S*x and Secrets: Alpha Billionaire Forbidden Romance (31 page)

Glancing around the cabin, there weren’t any women who caught my eye. Not that I was looking for a mile high encounter, but it had been a long five years with nothing but my own hand to keep me company. I may have been hard up, but at least I didn’t look it. My clothes were probably a bit dated, but most people weren’t as knowledgeable about fashion as I was. Keyword: was.

Thank god I’d picked up some magazines at the airport. That would help catch me up, and when I got to California I’d go on a shopping spree. Build a new wardrobe from scratch.

I felt like a new man. I needed new clothes. Hell, I was going to have to re-create my life. I might as well look good doing it.

No one from my past life was left. My so-called friends all took off as soon as the indictment came down, and while I was behind bars, my supporters dwindled from a handful down to zero.  Even my family abandoned me.

My mother’s one and only visit was so “traumatic” that she burst into tears and left after about fifteen minutes. What the hell did she imagine it was like in there? Regardless, ever since then, the contact with my parents progressed from infrequent to non-existent. During my stint, I’d been lucky to get an e-card at Christmas or on my birthday, and when I emailed them to tell them I was being released, they didn’t respond.

I tried to not let it bother me. Hell, I was a grown man. I didn’t need mommy and daddy anymore. Fuck, I didn’t need anyone. Thanks to a trust fund bequested to me from my maternal grandfather, I could buy a small island if I wanted to. And fortunately, I’d been smart enough not to let Hirsh get his filthy paws on it. Okay, that wasn’t completely true.

I gave Hirsh a small investment when he first hired me as a show of loyalty. The fucker didn’t need to know I’d be worth billions when I turned twenty-five. When the money disappeared along with the shyster to a private island near the Bahamas, I barely missed it.

A pretty blonde flight attendant approached. She leaned over and gave me a glimpse of her ample cleavage. “Can I get you anything?” she asked in a sing-song-y voice that was more than a little too cheerful.

You, bending over this tray table and me taking that ass
. An image of her naked flashed through my mind. I was dying to sink my cock into that bubble butt of hers. Shove her panties in her mouth to shut her up. My cock stirred, pressing against my pants.

“A beer, please. Imported.” Damn, five years was too long to go without a woman.

The beer tasted better than I remembered. It went down smooth, and I ordered another one.

After the second one I had to piss. I got up from my seat to make a trip to the lavatory.

While I was taking care of business, I was just thinking about how incredibly small these airlines restrooms had become. There wasn’t room for a big guy like me to stand up straight in there, much less partake in any mile high action. Two people would fit in with a squeeze. Not that I minded getting up close and personal, but I’d crossed mile high fucking off my bucket list years ago. Been there, done that.

I closed the door behind me and headed towards my seat. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

The nerdy man seated across the aisle was stuffing something into the seat back in front of my chair.

I took a few long strides and I was upon him, towering over the seated man who was now nervously shifting his eyes from side to side.

“What are you doing?” My voice was sharp. If there was one thing I learned in prison it was not to back down from a confrontation. Pussy out and the jackals will pick their teeth with the bones from your carcass.

“Oh, nothing. Sorry. You seem to have dropped your boarding pass.

I shrugged. Who the fuck cares?

“Are you really Foster Cruise?”

My guts fell through to the floor and it wasn’t the turbulence. Not. This. Shit. Again.

All right. I tried to give this guy the benefit of the doubt, but this little prick was wearing on my nerves now. “You’d better keep your hands to yourself, and stay outta my backyard,” I said, and I was pleased how it came out. Much more menacing than I ever could have managed before prison. Hmm. Maybe there were upsides.

The nerdy guy curled into himself, practically flinching.

“You got that?” I wanted to growl at him, but I refrained.

“O-o-okay.” The nerd gulped just as the flight attendant rushed over, probably excited to show off some new “conflict resolution” techniques she learned at the latest training seminar. 

“Everything all right here, gentlemen?” she asked.

I sat down and buckled my seatbelt. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

“Uh, Miss, can I please talk to you?” The nerd pointed towards the front of the plane. She nodded and glasses-boy got up gingerly eyeing me the whole way as he followed the blonde to the front of the airplane.

I watched them for a second, the nerd whispering to the flight attendant. She said something back I couldn’t overhear, so I put on my noise-cancelling headphones and turned my attention back to the series that I had just discovered but everyone in America seemed to be talking about.

Within a few minutes nerd-boy came back to his seat, packed up his things and the flight attendant got him settled in a seat three rows ahead.

What the hell? So they guy recognized me, even with the beard. What did he think I was going to do? Steal his life savings from across the row?

What a dick.

Exactly what it had been like in New York.

Everywhere I went people talked about me, whispered behind my back, or even publicly chastised me. My favorite was the time I got out of the limo outside the Guggenheim on my way to view an important art opening only to have a bucket of fish guts hurled on me. The fuckers found ways to track my movements and going anywhere became a challenge.

After the fish incident, I mostly stayed home, and had my assistants do all my shopping and errands. I got so tired of being a prisoner in my own home that I started to look forward to going to prison. In fact, I asked my attorney to negotiate for me to go in a week earlier. If I had to be a prisoner, at least I wanted the time to count.

Now, on this fucking airplane, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, more and more people walking past my seat, glancing down at me then their eyes widening in some combination of recognition and horror. It was the way people would look at a pedophile.

Suddenly, I was in the cage again. Spectators standing outside talking, whispering, pointing.

I took a deep breath, hiked up the volume, and focused on the zombies in front of me falling apart as they trudged slowly down the street. I could relate. 

This was going to be one long-ass trip. Fuck.

––––––––

W
hen I got to Los Angeles it was still late afternoon and as the hired car traveled up the coast to Malibu, I started to relax. It was beautiful there. The sapphire blue ocean with its cresting waves and occasional dolphin popping out of the water calmed me. The jagged coastline, and its sandy beaches seemed to call to me. Maybe this was the right choice. This felt like it could be home.

The peace and quiet were just what I needed. A chance to be all alone so I could create a whole new life for myself, and preferably one where everyone who saw me didn’t treat me like a pariah.

My realtor sent me a packet with detailed packages of photos and information on several different properties. I chose the one that stood out above the rest, and had my attorney take care of the purchase while I was still incarcerated. Then I hired an interior decorator to furnish the whole place, and as the car pulled up to my new address, my stomach did a flip. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in as long as I could remember. For countless nights I dreamed of my new place, the ocean, a fresh start. I’d stare at the picture of the Malibu mansion so much that I’d worn a hole in the paper it had been printed on.

I tipped the driver and got out. No luggage to weight me down, I ran up the driveway, key in hand. I hadn’t seen the inside yet, I’d told the designer I wanted it to be a surprise. In reality I knew that if I had pictures of the interior of a beautiful house that belonged to me, but that I couldn’t live in, couldn’t touch, couldn’t enjoy while I was trapped in a concrete box—that it would be torture. And if I didn’t like something—it could be replaced. After spending over ten million on the property, I’d get what I wanted.

I inserted the key in the lock, turned it and stepped into my new life.

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