stood up, letting my camera fall to my chest and hang by the strap. The air in the room seemed to grow five degrees