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212- Connor
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THE BILLIONAIRE'S AFFAIR 213- Lily
Our little romp ran long, so the SEC prep work turned into a working dinner, with Sebastian going over his papers while Connor, Johnny, Anh, and I paid more attention to our duck confit and wine.Finally Sebastian got frustrated and slapped down his papers. “You can’t treat this so nonchalantly!”“Let’s talk about the wedding, then,” I said.“Oh God… no… please,” Connor pleaded. “Shut up!” I laughed.“We have until the wedding,” Sebastian said. “Which will be ruined by the tuberoses, but that’s another story.”“Hey!”“The SEC meeting is tomorrow, and if we don’t handle this, it could have massive repercussions, and – ”“Sebastian, chill,” Connor snapped. “Why are you going crazy over this?”“I’m not going crazy over this,” Sebastian sniffed. “It’s just a very important meeting and – ”“And you’re totally PMSing about it,” Connor said.“HEY!” both Anh and I shouted together.“Sorry,” Connor apologized. “But he is.”“Why’s it always got to be about PMS when somebody’s cranky?” I said,
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After dinner, Anh went to take a nap (that girl can not handle her alcohol, even a couple glasses of wine), and Johnny and Connor retired to the ‘dojo’ on the floor below the penthouse. Ever since the assassination attempt last year, Connor has been obsessed with my safety. He still blames himself for endangering me, which is ridiculous; Connor risked his own life to keep me safe. I think what it really is, is that he felt exposed and at the mercy of the hitman, and he never wants to feel that way again. Anyway, he’s got some kind of a macho stick up his butt about it, so he dragooned Johnny into being his Mr. Miyagi. Every night Connor’s in Manhattan, he makes Johnny teach him a bunch of ninjutsu and Special Forces stuff. I’m not kidding. We’re talking hand-to-hand combat, guns, knives. There’s a private, sound-proofed gun range two floors down where they shoot pistols and assault rifles. In the Olympic-sized pool next to the gun range, Connor got certified in scuba. Just in case.
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The next morning we arrived at the Securities and Exchange Commission’s Manhattan headquarters. Johnny and Sebastian came along, as did Connor’s four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. We all made quite a sight as we took the elevator up to the fourth floor. It was like the HBO show Entourage, but with scary guys in dark suits and a tall gay man.Connor’s lawyers met us in the lobby. Robert Schilling, the head of the firm, was there personally. He was a medium-sized man with short gray hair, Cartier glasses, and a $10,000 suit.“Connor,” he said as they shook hands.“Rob. Is she here?”“Oh yes.”Schilling led the way to a glass room where Miranda sat at a table with her fleet of lawyers.She was strikingly beautiful in a crème designer skirt suit. Her blonde hair was arranged in a flawless chignon, revealing her elegant neck and highlighting her sculpted cheekbones. She looked like Grace Kelly, if Grace Kelly could look like she’d cut out your heart with a butter knife.I tried to hide my fe
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First he kissed my neck, moving slowly from my shoulder all the way up to my earlobe.At the same time, he unclasped my strapless bra and let it fall to the floor.He began to caress my breasts, gliding his palms over my soft skin, gently pushing them together, then cupping them from beneath. He tweaked my nipples and at the same time bit my neck, two mild flashes of pain that added up to a greater pleasure.I held my head to the side and closed my eyes, just letting the waves of desire roll over me.He began to squeeze my ass, massaging it firmly. As he did, I could feel his cock pressing against one of my cheeks. It was hard and upright beneath the cloth of his pants, and every so often would spasm, like he was having a tiny contraction – an involuntary spasm that told me he wanted to be inside me so bad.Suddenly he pressed one powerful hand between my shoulder blades, forcing me down on the bed, but with my ass still in the air. Bent over at a 90 degree angle, I braced myself with
THE BILLIONAIRE'S AFFAIR 217 Miranda
I remember the first time I saw Connor Templeton, over two years ago.It was at some sort of fundraiser I was attending, merely for appearances. I had no use for clean water in African villages, or schooling for underprivileged children in Latin America. In fact, many times these things ran counter to my business interests.But I had learned long before from my grandparents that social niceties are a cloak best used to hide your real intentions. At least, the smartest use them for that. The less intelligent use them to get from others what they can’t summon for themselves, whether that be approval, self-worth, or a balm for their conscience.Fundraisers: self-absorbed liberals’ prescription for feeling better about themselves.At any rate, it was some pompous gala where people pledged $1000 to charity and ate and drank $900 worth of champagne and caviar. I was trying to raise my profile amongst the do-gooder set, so I had donated $50,000 on behalf of my firm. I expected to make back a
THE BILLIONAIRE'S AFFAIR 218 Lily
Miranda glided across the ballroom like Maleficent in the christening scene in Sleeping Beauty – albeit more like Angelina Jolie’s version than the greenish-hued harpy in the animated film.She was dressed to kill, in a white designer dress that managed to be both elegant and reserved while showing enough of her curves to make men drool and women (including me) despise her.She was on the arm of her new husband. Or maybe a more accurate way to put it was he was hanging onto her arm, because she definitely eclipsed him in beauty, class, and sociopathic poise.The last time I had seen Vincent Templeton, he looked like a slightly shorter, less attractive version of Connor. Light brown hair instead of black; puffy features; a few extra pounds. Now he was even more bloated, like he’d been hitting the scotch in excess. It didn’t affect the arrogant sneer on his face, though. That was the one area where he excelled over Miranda: the sheer snottiness of his expression.At the same moment I sa
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A whole multitude of emotions ran through me all at once.First there was shock. Like, I can’t believe I just heard that.There was anger, too. Like How DARE you?! You humiliated me! You almost made me lose the one man I’ve ever loved! And you think ‘I’m sorry’ is enough?But more than anything, there was a rush of sadness and joy at the same time. I think it was forgiveness. Or at least the beginning of it.Because I knew how hard it was for this cold, stubborn man to come here and say it. He had probably never said ‘I’m sorry’ before in his entire life. Certainly never to his son. But he had said it to me.I remembered how he had stood in front of a dark window while Connor lay wounded in a hospital bed, and poured out his heart to me.Has he ever talked to you about his and my relationship? It’s been strained for years. Many years. It’s both our fault, yes… but in a moment like tonight, I can’t help but feeling… I should have been the bigger man. I should have stopped this stupid
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We went into dinner immediately. I’d planned it that way; I figured the less time we had to make small talk, and the sooner we got around to putting food in our mouths, the less time there was for potential disaster.“It’s nice to have you here,” I told Mr. Templeton as we sat down.“Thank you for the invitation.”“I hope it didn’t cause any… friction.”I wondered if he would know what I meant, since I didn’t want to spell it out.He knew exactly what I meant. “As it so happens, Vincent, Miranda, and my wife are out of town.”Connor raised his glass and toasted mischievously, “To things working out for the best.”I glared at him. Behave.He just gave me a punk-ass, mischievous little smile in return.I sighed and turned my attention back to Connor’s father. We chatted a little about inconsequential things as Marta, our maid, brought in the first course.Mr. Templeton didn’t even acknowledge her, though.“Thank you, Marta,” I said, annoyed by his rudeness.“Yes, thanks, Marta,” Connor
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