The Bishop Affair (Dominated by the Billionaire Brothers - Part Four)

Copyright © 2013

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rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Copyright © 2013

All characters appearing in this
work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

Warning: This work contains
scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All
characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

Table of
Contents

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

The harsh sound of my breath
filled my ears as I fled the back room where Jordan’s lips were crushed against
Vanessa’s. Weaving through the tables and well-dressed attendees chatting
merrily with one another, my face flushed, my heart threatened to burst from my
chest, and a familiar feeling pricked my eyes. I fought to hold back the tears
but couldn’t. Passing by turned heads and concerned stares in a whirl, I
couldn’t care less about fitting in anymore. It wasn’t like I’d ever see these
people again or they’d even remember me.

Dashing down the hall to the
entrance, my heels clacked loudly against the cream marble tiles and I clutched
my purse to stop it from swinging wildly at my side. The stilettos I borrowed
from Sam wrought hell on my feet forcing me to hop out of them. I hiked my
dress up and carried the shoes under one arm, hurrying toward the entrance,
hoping to avoid as many people as I could. Once outside, I could see the
parking lot below. Thank God it had quieted down; most of the photographers had
either left the area or perhaps snuck inside. The evening had grown darker but
the tribal torches placed around the exterior of the building helped light my
path.

By the time I reached the
stone steps that curved down to the lot, I half-hoped to hear Jordan’s
lumbering footsteps charging after me to tell me it was all a misunderstanding,
that that conniving Vanessa had somehow drugged his champagne or blackmailed
him into kissing her...but I was afraid that if I stopped moving, I’d hear
nothing behind me.

In the parking lot, I darted
through a veritable fleet of sports cars and hummers waiting for their
passengers until I spotted the driver that took us to the event. Dressed in all
black except for a pair of white gloves and shirt that matched his hair color,
he stood near the limo, reading a folded up newspaper. A sweet old man, he had
introduced himself as George, the same driver who drove me home that day Jordan
and I first had sex; he had joined us on the plane to Los Angeles. I recalled
him winking at me when we arrived in an attempt to make me feel comfortable in
front of the paparazzi’s flashing cameras. I had still been nervous, but the
fact that he’d shown a little sympathy made an impression on me.

George lifted his head at my
noisy approach.

“Miss Gable?” He tucked the
newspaper away and furrowed his brows in concern.

“What’s the matter? Where’s
Mr. Bishop?”

Hearing his name made me
flinch.

“Jordan wants you to take me
back to the airport ASAP,” I cried, my chest heaving.

“Back to the airport?” He
glanced at my dirty bare feet and tear-stained cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, positive. And
quickly.” I knew I sounded and looked desperate but I just needed him get the
limo started and get me the heck away from this place.

“Pardon me then. Off we go,
Miss Gable.” He didn’t seem convinced but opened the door for me anyway. I
threw my purse and shoes into the backseat along with myself, grateful for an
escape. George stepped around the front of the car and got into the driver’s
seat. Within moments, I heard the rumble of the limo’s engine. As we began to
move, I hazarded a glance at the top of the stone steps I had descended. When I
saw a tuxedo and a hand waving out, my heart leapt. But when I realized the man
was too small to be Jordan and that he was waving toward his chauffeur, my
hopes came crashing down. Once we had left the lot, George engaged the privacy
divider, and I buried my face into my hands.

God, Jordan, why? Why did
you do that of all things?
I swept my tears miserably from my cheeks and pushed bundles of sweaty hair
away from my forehead, my chignon having been lost long ago. Not finding a box
of tissues in the backseat, I settled for wiping my tears on my expensive
dress.

I’d been living a fantasy
with him. After months of self-loathing and trying to get over the remains of
my shattered relationship with Eric, Jordan came along like some kind of
muscle-bound steroidal white knight instantly sweeping me off my feet and
saving me from my despair...but he ended up doing the exact same stupid thing
Eric did.

Fuck.
I leaned onto my side and hugged my knees
into my chest as the tears flowed. Was it me? Maybe I was the problem. Was I
just not good enough for him? For Eric?
God, just tell me I’m bad a kisser
and give me a chance to improve or at least break up with me before making out
with another woman. I know I’m not one of those super hot girls that guys think
about when they masturbate but just have some decency and tell me for goodness
sa—

The familiar buzz of my
phone inside my purse interrupted my thoughts. I was tempted to throw the whole
damn thing out the window but stopped when I remembered that the black Prada
clutch belonged Sam. I reached inside and silenced the buzzing, too sick to handle
seeing Jordan’s name on the screen, let alone hearing his voice.

I dropped the purse to the
floor and rolled onto my back, watching through the tinted window tall palm
trees speed by against a darkened backdrop. The color of the sky reflected my
mood.

My mind replayed the events
over and over trying to make sense of it all. Since the moment I started
working at Bishop Corp., I’d been sent through the wringer. Every day was
something different and shocking, like having to endure Trevor’s sexual torture
or Jordan’s seemingly clueless temptations. At first, it seemed like random
crazy events, the type of things you’d hear when one of your girlfriends says,
“Oh my God. Guess what happened to me today?” But the more I thought about it,
the easier it was to imagine the Bishop brothers crouched over a desk calendar,
penciling in what they were going to do to me each day.

“Oho, Wednesday’s going
to be a doozy for our little Lori,” Trevor says, tapping his finger on the
corresponding calendar square. “Are you sure you want to fit all that in there?
It’s only her third day you know.”

“Well, if we don’t drive
her crazy, what’s the point?” Jordan says, throwing his head back and
guffawing.

“My, my, my.” Trevor rubs
his hands together and smirks. “So Lori’s going to lose her panties that
day...”

“...but not before I
grope her naked body on my massage table.” Jordan makes obscene breast grabbing
motions with his large fingers.

Trevor laughs. “And I
thought I was the bad one. I’ve only spanked her.”

“Don’t get me wrong, dear
brother. I’m classy.” Jordan makes it a point to adjust his cuffs and tie. “
...which is why I’m also going to fuck her in the limo after work.”

“Ha. Already?” Trevor
looks skeptical.

“Why not? I’ve already
slept with Vanessa and three other women this week. I’m borrrrred out of my
mind.”

“Well justified. To the
new personal assistant,” Trevor says, toasting a champagne glass with his
brother. “A solid million to the Bishop who sees her melt down first.”

“It’s a deal!”

It took a moment for the
realization to sink in but when it finally did, it sunk to the pit of my
stomach. I’d been played all along. Played by a pair of rich, twisted,
hot-as-hell devils. How could I have been so stupid?
Jesus
. Consumed
with overwhelming disgust, my insides heaved and I instinctively forced my lips
closed. My cheeks bloated like a puffer fish but nothing came out except air.

Feeling disaster approaching
fast, I punched the intercom button. “George, pull over. Now.”

The limo slowed to a smooth
stop at the side of the road just in time. I flung the door open. Despite being
aware of bystanders nearby, I leaned halfway out and spewed chunks of cocktail
shrimp mixed with expensive champagne and my own bile onto the sidewalk
pavement. There was no time to fling my hair out of the way and I saw a few
pieces of olive get stuck in the strands.

The distinct sound of
footsteps nearby was followed by a surprised male voice.“Dammmn!”

I tilted my head up to see a
young couple hand-in-hand immediately veer off the sidewalk to distance
themselves from me, revulsion in their expressions. They were dressed in
evening wear and had probably been enjoying a nice romantic stroll until I just
ruined it for them.

Before I could apologize or
provide some sort of explanation, the feeling came back. I gripped the side of
the leather seat and violently emptied the remainder of my guts, small pieces
jettisoning from my nose, searing my nasal passage on their way out. My lips
stretched into a grimace and quivered as I desperately tried to hold my body
still, sobbing like a five year old, wishing that my stomach would find peace.
This
is awful. Please no more.
Suddenly, my abs jerked inward and I dry-retched.
My body lurched forward. I threw my hands out, palms splashing into my own vomit
just in time to stop myself from face-planting into it. The dry-retch came
again and my hands smeared the mess in frantic motions.
Oh God, make it
stop.
A few more gags followed until my stomach finally began to settle.
Tears and saliva dripped from my face while I panted like a dog to catch my
breath. Time passed as I watched through blurry eyes the horrible orange and
pink concoction on the ground trickle beneath the limo and pool around the back
tire.

This was the lowest I ever
felt in my life.

The cool night was silent
except for the clicking of the limo’s hazard lights. The couple walking by
earlier, had long since moved on, probably assuming I’d consumed too much
alcohol. If only that was the reason.

In my post-regurgitation
sobriety, I wondered if my imagination had gone too far. It seemed a bit
far-fetched that Jordan and Trevor planned this all out. As unprofessional as
some of their actions had been, they didn’t strike me as the type to engage in
leisure gentleman bets. They worked too hard and their jobs were so stressful
that I doubted they had much free time at all. Even the charity ball had seemed
as much work as pleasure for Jordan. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he
was kissing Vanessa.