Authors: Lexi Duval
Romance: The Billionaires Collection (Watched By A Billionaire, Stranded With A Billionaire, Caught By A Billionaire, Billionaire Stepbrother)
Lexi Duval
©2015 Lexi Duval
book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that
occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any
resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
WATCHED BY A BILLIONAIRE
PART ONE
Prologue
“
This is it, Ashley, your first performance. Nervous?”
I nod, my hands shaking, but try to force a smile onto
my face.
“
Well, don't be. Just do what comes natural to you. I
can assure you, the guy will help coax you through it, and he's very
good looking.”
Randall Taylor steps toward me, a gentle, fatherly
expression on his face. He's about 40, wearing a beige suit and white
shirt that compliments his dusty brown hair and hazel eyes.
He reaches out and takes me by the hand, pulling me up
out of the chair. I leave my reflection in the mirror behind me; my
long blonde hair, styled into beautiful waves, my soft blue eyes,
shallow and clear like water. Around me is wrapped a white gown, and
underneath, a set of lacy, sexy lingerie that clings tight to my slim
but curvy frame.
I'm lifted to my feet, and take a final look at myself,
see the well of nerves in my eyes.
You can do this, Ashley...
Randall leads me to the door of the plush dressing room,
and my heart moves up another gear, rattling like a child's toy
inside my ribcage.
“
Now you know the set up, don't you Ashley? The
performance will go on for about 30 minutes. If you cannot orgasm
naturally, please make sure you're good at faking it. Our clients can
spot a fake easily, and they're here for the real thing.”
I nod, hardly able to speak. He's told me this all
before, but he seems like a man who's meticulous in his work.
“
Your partner this evening is called Brett. He's about
8 inches, so make sure you're ready to receive him and try not to
grimace too much if you feel any pain. He's a professional, so will
ensure that everything goes OK.”
He keeps leading me down a corridor toward a door at the
end marked 'stage'. Yet this is no play, no performance for the
masses. This is one for a very specific group of men who have
specific tastes and needs.
But most of all, they demand privacy and complete
discretion. That's why I'm being paid a small fortune to be here.
“
You won't see the men watching you,” continues
Randall. “The walls will be mirrored on your side, so you'll only
see yourself and Brett until your performance is over. The room may
spin, though, so be prepared for that.”
Spin?
Before I can ask what he means, he's already reached the
door and has stopped outside.
He turns to me again, half smile on his face.
“
Ashley, remember how beautiful and sexy you are.
That's why you're here, OK. If you perform well, you'll be invited
back, and a few more of these and you'll be set up for life.”
He puts his hand to my cheek and gives me a reassuring
nod.
“
Now, go, Brett's waiting for you. Think only of him,
and not of the men on the other side of the walls. Forget it all, and
just have some fun. Brett will make sure you enjoy yourself.”
My heart thunders harder, my body all but threatening to
collapse under the weight of my nerves. Randall looks me deep in the
eye, and pulls a small hip flask from his jacket.
“
Take a swig of this, it will help.”
I gratefully take the metal container and suck down some
harsh whiskey. The liquid makes me cough, my voice echoing down the
corridor, before warming my insides and dampening my anxiety a touch.
I take another before Randall retrieves his flask and
returns it to his jacket.
“
Now, it's time. Remove your robe, and be sure to
smile when you enter.”
I slip out of my robe, leaving me in nothing but my
frilly bra and panties, and pass it to Randall
“
Good luck, beautiful Ashley.”
Then he turns, and I turn, and my hand grips the door
handle.
Here we go Ash...no time to turn back now.
And with that, I pull down, take a big breath, plaster a
smile to my face, and go through the door.
Chapter One
One Month Earlier
I never quite thought that having sex with my boss would
have such drastic repercussions.
It never really crossed my mind that jumping into bed
with him would lead me to lose my job and have to leave LA. I mean,
Jesus, talk about your bad luck.
It's his fucking wife, really. Although, to be fair, I
suppose she has some reason to be mad at me.
The problem is, I never knew he even had a wife. The guy
was all charm and sexy looks at work, and I did what I often do when
given such attention – I sucked him dry and let him fuck me every
which way in his office.
That went on for about 3 weeks before I was suddenly
fired, literally thrown out of the office by some meat head security
guard, and left with no job and no place to live because my apartment
in LA was part of my employment package.
It became quickly clear that it was the guy's wife who
was to blame. And, unfortunately for me, she's a high flier in the
fashion world herself, and holds enough sway to make it pretty
difficult for me to get another job in LA.
For now, at least.
I mean, perhaps over time she'll cool down and realize
that it's her damn husband who's the real villain, but for now I'm
the one copping all the blame and seeing my entire life disintegrate
around me like a wet paper towel.
Right now, I'm in my apartment and I'm packing my things
with a couple of the girls from work who live with me. They seem even
more depressed than I am about what's going on, and are trying to
reassure me that things will blow over soon and I'll be able to
resume the career that was starting to go well.
The job had been almost perfect. Junior fashion editor
for a local fashion magazine might not be something to set the world
alight, but it was ideal for me as a stepping stone into the
industry.
The way I saw it, my trajectory was mapped out, from my
current role all the way up to fashion editor at vogue or another of
the major international magazines. Those hopes, right now, seem to
have been dashed like waves on a rock.
I continue to pack my things, however, without showing
much emotion. Life is always going to throw you these hurdles and
sometimes you're going to have to try to leap them. If you don't,
you'll come crashing into a heap on the floor.
Self pity and a tendency to sulk and mope have never
been a part of my repertoire.
Get up, get on with it, and leave the past where it
belongs
.
That's my motto.
By mid afternoon I've got my entire life packed into the
back of my Ford Fiesta and am preparing a significant drive across
country back home to New Jersey. My flatmates, who I've been sharing
the apartment with for the last year, give me warm hugs and more
words of support before I shut the door, never expecting to see them
again.
“
Ah, honey, we'll be in touch,” they tell me,
although I'm fairly sure that won't.
They'll just turn their attention back to their work and
will most like be distracted by whoever fills my position in the
apartment and the office. I will, most likely, be quickly forgotten
in an industry that is filled with pretentious people who live in the
vacuum of their own lives.
One day, Ash, you'll have your own fashion label...
The dream I had as a kid still lingers in the back of my
head, sprouting forward at times like these when I need some
self-encouragement.
Perhaps now I can turn my attention to my own
designs, rather that focusing on the media and journalism side of
things?
That was always the original plan before I found the
junior editor job, although even I'd admit that it was a fanciful
one. For such a thing you need a studio and money for materials and
the time to actually work on your designs.
Such things don't just grow on trees, and the bitter
sting of reality was always going to defeat such a romantic notion as
having my designs hanging off beautiful woman as they traipse down
the catwalk.
Still, I resolve to remain optimistic about my life as I
type my parent's address into my satnav and pull out onto the road.
Inside the car it's hot and humid, the air stiff from several says of
pulsing summer sunshine that's created an interior akin to what you'd
find in a sauna.
With my air conditioning unit having decided to pack up,
I quickly wind down the window beside me to get a draft rushing
through. With the newly manufactured wind comes the sound of the
city; the honking horns and rush of engines and the general chatter
of pedestrians as they shoot this way and that.
Soon enough, however, I'm escaping the city and am being
deafened by the roar of the open window as I clatter down the
highway, my car's engine straining under the weight of my possessions
neatly packed into trunk and the back seat.
I put some music on, try to forget about my troubles for
a while, and let the hypnotic motion of the open road suck me into
another world.
Right now, perhaps a 3 day drive across the country
is just what I need to clear my head...
Again, I try to find the positives in something that
most people would happily agree is an horrendous chore. I'll be
driving until late, staying overnight at some cheap motel, then
driving all day, another motel, and then a final day on the road
before finally returning to the house I haven't seen in over a year.
I can't imagine many people would look forward to such a
trip, but the more distance I put between me and my former boss's
embittered wife, the better.
The day drags, and any enthusiasm I had managed to cling
to gradually begins to weaken to the point where I'm half in a daze
as the rain begins to fall and the light starts to fade. The change
in weather seems strangely symbolic to me. Only last week my life was
marching forward just how I'd wanted it to. And now I'm retreating
back to New Jersey with my tail between my legs and a crazy,
powerful, and influential fashionista with a serious grudge against
me shooing me out of LA.
By the time I reach my motel, I'm wiped, and hardly have
time to wait for my takeaway dinner before passing out on the
unexpectedly comfortable bed. I sleep, my mind tormented, and wake to
a day that's even darker and wetter than before.
And that continues all day.
Wet, miserable, and growing colder by the hour. My
optimism fades to the point of no return and I begin the trend of
stopping every few hours at gas stations to fill up, not only on
fuel, but on comfort foods to try to help to lighten my mood.