The Billionaire's Payment(4)

By: Alexis Moore



It felt good to be reminded that he was human.

His valet Ambrose answered the discreet tap on the door and she walked in hesitantly, carrying a small overnight case, her eyes downcast.

Jared had expected a slender, younger version of David’s wife, but the young woman standing uncertainly just inside the doorway was altogether quite unexpected. He was on his feet without realizing he had left the chair. He had given Perkins, his butler, the evening off, but Ambrose was enough of a jack-of-all-trades to fill in smoothly. “May I take your coat, Ms Phillips?”

She nodded and allowed him to slip the non-descript brown coat she was wearing from her shoulders.

Jared felt the earth shift beneath him.

“Thank you, Ambrose,” he dismissed his valet. “That will be all for today.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ambrose unlocked the front door and walked through it without a backward glance—as though it had been prearranged and not the sudden whim of his employer to be left completely alone with his guest. He knew better than to come back without being summoned.

She was wearing a gold sari—not yellow, but the colour of the precious metal—with a richly-embroidered, halter-necked top in a matching shade. Her long hair was a shade between her father’s light brown and her mother’s lustrous jet black. Her features were also an exotic blend of the two. Her eyes, dramatically highlighted by gold eye shadow and skilfully kohl-rimmed, were dark like her mother’s and so were her arched eyebrows. The shape of her face and her pixie nose she’d inherited from her father, though the small, turned-up feature looked better on her. The sari top covered large breasts that he would have immediately dismissed as implants on another woman, but she seemed too shy to deliberately draw that kind of attention to herself.

Breasts were Jared’s weakness. When his mother wanted to embarrass him into doing something for her, such as attending one of her endless fund-raising charity dinners, she gently reminded him that he had breastfed until he was two years old and ruined her once firm breasts.

There was something unique and fascinating about breasts and their ability to arouse and nurture.

All Jared’s chivalrous intentions went through the door with his valet.

“Take your clothes off,” he told her softly. “I want to look at you.”

“What?” She raised startled dark eyes to his and he felt himself drowning in their depths.

“I want to look at you,” he repeated. “Use my dressing room to get undressed.”

***





Chapter Three





I entered the room Jared had indicated and stood looking around me. It was larger than my bedroom at home and filled from floor to ceiling with dark wood panelling. Dozens of colour-coordinated shirts and suits hung from expensive wooden hangers. T-Shirts, sweaters and undergarments were folded with such precision I wondered if they were ever worn. Shoes so highly polished I could see my reflection in them were stacked row after row in convenient cubby holes.

All this I took in with a quick nervous glance around the room to avoid looking directly into the full length mirror in front of which I stood, trying to avoid coming face to face with myself and the decision I would make in the next minute or two.

I had come willingly, but I had come with a plan. Unbeknown to my parents I have the key to a safety deposit box and a diamond choker that the Sultan of Brunei had given to my grandmother at the premiere of her most critically acclaimed movie. My grandfather’s nose had been put completely out of joint and he had threatened to toss the choker into a bin. My grandmother had kept it in a separate safety deposit box to appease him, but the day after my eighteenth birthday she had taken me to the holding company and shown me the exquisite piece of jewellery. She’d fastened it around her throat and caressed it lovingly. It had sunk into the folds of her lined neck, but I could have imagined her as a younger woman and how regal she must have looked in it. Then she surprised me by placing it around my neck. She and I always had played a game where she was queen and I was a princess, so I raised my chin and acted like I was royalty. She nodded in approval, took it off and carefully re-mounted it onto its black velvet rest. When she handed me the key and told me it was mine, I was stunned. I started to protest, but she’d hushed me saying that on her death my mother could have every other piece of jewellery she owned, but not that one.

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