Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(90)

And, no, doll, I mean real fucking business, not the daily operations of a sex club.

I'm sitting at my office, looking through the financials of this month  (profits have been climbing up for the fourth month in a row) when  there's a knock at my door.

"Yeah?" I don't even look from my laptop as the door swings open; my security staff always leads before anyone comes inside.

"Mistress Strokes is here, boss."

"Send her in," I tell the head of my security detail and, a few seconds after, Strokes strolls through the doorway.

"These guys are really uptight, Jesus," she starts with by way of hello. "They know who I am, so why don't they just let me in?"

She knows me long enough to fucking complain so I let it fly and watch  her as she sits down right in front of me and stretches. She yawns then,  covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You know why," I tell her with a smile, and then get up and head to the  coffee machine in the corner. I take a double espresso out of it, and  then push the cup into her hands.

"Been getting some sleep?" I ask. "You look terrible."

Okay, don't fucking kill me, okay?

You think I'm a fucking idiot. I know you don't tell a girl that she  looks terrible. It's a lie, she doesn't look terrible at all; in fact,  she looks as stunning as she always does.

Sure, she has a thing for painting her hair in the weirdest bright  colors, but she has that cute innocent face that just disarms any man.

And when she smiles, it seems like the whole room lights up.

And let's not even talk about her body; sure, she's a petite one, but her tits seem to prove a different point.

So why did I tell her she looks terrible?

Because she always pushes herself to exhaustion; when it comes to  business, she's fucking tireless, and I don't want her to burn out.

No, I need her thinking straight.

We can't afford any mishaps, not in this line of business.

"Don't you worry about me," she yawns again, but then starts drinking her coffee. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"That's funny," I say, but I'm not laughing. I care about her. And don't  go putting words in my mouth, alright? I'm not fucking her, and never  have. I'm not saying I wouldn't like to fuck her-I sure as hell wouldn't  mind, but I don't want to ruin what we have going on because I can't  control my monster cock. We're doing important stuff, and it's important  enough for me to forgo sex for a few minutes.

Besides, even if I fucked her, there's only one girl I have in my head and would have in my fucking brain.

That's right.

Destiny Renee.

"We need to consider our options, Austin," she finally gets down to  business, setting the cup on my desk and looking me in the eyes with a  serious expression. "Lester isn't going to stand down for long, and you  know that."

I sigh as she continues. "If he somehow manages to get a warrant so that he can raid Python, that's what he's going to do."

"I know that," I sigh, sitting back down on my chair and folding my  hands in front of my face, pondering what our next move should be. "But  we can't move all the women out of here without him noticing. We need to  be careful."

"We do," she lowers her voice and then leans into me. She caresses her  right earlobe with her thumb, and that gives away the fact that what  she's going to tell me isn't really up for discussion. I've seen her do  that too many times to start arguing; she argues back, and she doesn't  budge. And that's exactly why I trusted her with this job in the first  place.

"And being careful means that we have a safe place to move the girls in  case there's a raid," she says. "We can't let Lester catch us with our  pants down."

"Okay, okay. Fuck. I'll think of something," I tell her, my throat  suddenly growing dry. It would be so much easier to run a regular strip  club, but I guess that's not who I am.

Our choices define who we are, and the choices I've made in the past,  especially since I've started working with Strokes, force me to stay  true to who I am. There's no backing down from this; I'm in for the long  haul.

"Let's grab a drink, I'm buying," I tell her, and then step out of the  office. She follows after me quietly, knowing not to argue. I got a lot  on my mind, with all the logistics of our operation and funneling money  out of the club so that we can stick to our plans.

I can't believe at one point I actually thought that this was going to  be easier than it is, but at least the payoff is good enough for me to  keep investing both my time and money into this whole scheme.

"Whisky, straight up," I tell Mike, the shirtless bartender, and he sets  a full glass down in front of me in fifteen seconds. Keep up the good  work and you might see a raise, Mike.

"Orange juice, natural," Strokes asks, and Mike doesn't even argue with  her. She's' quirky like that; she loves her ice cream and her orange  juice, and she's not ashamed to order them when every single woman  around her is getting loaded with martinis and tequilas.

Even though she's heading my operation, dealing with the day-to-day  nasty reality of business, sometimes she seems just like a little girl  fresh out of college and without any real world experience. But anyone  who believes first appearances is a fool; there's much more about her  than what meets the eye.

"Really, you and your orange juice. Can't you just drink a whisky like a  regular fucking human being? It's 11 PM, for God's sake."

"Health comes first," she teases me with a smile, but then she's back to  her usual somber self. "So what's the plan, Austin? I have to know. I  need to be ready in case something happens."

"I'm working out an escape plan with security. If shit hits the fan,  they have a few SUVs parked just right around the corner, and they have  orders to get the girls out of here before anyone can lay eyes on them.  At first sign of trouble, they'll get them out."

"Yeah, but to where?"

"I'm working that out, just trust me. I'm looking at renting a few  apartments spread across the city so that we move the girls there if we  need to do it. It'll be a few more days to iron out some kinks in all of  this, but the basics are covered. If we have trouble, at least security  will get them out of here; the rest we can always figure out later."

Oh right.

You're wondering who I'm talking about?

What girls I'm talking about?

Don't worry about it, doll.

Just trust me, okay? I promise you, it's going to look fucking suspicious, but I fucking guarantee you that I'm being legit.

It may not look it, but I swear it is.

I fucking promise.

"Okay, sounds good," Mistress Strokes says to me, and looks at me before  continuing. "But I still think that --" She suddenly grows quiet, her  eyes widening as she looks over my shoulder. "I'm leaving," she whispers  suddenly. She goes up to her feet and, ignoring the orange juice Mike  has just set on the counter, turns to leave.

"Hey, where are you going?" I ask after her, but she's already lost in  the crowd. I try and follow her blue hair with my eyes, but when Strokes  doesn't want to be followed or found, she simply vanishes up in the  air.

And she's jumpy too; if she sees anything that she doesn't like, she  runs. "Better safe than sorry," she always tells me and, even though I  agree with her, I can't help but get annoyed whenever she leaves me  hanging like this.

But the fact remains: she saw something (or someone) that she didn't  like and she bolted, just like she always does. I turn on my seat to see  what frightened her, but I don't see anything at first. The main floor  is packed with horny women, all of them concentrating on the moves a  half-naked Maverick is showing off on the stage, but aside from that I  don't-and then I see her.

Destiny Renee.

Her eyes are wide and, even though she's standing under the glowing  lights, I can tell that she looks pale. I don't know why, but she saw me  sitting here with Strokes and that freaked her out. Fuck, is she going  to start getting fucking jealous?         

     



 

I didn't think that she'd be the kind of woman to do that. Or is this …  something else? Does she know anything about Strokes?

This doesn't look good. Destiny starts walking in my direction, walking  through the crowd with her sure step, and I turn to face the counter. I  down my whisky in one single gulp, readying myself to face her, and then  I hear her voice cutting through the music.

Yeah, she's pissed.





71





Destiny





My heart sank the moment I saw Austin talking with that blue-haired  woman. Petite and slender, she was wearing a tight fitting black dress  and she looked stunning. But that wasn't the reason my heart sank; no, I  felt like that because of the way they were talking to each other. They  seemed to be talking about something serious, something secret, and  there was a strange air of complicity surrounding them.

Whatever that woman is up to, Austin is in on it. And if Lester's right …   Oh, God, if Lester's right Austin is not only harboring a criminal, but  he's part of whatever the fuck is going on in here.