Bought and Paid for: Servicing the Billionaire (A BDSM Erotic Romance) Read online

  Bought and Paid for: Servicing the Billionaire

  Published by Adriana Rossi

  Copyright 2012 Adriana Rossi

  Discover other titles by Adriana Rossi at Author Central

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical reviews.

  * * *

  “Miss Kramar!”

  The baritone voice of the White Group CEO boomed through the heavy-set, oak doors. Mary cringed at the sound of his voice. What now? She had given him an intercom so that he could simply push a button and ask for her assistance instead of screaming through the door. Mr. White had surveyed the device over his customary glass of whiskey and waved it off, saying that he was too old-fashioned and that he didn’t bother with such frivolous inventions. Matthew White was only thirty years old.

  “MARY!”

  She jumped out of her office seat as if a fire had lit under her ass. She took a moment to compose herself and smoothed over her pencil skirt. Don’t give him attitude, don’t frown. Just do whatever he asks.

  She opened the door. “Mr. White, how can I help?”

  The shades in his office were drawn and the room was cast in almost pitch darkness except for the laptop on his desk which illuminated his young face in a ghostly blue hue. One hand clutched a glass of dark liquid that he always kept at his desk.

  Matthew White, handsome billionaire CEO of Whitefield Malls: nothing more than an alcoholic. Mary mused to herself. Though it wasn’t exactly fair, Mr. White wasn’t exactly an alcoholic. He didn’t come to work reeking of liquor.

  His eyes narrowed at her as if he was displeased with something she had done. His brown hair fell haphazardly into his eyes, which he brushed away impatiently.

  “Miss Kramar, so nice of you to join me at last,” he snarled with a sardonic grin. The ugly look on his face marred his otherwise handsome features. “I’m a very busy man, Miss Kramar. You are being paid as my personal assistant. I expect you to come running when I call your name. I throw. You fetch. Are we clear?”

  Why is he such a prick? Is it to punish all women? “Yes, Mr. White,” she intoned.

  He frowned in a disapproving manner and beckoned her with a gesture. “Come here,” he said acidly.

  Regret flooded her chest as she approached his desk. What did I do now? Mr. White had a way of making someone feel as if they had done something horribly wrong, and her knees trembled as she stood beside him.

  “I said, come.”

  Mary gasped as he grabbed her wrist in a firm grip and pulled her closer. She could not bring herself to meet his angry gaze. With his other hand, he gently lifted her chin until they were almost nose to nose. She could feel his cool breath on her face and smell the musky notes of his cologne. All she had to do was lean in slightly and their lips would touch. The thought of such a brazen action made heat rush through her veins.

  “I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Kramar. I’ve given you a great opportunity to serve me. Should you chose to leave this job, I will give you the recommendation I feel you deserve. Keep that in mind.” His eyes bored into hers as he awaited her response.

  Was that a threat? Her heart was beating abnormally fast—she realized that there was more at stake here. She wouldn't just lose her job; he would make sure the only job she would ever get was at the local diner. She put on a face of appropriate remorse. “I am very sorry, Mr. White. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate this job. I really do. I want you—I mean—I want you to be pleased with me.”

  He smiled at that and gently stroked her cheek with the hand that held her chin. Then he relinquished her and paused, looking up and down her outfit, silently appraising her. A shiver ran down her spine as he examined her.

  “I’ve never really appreciated pants on a woman. You should wear skirts more often. See that you do.” There was no shame on his face.

  Did he just tell me what to wear? Mary said nothing, but smiled pleasantly. She supposed he could afford to be sexist, being obscenely rich and all. Normally, Mary wouldn’t have tolerated such behavior in the workplace. But Mr. White was exceptionally handsome, and she was flattered rather than disgusted from his remarks. She gazed at his impassive face and wondered the CEO of Whitefield Malls was actually attracted to her.

  “Get someone to replace the light bulbs.”

  Cruel reality set in. She was his assistant, nothing more. He just sees me as his personal slave. “Of course, Mr. White. Perhaps you would like me to open the shades to let some—”

  Mr. White silenced her with a deadly glare. The shadows around his eyes were accentuated by the glow of the computer, and it frightened her. He was such a peculiar man. Every morning, he would drive directly in the parking garage and use the elevator to get to his office. He demanded that the shades in the office must always be closed and shut. Once, Mary had allowed a sliver of sunshine to filter through her window and Mr. White had walked through it. He let out a guttural howl and then wrenched her into his office, where he reduced her to tears by calling her incompetent, stupid, and every imaginable insult in the world.

  He was allergic to the sun and could not tolerate a ray of sunlight, no matter how small. He also forbade his staff to enter his office at certain hours of the day. Probably jacks off to some sort of sick, twisted porn he keeps in his drawer, she thought with malice.

  “You will resent me,” he had warned her when she was hired. “You will probably hate me. I am a perfectionist, Miss Kramar, and I expect the best out of you. Every. Single. Day.”

  “I will, Mr. White,” she had said in earnest. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I certainly hope so. I’ve been through several incompetent assistants. See that you don’t become one of them.”

  At the time, she had been taken by his beauty. His wavy brown locks ran down his head as if they had been ironed on. His dark, forbidding eyes hid behind thick, long lashes. He wore a constant scowl on his face, but had no wrinkles. He was uncharacteristically pale and had hollow cheeks, but all of this suited him. He was a formidable man, and Mary felt uncomfortable under his presence. It was as if she was being x-rayed. She had applied to the job without any experience, fully expecting her resume to be tossed in the nearest bin. Somehow, miraculously, she had gotten the job.

  Mary left his office and starting searching for bulbs in the supply closet. She had been working for him for three months, and every time she felt like quitting—which was almost daily—she would retrieve a pay stub that she kept in her pocket and stare at the numbers. Two thousand four-hundred and fifty. Every week.

  She took it out now and studied the numbers, blowing out her cheeks. No, she couldn’t refuse that amount of money. No matter how awful he was.

  Mary found boxes of light bulbs and snatched one. She also found a ladder which she lugged with her. She dragged the ladder into Mr. White’s office and set it up under the light fixture. Mr. White was engaged in a loud, angry conversation on his telephone and ignored her. He adamantly refused to get a cell phone. The marketing department had distributed free iPhones to every senior manager and upper-level management officer. Mr. White had tossed his in the garbage while Mary had looked on in disbelief.

  “That’s a four-hundred dollar phone you just threw away.”

  He had given her a sharp glance that made her bite her tongue.

  “It’s ridiculous,” he had muttered in disdain at the to
uch screen display. “All I use a phone for is conversations. Why does a phone need all this nonsense?”

  The office was pitch black and the hallway only let a modicum of light inside the room. She climbed the ladder awkwardly in her pencil skirt, only to discover that the ladder was too far away from the light. She looked at Mr. White, who was paying her no attention. He was such an inconsiderate ass. He could care less that she couldn’t see in the dark and that she could break her neck trying to replace the bulb. She climbed down the steps and repositioned the ladder. Luckily, she was wearing wedges today.

  “Five million dollars?” he shouted in indignation. “That is ridiculous. I’ve been working in IT for thirty years! Don’t bullshit me, Greg. When I worked for Unicorp I used to do that in a week! Six months? Is that a joke?”

  Mary suppressed a laugh. Thirty years, indeed. What, does he think he can fool everyone? Mary climbed the ladder. She grabbed the screwdriver she had stuck inside her skirt and began to unscrew the lamp. It fell into her open hands and she reached for the bulb.

  “I’m not approving that amount. If your team can’t do it—then I’ll find someone who can.”

  Mr. White slammed the handheld phone into its receptacle, making Mary jump in surprise. The ladder rattled suddenly and adrenaline shot through her veins.

  Still fuming from the phone call, he turned his furious gaze to Mary. “Mary, what on Earth are you doing replacing that in those shoes? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. White.”

  He blew air out of nose and muttered something about amateurs.

  Mary strained as she twisted the bulb. Mary looked down as Mr. White’s voice filled the air. He was on the phone again, and his gaze kept wandering up her legs and thighs.

  She couldn’t help but smirk, prideful that the world’s most handsome billionaire was checking her out. In another world, Mary imagined him ripping off her blouse and burying his face into her tits. She could feel the skin on her breasts stiffen with gooseflesh at the mere thought. A man like him wanting her was almost too much to handle. She turned her attention back to her task, her cheeks burning. Her elbow nudged the used lightbulb and it fell to the mahogany floor where it shattered loudly into pieces.

  Mary cringed at the noise and saw the pieces scattering across the floor. She replaced the lamp and descended the ladder, mortified at her blunder. Mr. White was finishing his conversation but showed no sign that he had noticed anything. She began to gingerly pick up the large pieces of glass. Frustration welled inside her chest like acid burning at her throat. She grabbed a sharp piece carelessly and grunted in pain.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mr. White’s patented leather shoes were staring her in the face. Her eyes traveled up his slacks, shirt, until they rested on his face, which wore a strange expression.

  Mary grasped his proffered hand, which was pleasantly cool, and stood up. She cradled her wounded hand, which had suffered a shallow gash along the ridge of her thumb. Blood trickled out of the wound, much more blood than Mary had anticipated.

  “I apologize, sir. I cut my hand.” Dismay filled her heart as she watched his chest swell like a bullfrog.

  “I asked you to do a simple task.”

  Mary backed away from him. It was scary. He was shaking with fury; his hands curled into fists as if he wanted nothing more than to punch a hole in the wall.

  “Replace a lightbulb. A monkey could do it,” he spat.

  It was if he had slapped her. “I—I’m sorry,” she choked. To her horror, tears were building up behind her eyes.

  Mr. White looked away from her, his jaw clenching in what must have been discomfort.

  “I should go and take care of this, I’ll come back to clean—”

  The last words were cut off when Mr. White’s arm shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Come here,” he growled.

  Mary gasped at his tone and was caught off guard by his electrifying touch. She stood frozen in shock as he pulled her blood soaked hand towards his face. The look in his eyes was animalistic—like a lion that had scented prey. His thumb gently caressed the gash and he pressed on it. Mary hissed in pain as the pressure caused more blood to ooze out.

  “Mr. White!”

  Now his hand was smeared with her blood. He looked at it in horror, his teeth clenched as if fighting some inward battle. He brought his hand close to his face and his nostrils flared, sniffing it greedily. A shadow crossed over his eyes. His gaze traveled to her face, his lips curled in a snarl.

  What the fuck is this? Still pinned to his side, Mary blinked, her shame forgotten.

  “Get out,” he said with effort.

  Suddenly, he released her. Mary stumbled backwards. “W—what about the mess?”

  “I SAID, GET OUT!”

  Mary tripped out his office, her heart beating a violent tattoo. Everyone had heard the commotion and looked up from their desks. A torrent of emotions whirled inside her. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as Mary rubbed them away impatiently. What had she done wrong? She stopped at the admin’s desk and asked for a first aid kit.

  She took one look at Mary’s bleeding hand. “Oh my God, what happened?”

  “Nothing,” Mary stammered. “I’m fine.”

  * * *

  The clock’s red numbers burned into the black display: 4:53pm. Her fingers drummed restlessly on her desk. What an awful day it had been. Since the incident with Mr. White, Mary had kept to herself. What he had done to her was inappropriate; all Mary had to do was report the incident to HR. After the inevitable lawsuit, she would be filthy rich. Yeah, right. Well, it was borderline sexual harassment. It was odd that Mr. White had ignored her all day. He got angry often, yes, but he was quick to bark orders to her afterwards. Not today.

  An earsplitting alarm sounded throughout the office. Mary wheeled out of her cubicle and saw the fire alarms blaring, red and blue lights flashing everywhere. A fire drill? At this time?

  Everyone filed out of the office in a single line, Mary watched them go, realizing that she would have to fetch Mr. White. Surely he was going to exit the office any minute now. Mary crossed her arms impatiently. What was taking so long? What if there really was a fire? She seized the handle of the door, hesitating. She could not forget how his irises had contracted into thin, blue rings and how his lips were white and shaking with rage. A shudder ran through her body and she pushed the door open.

  Inside was a scene that Mary would never forget. A woman—bent backwards over his massive desk, her legs locked around Mr. White’s waist as he plowed into her. His slacks hung from his waist, his belt undone. Blood ran in rivulets down the woman’s legs. Disgusted, Mary made to close the door softly, but Mr. White turned his head around, still buried deep into the woman’s vagina. His mouth was smeared with blood and the woman she recognized as an intern had blood smeared on her neck.

  Mary turned and ran; a scream was caught in her throat. She wanted to vomit. What exactly did she just witness? Was the intern on her period while having sex with him? And the blood on his mouth? Mary didn’t understand. She needed to remove herself from the horrific thing she had witnessed as quickly as possible She hurtled through the office door and considered the elevators for half a second before she slammed through the door leading to the staircase. She could not hear anything but her own panicked breaths, she did not fully understand what she had seen—only that she had to place as many miles between her and the maniacal CEO as possible.

  Her heel caught on something and she tumbled down the stairs, her knee landing hard on the stairs and ripping open the nylon. Mary cried out as she slammed into the landing and gingerly felt her knee. Her hand came back wet. She clutched the railing and abruptly fell to her knees. Something had twisted in the fall.

  “Miss Kramar,” said a deep, somber voice.

  Recognizing him, Mary struggled to her feet and hobbled down the stairs. “Get away from me.”

  He descended the stairs slowly, looking a touch more dish
eveled than usual. He was not wearing his jacket. His sky blue shirt looked as if he had slept in it. His chestnut colored hair hung messily around his face and his lips were a deep red.

  Did I imagine it all? she wondered. Every instinct inside her screamed for her to run.

  “Stop moving, you’ll only hurt yourself,” he said as he approached her.

  “Don’t touch me,” she spat. “I’m going to tell everyone—if you don’t leave me be. I’ll sue you.”

  Matthew White threw back his gorgeous head and laughed at that. The sight was unnerving. His prominent canines, smeared with red, gleamed in the artificial light.

  “And who would believe you? Who would believe you over me?” He reached out with a tentative hand. “You are my employee, Miss Kramar. I pay you to do whatever I ask of you. I will not apologize for my behavior.”

  Mary shrank away from his touch.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to make everything go away.”

  The world and its problems melted away as Mary gazed into Mr. White’s eyes. She slumped against the railing, feeling suddenly tired. “That’s it,” he murmured into her ear.

  She allowed his arm to snake around her shoulder, unwillingly drawn to his touch. A question burned at her lips. “Why were you drinking her blood? Why was it all over your face?”

  He sat down on the steps, pulling her across his lap. She felt his chuckle reverberate through her back. “You must have imagined something.”

  She nestled against his chest, dimly aware that she was snuggling with the CEO of White Malls in a stairwell. “I guess so,” she said in a doubtful tone.

  “If you want to continue working for me, Miss Kramar, I suggest you do what I—” He stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. His head turned in the direction of Mary’s bleeding knee.

  “Goddamit.”

  The hypnosis burst like a pin to a balloon. Everything came rushing back to Mary: the girl, the blood, and her escape down the stairs. Her neck was bent over his shoulder—and Mary could hear him growling deep in his chest. She tried to sit up but his hands closed like pincers over her small arms.