01

AIDEN.

“Spank me. I deserve it all. I’ll take it. I’ll beg for more. All For You.”

I run my fingers along her exposed flesh. A part of it had turned a dark shade of red. I only whipped her twice. I’ve read stories on BDSM, watched movies, and listened to fantasies. It piqued my interest, but now I’m just bored.

Delilah is screaming off rhythm, and my hard on is disappearing by the second. I’m not a man to leave a woman unsatisfied. I’ll finish. But never again Miss eye fucking server. Never. Again.

I tossed the idle whip aside, flipped her over her back, and shrugged her left leg over my shoulder.

“Oh, God. Aiden.”

She screeched. I thrust my cock. One last movement took us both over the edge. Her more than me. I’d give her a three out of ten. I’ve been with better women.

Impaling my cock out of her core, I disposed of the condom, moved away and reached the table, fishing my cell phone from the corner to meet two new notifications.

“My number is on my card.”

She drawled by the bed. I tossed my head and snorted. Tugged on my boxer briefs, then my pants followed suit.

“I don’t do second times. Sorry.”

I hissed in annoyance. Not from her. Not completely. I got a message from the PR team of the company. It never ends well when he hollers. And I got two texts.

One at 10 AM when Delilah was sneaking, more like shoving her boobs in my face, the first two buttons of her uniform popped open, screaming to fondle me.

Challenge accepted. I got her out of the restaurant. Turns out she’s into the kinks with whips. You know how that went.

The other text came about ten minutes ago when I decided BDSM was over-hyped or was it serves with perky boobs?

Grunting in frustration, I skimmed through its contents, which were bleak as fuck. “Conference room. Meeting by noon.”

That was fifteen minutes ago. I’m fifteen minutes late to a meeting. I’m not worried about being scolded. My dad bothers himself with affairs of public representation. That’s why he has the PR team.

I’m fucking concerned for what they’ll want to tell me.

I’ve gotten called out thrice, excluding the Hawaii “incident.”

All three times were because of my “extracurricular activities."

I looked back at Delilah, struggling with her ripped panties. They couldn't have known I took her early. The timing didn’t match.

It’s just Tuesday. Who had I fucked again? Tina from the bar? No, I don’t think she’ll try to claim pregnancy so early.

Um, Irina? She is still texting me, so no.

God, that’s the only two women I can recall. They were last weeks. Katty? Queen? Cynthia? So many women. Bloody hell.

I don’t use drugs. I haven’t wasted in over a week to screw shit.

What does my father’s PR team want with me? It’s a summoning. If I don’t go, they tell him. Fuck my life.

“I need to get back to work. I had a great time.”

Delilah kept going behind me. No shit. I get that everytime.

“Are you sure you don’t want my number?”

She crawled her skinny hands over my shoulder, rubbing circles and drawing lines.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

I hissed and walked away, pulling my shirt over my head.

“My wallet is over there. Take it. I left the cash inside. I’m taking my cards. You weren’t bad Delilah. I had an excellent time. But we’re not doing this again. Goodbye.”

She parted her lips to protest, but I skipped the usual lines of “Aiden please don’t”

I’m sick of it.

Slipping my cards into my pocket, I shut the wallet filled with three hundred dollars maybe, passed her a wink, and left the hotel room.

**

Smith’s Industries is an international construction company with branches all over the world. It’s been in the family for three generations and is currently controlled by CEO—Grant Smith. My Father. That makes me the director of one of its crucial departments—Architecture. It’s perfect for me since I simply adore drawing or designing.

I should be in my office, but I got derailed by a few things this morning. Eventually, I landed me in a hotel with a waitress. Anyway, it takes less than thirty minutes to arrive at the parking lot then swoop past the guards, receptionists, and more guards, and into the elevator to the 4th floor. The conference room.

I texted Adam, the Head of the PR team half an hour ago. He hadn’t gotten back to me, so I’m walking in blind..

It’s nothing I can’t handle. What’s the worse that can happen? Is the media writing a tale about me? Some sick girl claiming to be pregnant with the heir to this empire? Another girl crying at the top of a bridge?

There was nothing I did. I adore women. Even though I worship them. I have a great time with them and some just go over the edge when they learn it’s a onetime thing and I always make it clear. Can you blame them? I am spectacular.

Chuckling at my thoughts, I strode past my office, which was still shut, then I looked forward and kept walking towards the conference room.

Five feet away, I heard her voice.

“I’m not doing this. He’s fucking an hour late. What does he take us for? A bunch of jobless morons?”

She snapped, reeling in aggression. She’s here?

I quickened my pace, reaching the door at the same time as she slipped out, about to exit.

I fastened my arms around hers, gripping her in place.

Gasping, she angled her head and glimpsed at my hand, then moved to my face.

Her features lit with recognition and she glared, reeling back like my touch was made from acid.

“You insolent...”

“Let’s use our proper words.”

I scolded, stepping back. She exhaled.

“The next time you put your hands on me. I’ll break them.”

“We’ll see.”

I chirped, shrugged, then slipped past, tracing a line over her fingers.

“Oh, and I’m not an hour late. This meeting was by noon. It’s just 12:43 PM. Also, the only moron here is you and not dear Adam.”

Smirking, I pulled a chair and sat down.

“You...”

“Miss Dean.”

Adam soothed, cutting her off.

“Mr Smith. We’ve been waiting,”

“As you both should. Especially her.”

I arched a finger in his direction, then rolled my eyes.

“I’m out of here. I will not fucking let him insult me.”

“It’s not an insult, love, a fact. I’m a billionaire with a net worth higher than yours. You’re meant to wait.”

I spread my arms across the table, grinning.

“One. I am not-love. My name is Layla. They thought you word in grade school, right? Second, we are both billionaires and Forbes just released this year’s copy. My net worth is thousands higher than yours now."

That threw me off to her pleasure.

“What!?”

I snapped. That’s not possible.

Layla Dean was at number 23rd and I was on 24th. Category- billionaires under 25 years. That’s what my phone screen displayed.

“Fuck!”

I hissed in annoyance.

“Suck it up Satan.”

“Okay! I have work to do! I don't have time for you to argue.

Adam yelled, silencing us both. Once he got our attention, he exhaled and picked up a briefcase, setting it down over the table and then revealing its contents. They were two files at the top, and he handed one to both of us.

Layla grabbed a chair and sat down, crossing her legs thoroughly.

For the first time, I let my eyes wander and take her absorb her. Red lipstick. She mostly wears red lipstick. It suits her skin perfectly. And her brunette hair. Then the tiniest freckles on both cheeks underneath her eyes, across her nose.

The woman is stunning. As she is infruiating. The shared hatred didn’t begin today. We attended the same college for less than a year when she transferred in. Our fathers are business partners, but we just never clicked.

We often argue at the first sight of each other. Family dinners. Company parties.

Wait. I just recalled we’re both here. I didn’t fuck her. Why is she be here?

“Hey Demon, if you’d stopped staring and me and read this, maybe both of us can leave so I could you know? Breathe. You’ve contaminated the air.”

I grinned and flipped over the first page, only skimming through the first sentence before halting.

“What is this? And why is her name here?”

“Mr Smith.”

“Explain. Now.”

I demanded, placing the file on the table.

“Of course, he hates reading.”

Layla murmured, rolling her eyes.

“It’s a contract agreement for both of you“

“Stop“

I hollered, lifting my hand.

“Both of you. Me and her? That doesn’t belong in the same sentence, so rephrase and don’t make that same mistake.”

Adam sighed, ruffling his blonde hair.

“Mr Smith, you’re not making my job any easier. If you’d please, just give me five minutes of silence so I can explain.”

“Fine.”

I stated, crossing my arms.

“Penelope Cruz and Quentin Harold have been engaged for over six months. Their wedding has been the most discussed and expected, yet neither of them has set a date for it.”

He pauses, glimpses at Layla and me, bobs his head then continues.

“You and Miss Dean are friends with both of them, so the PR team thinks both of you are perfect for the task. The task is to ensure Miss Cruz and Mr Harold get married. Once the wedding takes place, our companies will benefit since we won’t need to merge with two individual companies, as both couples will become one. It’ll be great for Dean construction since we are partners too, but that can only happen once Cruz enterprise and Harold Corporation are no longer a viable option, but one entity.”

Adam halted. This is some sick shit.

I knew about Penelope and Quentin’s arranged marriage, well they love the hell out of each other not to care if it was planned or not. They’ve not gotten married yet even after Harold’s proposal almost a year ago. It makes little sense.

The Cruz and Harold’s are competitors, that’s why they got their daughter and son married, so they could merge. If they’re under one name, they become even stronger for Smith’s Industries to partner with. That’s fucking brilliant.

“So you want both of us to convince two grown adults to get married?”

Hilarious. This has to be my dad’s more interesting game yet.

Quentin is two years older. He’s 26. Penelope is two years older than Layla, 24.

“It should not be hard. They’re both in love. We can’t tell why the wedding date hasn’t been fixed.”

“Why do I have to work with her, though? I’m great with women. I’m even scared Penelope will want to marry me instead.”

Layla snorts from the other end of the room.

“Like hell.”

She adds.

“What love? You doubt my seduction skills?”

“I don’t have to. They don’t exist.”

“Okay! Okay! Both of you need to calm down. We want the two of you, since you’re close to both of them individually.”

He has a point, but working with her?

“I’m not doing it. I would not work with him.”

Layla announces, then pulls her chair.

“You’ll have sixty days and Grant Smith is offering A Million dollars should we should complete the task within that time frame.”

My father is giving that much away?

“A Million what?”

We echo simultaneously.

“For each of us?”

I blurt unconsciously.

“No. The total amount is A Million. Your fathers will contribute.”

Okay. That makes sense—I think. But, he originally said Grant Smith is offering. Like that’s not weird.

“So, who gets the bigger share?”

Adam takes a step back.

“It’s a valid question.”

“No shit Sherlock. We’ll each take five hundred grand.”

Layla interjects. I stare past Adam then smirk.

“Like hell. I get Six hundred, you get four. I’ll be doing most of the work. It’s well deserved.”

I shrug.

“God! You’re so fucking arrogant. We are sharing it equally.”

“No.”

I state.

“Okay!”

Adam thundered, his voice echoing through every wall. I arched my back and faced him.

“I don’t care how you share the money. Figure it out! We’ll meet here once a week to discuss how far both of you have come. Don’t think of it as betraying your friends, as you said; they’re in love. Maybe they just need a little push to conclude the entire thing. You’ll have to sign that NDA, both of you. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to read it through, then get back to me. If you’d excuse me, I’ll have to get Tylenol. I should have given this assignment to Tony.”

Adam hushed the final words before shutting the briefcase and then leaving.

“The money is good. We both knew that. But working together without either dying? That’s nearly impossible.”

“I’ll poison you.”

She threatened, picking up the file and then got on her feet.

I let my eyes wander over her outfit. The yellow gown stopped over her knee.

Layla is curvy. Not D Cups curvy, but curvy enough. She’s a C cup and that ass—what I’d give to have that ass hovering over my face, chest pressed against the bed, knees propped so her legs can fold neatly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

She snapped, taking me out of my sexual fantasy.

Smirking, I thread the length of the entire table before pulling a revolving chair to seat on.

“Three things.”

I sigh softly; the sound leaving my lips then evaporating into thin air.

“The first being the sounds you give off when you moan. The second is your height, which brings me to the third — how smoothly you’d fit on tables since I reckon it’s where I’ll be fucking you before the project is over.”

“Of course. That’s all you ever think of, so I’ll make it clear. I need you to read my lips.”

How can I not with that bold lipstick? I smirk.

“I will never, ever have sex with you, Aiden. Not even to save the planet. I can’t stand the sight of you. I. Do. Not. Like. You.”

“Love, the feeling is mutual. And I don’t have sex with anyone. I fuck. And I do it well. I stated—I would fuck you. And I will.”

I declared easily.

“Go to hell.”

“I’d drag you with me because there’s no escape.”

“Fuck you!”

She shrieked, digging her nails into her skin.

“Gladly.”

Exhaling, she showed me her middle finger, swerved around, then stormed out of the room.

**

This is just the first chapter. There are more steamy scenes, sarcasm and intriguing facts to come along. Get ready. Leave a comment, drop a review and expect the second chapter! Much Love.