Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(209)

"Yeah, you are hot enough," he says off-handedly. Hot enough? What the  hell does he mean by that? And who the hell says something like that to a  woman during a date? Jesus Christ, this is going worse than I expected.

You know, I had a feeling that something like this would happen. After  putting on my favorite skimpy, tight, black dress, I sat in front of my  bedroom mirror and I didn't like the look I saw on my face. It wasn't an  eager or anxious one, no the expression on my face was one of  reluctance and boredom. The kind of face someone would have while doing a  chore nobody really wants to do. I should have picked up my cellphone  then and there, and called the whole thing off. But no, I went through  the motions-lipstick, blush, eyeliner-and got ready for someone who, it  turns out, doesn't even deserve five minutes of my time. Story of my  life.

"Hey, listen, it's already late," I start, looking down at my wrist and  realizing that I'm not wearing a watch. Still, I push through. "I think  it's best I get going." For the first time since we got to the bar, his  facade of overconfidence starts to crumble. He frowns, a line of  confusion on his forehead, and tries a hesitant smile.

"But you haven't even finished your drink … " he stammers, looking down at  the half-full glass of red wine sitting in front of me. "I, uh, we can  go somewhere else."

"No, it's fine. I just remembered I have some work I left unfinished,  and I really should get around to it," I continue, putting on one polite  smile. I know that, by now, he has probably seen through my lies. But,  hey, what the hell? He's the reason I'm lying, anyway.

I'm about to get up from my seat when Robert reaches across the table  and grabs me by the forearm. "Hey, listen, Becca. Stay a little longer …   It'll be fun, I promise," he starts, looking at me with wide eyes. If I  was uncomfortable before, now I'm way beyond that.

"I suggest you let go of the lady," someone says from behind us, and I  look back over my shoulder at a man in his late thirties. He's wearing  all black, even his shirt and tie are black, and his suit clings to his  body as if he came into the world dressed just like that. Classy, but at  the same time, elegant and modern.

His hair is groomed with a kind of perfect carelessness, and his full  lips form a serious but relaxed line as he stares down Robert. Even  though his blue eyes are two orbs of veiled threat right now, I can see  the gentleness they hide in them. His high cheekbones give him the flair  of royalty, and I can't help but imagine that he's the right kind of  man born in the wrong age. A man with eyes like his …  he could be a King  in another life. He isn't a king, but of one thing I'm sure: a man like  him must leave a trail of broken hearts behind him wherever he goes. Oh,  also, his name is Mason Kane, and he's my boss.

Now, he probably doesn't even know who I am; I'm just one more girl in  his army or interns, but I know who he is. I mean, who doesn't know who  Mason Kane is? I've just never been this close to him.

"Mind your own business," Robert tells Mason, springing up to his feet and letting go of my forearm.

"Or what?" Mason tells him with a smirk, leaning against the counter and  grabbing his glass of whisky. He takes the glass to his lips and,  throwing his head back, downs the whole thing at once and goes to  staring at Robert with one eyebrow raised.

"I … " Robert starts to stammer, balling his hands into fists and looking  from me to the stranger and then back to me. "I … " he continues, his  brain seemingly shutting down as he doesn't seem to find any words  inside his pretty-but empty-head. "Fuck it. I'm outta here," he finally  blurts out, pursing his lips and turning on his heels. "Call me,  anytime," he does his final Hail Mary pass at me, looking over his  shoulder before bolting out of the bar as if his jacket was on fire.  Good riddance.

Sighing loudly, I sit back down on my seat and take a gulp out of my red  wine. Finally, peace. Who knew that being alone could be better than  being on a date? The answer flashes through my mind as I look at the man  by the counter, Mason Kane. He's already facing forward, drinking  another glass of whisky as if the whole situation between me, Robert,  and him never happened. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm already going  up to my feet; with the glass of wine in my hand, I walk up to the  counter and sit down on the stool next to him.

"Thank you," I say, running my tongue over my dry lips. He glances at  me, not even bothering to turn his body, and waves with his own glass.

"No problem," he responds with a smile, and then turns forward as if I'm  not here, eager to find out more about him. Yes, I said it; he  intrigues me. Sure, he looks almost old enough to be my father, and he's  also my boss, but it's not like I'm doing anything wrong here …  Besides,  even though he's probably in his late thirties, early forties, he  doesn't look anything like his age. Oh, no, he looks like one of those  Hollywood stars that don't ever seem to age. And there's something about  him, an aura of …  power? Dominance? I don't know, but I wouldn't mind  finding out.         

     



 

"Becca," I introduce myself, extending my hand toward him. He glances at  me again, his eyes slowly going down from my face to my hand. He  doesn't recognize me from the office, it seems, but a soft smile appears  on his lips and he finally reaches for my hand with his own, giving me a  gentle handshake.

"Mason," he tells me, a spark flickering behind his eyes. "So, Becca,"  he continues, turning his whole body toward me, "what's a girl like you  doing with a guy like that?" My heart starts galloping inside my chest  as I realize that I finally have his attention. Smiling, I drink the  rest of my wine while I ponder my next words.

"Waiting for someone better to come along," I say, my smile turning into  a veiled grin. I really don't know why I'm trying so hard to flirt with  him; I just know that I have to do it.

"I see. Well," he smiles politely once more, grabbing his whisky and  finishing it, "good luck with that." Shit, he's really playing hard to  get. Either that or I'm too young for him and he doesn't see me like a  real woman, one with whom he'd like to …  Christ, what am I saying? Am I  really thinking of unbuttoning that shirt of his and seeing what's  underneath it? Am I really this desperate to find out the taste of his  lips? Yes …  Yes, I am. I mean, I'm having a drink with Mason Kane, the  King of Wall Street, for God's sake!

"How about you? On a date with a bottle of whisky?" I ask him, hoping to  God that I'm not overstepping. I don't why he's sitting here by  himself, but I really don't want to ruin this.

"You got me," he replies, raising both his hands in the air as if I was  pointing a gun at him. "Sometimes a good scotch helps ease a troubled  mind."

"And what's troubling you?"

"Nothing you would care about …  Unless you also know how to ease a  troubled mind, that is," he says, smiling quizzically. We lock eyes, and  I already feel my body temperature rising. Not only that, but between  my thighs …  Well, let's just say that ‘dry' wouldn't be a term I'd use to  describe the state I'm in right now.

"Maybe I know of a way to make you relax … " I hear myself saying, my  heart thrashing inside of my chest. I can't believe that I'm really  saying this. What's gotten into me?

"As long as it doesn't involve yoga," he tells me, that grin still  dancing on his lips. "You look like the kind of girl who'd do yoga." I  blush at his words, even though there's barely a hint of wickedness to  them. Yet, I can't stop myself from thinking that he's imagining me in  tight yoga pants and bending over …

"I do yoga, yeah," I grin back at him. "But that's not what I have in mind right now … "

"A special kind of yoga then?" he smirks, fully committed to the verbal spar I've pulled us both into.

"A very special kind of yoga," I continue, feeling more and more  comfortable with this back-and-forth conversation. It's just words,  right? Of course, the moment this thought goes through my head, he gets  up from his stool and leans into me.

"Show me," he whispers into my ear, placing one hand on top of my knee  and slowly sliding his fingers underneath the hemline of my dress. I  gasp and almost stop breathing as, with his eyes still locked on mine,  he runs his fingers all the way up my leg, only stopping when he finds  my soaked thong.

"Yes," that's all I manage to say, suddenly feeling dizzy. What the hell  is wrong with me? I don't think I have ever felt this horny in my  entire life! When he grabs me by the hand, it feels as if I'm floating; I  get up from the stool and let him guide me. He walks through the  crowded bar easily, everyone letting him through, and I follow after him  in a daze. He goes all the way to the restroom and, stopping in front  of the double doors, he looks me in the eye, mischievousness all over  his face.