Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 1(89)

“Uh, sir, with all due respect, you’re not the target audience for this copy.”

“I’ll tell you who the target audience is for this synthetic tub of goo that’s the chemical composition of something you don’t really want to know. It’s the imperfect woman. Where the fuck did you get the idea that women are perfect anyway?”

“Uh, sir … they do strive for an ideal – ”

“I take it that you’ve never lived with a woman before?” Neither has Brian, but he’s not going to let that on to the gap-toothed kid who obviously hasn’t started shaving yet.

“I live with my mother, sir. And I’m gay.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Astounding. Take it from me, kid. Women aren’t perfect.”

In fact, he has known that all along. It’s just something which has never really occurred to him before, kind of like a thesis on the air he is breathing that he suddenly has to write about.

He takes a deep breath and goes on, “They’re highly strung, sometimes whiny and they do impractical, irrational things … such as asking their ex-school bully to be their pretend boyfriend to their sister’s engagement party over the weekend.”

The young ad exec blinks, clearly lost in this thread of conversation.

“Or taking the dance floor by storm even when they can’t distinguish somebody else’s toes from their own.”

He’s aware that Sam’s face has invaded his mind now, pretty much in the manner of alien thought control.

“Or fussing over their hair and worrying about it being too curly when it’s the most glorious thing on the planet. Or throwing a hissy fit when you’ve masturbated in your shared bed the night before and exploded your cum all over your sheets.”

The young exec’s jaw is on the table. “Oh wow, I never knew women were like that, sir.”

“Yeah.” Brian shoves the pile of prints across the table. “Go back to school, kid, and come back when you’ve fucked a woman. And if you can’t get your dick up for one, try living with her for a weekend.”

Fuck. Now he’s getting all weird.

It’s all Sam’s fault. She has gotten under his skin somehow. Wormed in when he least expected it.

Now if only he can get Samantha Fox and her imperfect life out of his head.




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15



THREE MONTHS LATER



The club music’s thumpa-thumpa-thumpa drowns everything out except the throbbing of Brian’s alcohol-soaked brain. Gawd. Don’t tell me I’m getting too old for this, he thinks.

He lifts his beer bottle to Caleb. They are at the blue-lighted bar.

“To new beginnings.”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I said ‘That cute guy is grinning at you.”

“What cute guy? Where?” Caleb appears outraged.

Brian throws his head back and laughs.

“That one.” He jabs at the middle of the dance floor, where people are jumping, whirling, writhing in severe contortions (possibly of pain?) and basically doing their primal premating ritual.

There’s a bobbing head that looks painfully familiar. Brown untamed curls. Pert cute smiling face. Zumba-like dance moves.

No shit.

He’s aware that he’s looking at Sam. And her dancing has been taken up yet another notch since they last were together. She’s wearing… not a bandeau top … but close. A hot red little number that shows off her curves and with more confidence than he has ever seen on her. Her skirt is definitely flirty – a tie-dyed parasol number that twirls prettily as she spins.

She is dancing with Cassie, who is looking marvelous in a shiny black number. Several guys are looking over longingly at the two of them.

Brian’s smile stretches wide.

“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Caleb yells above the din.

“Yeah. Kismet.”

“It’s almost like you described it back at the party. Only Sam is not dancing with a dude with greasy hair and a T-shirt that says – ”

“‘FUCK ME GENTLY’,” they chorus.

And laugh.

Brian shrugs. “What can we do?”

His feet are still rooted to the spot.

“I don’t know about you,” Caleb says, “but I’m going down there.”

Brian watches his best friend weave through the throng to go to Cassie. Caleb taps a delighted Cassie on the shoulder. She swings and registers genuine surprise. They hug and begin to dance together.

Sam is left floundering, but not for long. A dude with a shock of hair – which is unfortunately not greasy – cuts in to dance with her instead.

To hell if he’s going to let that happen.

Brian takes a long swig of his beer and slaps it down on the bar. Then he elbows his way through the sweaty, shiny bodies until he reaches Sam.