Irresistible (Underneath it All Series: Book One) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (4 page)

"Family thing, I bet," Gail mused loudly, completely ignoring how inappropriate she was being. "Your poor sister."

She hadn't even said her name, and she had no idea how heavy the weight was that I carried, but the point was that I knew she didn't care. Red bled across my view and I felt anger bubbling in my chest. My temper had cost me jobs in the past and my rational mind told me to just walk away, but I was only human. She didn't get to air my private life, my story that I shared in an interview, with anyone that could hear. She didn't get to use my issues as ammunition.

I stepped forward and made
her
take two steps backward. "If you ever talk about my family again-"

Before I could finish the sentence that would serve as my notice, the chatter in the bar raised to a fever pitch, spilling into the staff area. Gail and I both craned our necks toward the noise, just in time for a couple of waitresses near us to echo the squeals. Whatever fever had possessed the club was contagious, apparently.

Gail gave me a glare that told me we'd pick this up later and strode toward the main bar. "What the hell is going on?" she barked at one of the new hostesses, a petite blonde who practically jumped out of her skin when she squared off with the annoyed woman.

"M-Mrs. Winters-"

"I'm not married, and I'm not nearly old enough to be a Mrs. Anything,” Gail snapped. Only half of that statement was true, and she confirmed which half when she smoothed the area beneath her eyes like she was trying to make wrinkles disappear.

"I'm sorry...Gail?" The girl said her name tentatively, like she was trying to defuse a bomb and was hoping she didn't cut the wrong wire. When Gail didn't bite her head off, she visibly relaxed. "It's just—he’s here!"

"Who is he?" Gail asked excitedly, forgetting her annoyance. She rolled her shoulders back, making her huge breasts nearly pop from her shirt.

"Jackson Colt!" The blonde's voice matched the ear-plugging pitch that echoed from the bar, like The Beatles or Beyoncé had just walked into The Red Room. Both Gail and I stared at the blonde blankly, so she followed up with, “He's like, super loaded and dates actresses but he’s super into charities and stuff too!”

Gail practically threw the tiny blonde out of the way so she could join the throngs of admirers.

I hadn't even laid my eyes on our VIP guest, and I was uninterested. He was the kind of man used to attention. Who loved attention. Men who saw women as prizes to be won or notches on a bedpost. Men like the billionaires who thought they could own me for a hour or two, but they barely scratched my surface.

The Sadie that gave them the moans they required, acting like I was getting pleasure from their pleasure, was not the real me. Not even close. They used me, and I used them. It was only a matter of time before I'd finish paying off the debt and I could go back to school. Build a career where I could go home and not scrub away cigar smoke, booze, and sweat. I'd give every one of those rich pricks the finger silently while I took their spare change and built an empire of my own.

Well, not every one of them.

Not him.

I couldn’t get him out of my head. He had me checking my phone like some silly woman after a first date that
finally
went right, praying that he'd text, call, email, Snapchat, anything. But there was no date. And what happened between us was far from romance. We'd skipped right over the romance to the juicy part in the novel.

Just thinking about last night made heat fly back to my cheeks. This wasn't the anger that Gail elicited. It was something else entirely, a desire that started at my toes and raced up my calves. Like I was back on those midnight sheets, legs spread and wanting. I could feel his strong fingertips smoothing over my calves like he couldn't get enough, and we hadn't even begun. And his tongue...

I squeezed my eyes shut and willed away the memory of him. He was just a distraction. An unwelcome one, even if there was something about him that was different. In the months since I'd started working at The Tower, I'd met every shade of rich guy, from the douchebags to the timid ones that scurried out when we were done like they'd committed some unforgivable sin.

The guy from last night was cocky, that much was true. He was used to getting his way. But he didn't treat me like he owned me because he'd paid my fee. He looked at me, touched me, licked me like he wished we'd met some other way. Like he wished he could give me more of him. Like he wanted
all
of me.

In an hour, a man who should have been like all the rest managed to make everything go quiet, which was not what I wanted.

Which was more.

More of him.

Maybe even all of him.

I did my best to put him out of my mind. The bar seemed to settle down, and I used it as an excuse to pause at the mirror beside the break room. My cheeks were still flushed, my red locks slicked back into a bun that I knew made me look older than my twenty three years. I'd never admit it to a soul, but looking into that glass was like looking at my mother's face. Weary lines gave the illusion that it had been days since I had a good night of sleep. My glossy lips couldn’t even hold a smile long enough for it to be real. My forest-colored eyes should have been sparkling, but they were as flat as a crusty green crayon.

I rubbed my lips together and lifted my chin. Unlike my mother, I wasn't doing all this for myself. She'd say to hell with all of it and ride off into the sunset with the first man that made her feel sexy. Beautiful.

And the guy from last night had done that, and then some.

I’d never felt sexier, more desirable, more beautiful than when he’d looked at me.

"No," I whispered fervently. I wouldn't let myself see him or last night as anything more than a transaction between two adults. Reading anything more into it was a waste of time. I'd put money on him forgetting me already, anyway.

That thought rang in my head, making my heart do things in my chest that I refused to examine. I pointed myself back toward the bar, determined to focus on my work and not my fantasies. Even though there were no more screams, cameras and attention were still pointed at the VIP area. The VIP area was on the second floor, so those who could afford it could look down on the other mere mortals from Mt. Olympus.

My section
, I thought glumly. Looked like I was kissing celebrity ass tonight whether I wanted to or not.

I found my smile and started my ascent up the stairs. I maneuvered around scantily clad women who were gyrating extra hard in hopes of catching his attention—and getting past Dashawn. Dashawn Lenoir played college football but got injured his freshman year, dashing his dreams of playing professionally. It was a missed opportunity that Gail liked to remind him of when she tossed him things and hollered, "Go long!"

Built like a tank with a face that rarely smiled, he was a perfect fit for security. Even the sexiest groupies hoping to get behind the velvet rope didn't try their luck with Dashawn.

Dashawn nodded and stepped to the side when he saw me. He immediately stepped back in place the moment I walked past, folding his massive arms across his massive chest.

I looked past the decorations, every leggy woman crammed in the VIP area more beautiful than the last. Curiosity had me seeking out the man who had everyone worked into a tizzy. The man who ordered top shelf bourbon on the rocks. My eyes paused when I realized everything seemed to revolve around a man that was leaning over the railing in the far corner. He was probably scanning the crowd for some woman he'd forget the moment he came.

When he straightened and pivoted toward me, I reminded myself to smile and not roll my eyes. The minute I saw his face, my smile evaporated.

Was I buzzing off all the alcohol everyone else was drinking? I swore he looked like...

I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them.

It wasn’t an apparition.

It was
him
.

Panicking, I whirled toward the stairs and slammed into Dashawn, spilling all the drinks on my tray on the floor.

The celebrity? The one everyone couldn't get enough of?

It was the man from last night.

~

I
wasn't sure what was more mortifying, that I'd dumped every drink on the tray on the floor or that
he'd
seen me drop every drink.

I'd looked into those blue eyes, blue eyes that I could pick out of a lineup, and I knew that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about me either.

He remembered me.

Any joy I got from that realization was quickly squashed when the reality of the situation hit me. I was on the clock, yet again, and I'd just committed one of the worst sins a hostess could commit. I’d wasted product, and from the glares I felt as I futilely tried to gather broken pieces of glass, I'd probably gotten said product on one of his many admirers. All it would take was one complaint from one of them and Gail would finally get her wish—me fired.

The music beat like a drum in my ears, and nerves made me shake from head to toe. Him seeing me like this, it made tears sting my eyes. This was so not happening.

Dashawn leaned down beside me, showing me kindness that ensured that yep, I was crying.

"You okay?"

I bit back a sob. “I’m f-fine.”

Dashawn reached for a few pieces of glass, but I finally put some strength behind my voice.

"Thanks, but I've got it," I insisted, sniffling. We exchanged a look, and I didn't need to say our manager's name for him to get why I couldn't have him doing my job instead of his.

“I’ll call someone to help," he assured me and went back to his post.

There was another set of legs, legs wrapped in slacks, but I refused to look up to confirm who they belonged to. I just sniffed and shut down the emotion that was rendering me useless and worked on gathering the big pieces. I wanted to tell him to go back to his party, to let me go back to being some invisible hostess instead of a woman that he'd been intimate with. I just wanted to disappear altogether.

“I think we've met.” His voice was as smooth as I remembered. Just as intoxicating.

I paused, my hand hovering above a broken wine stem. “I’m glad you found the experience as memorable as I did.” By the time I realized that the music wasn't nearly as loud as I thought up here and my voice was definitely not as quiet as I hoped, the words were already out. I held my breath, wondering if he'd call me out, or if my attitude was only welcome under different circumstances.

He chuckled, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let me help you.”

He didn't wait for me to give him the okay, which made my hackles rise and my heart race in my chest at the same time.

“You don't have to do that-”

“Oh, I know I don't have to, Red. I want to.” His voice was dripping with confidence and authority and all the things that should have turned me off. It was unnerving—and impossible for me to resist. It was the playfulness that knocked me off balance. The fact that the nickname he gave me didn't annoy me, that it felt as natural as his lips on my skin had, made me want to flee. Hide. But I couldn't. Just like I couldn't keep pretending like I was searching for something amidst the pile of broken glass. I had to look up at him.

I gripped a final hearty piece, like it was a piece of sanity that I had to touch so I didn't do something truly crazy like kiss him. Or even better, start tearing his clothes off so we could finish what we began last night.

I drew my gaze from his shoes, trying to titrate my enthusiasm about us crossing paths again by reminding myself that once again, I was serving him. His shoes probably cost as much as my rent. The pants that fit his sculpted, powerful legs were probably tailored. By an actual tailor, because he could afford such things. And that white shirt, that would have been the hue of my skin if I wasn't red as a freaking tomato, was keeping me from racing my fingertips along every perfect inch of his chest. I paused at his neck, lust flaring into an inferno when I watched his Adam's apple bob, like he was swallowing. Like he was nervous. I made him, this billionaire who dated perfect socialites, nervous? I wasted no more time and shot my gaze to his face.

I hit his mouth first and traced the lines of his lips as I licked my own. One side of his mouth curved knowingly, like he was stealing a peek in my head. Blushing even harder, every part of me officially wide awake and casting a vote for the ripping off of clothing, I kept going. I cruised past the dimples that made butterflies swarm in my belly, beyond the angular good looks that I remembered all too well. I lingered at his eyes. I didn't have a choice. The deep blue grabbed me like a wave rushing to the shore, pulling me in.

The whole building could crumble around us and I wouldn't have even noticed.

“Ugh, I'm pretty sure she ruined my Jimmy Choos!”

The high-pitched whine dissipated my lust-induced haze and I slipped my pointer finger back, forgetting I was holding a piece of glass. I gasped, the pain blooming and fading into a dull ache as I dropped the glass and turned to apologize to the pouty bitc-

I choked on my apology when his mouth, the mouth I knew very intimately, was wrapped around my finger. In shock, in fucking
heat
, I gaped at him. His eyes sparkled with our naughty secret as his tongue lashed out and circled my finger.

It was bad enough that I'd dropped my first tray ever, but I had a feeling climaxing on the floor of the VIP area would definitely cost me my job.

I snatched my finger from him and scrambled to my feet. The blonde in the metallic spandex dress looked like someone had just delivered awful news. I was looking at her, she was looking at him, and the goose bumps all over me were proof that he was looking at
me
.

Me, who should have been just another pretty face. And I wasn't too proud to admit that I didn't even have the prettiest one in our general vicinity. I learned how to contour and wing my eyeliner on YouTube, and I still felt like I looked like an amateur. I was surrounded by women who probably got hundreds of likes when they posted selfies. Women with no roll of fat to be seen anywhere, draped in dresses that were probably the latest and greatest from the runway. They were the stars with their names in the lights and I was barely qualified to be a stand-in. Hell, I was the help. But from the way he was eating me up, bit by bit, you'd think I was the celebrity everyone was pointing their phones at.