Romance: Working for the Billionaire's Pleasure Read Online Free Page A

couch where he is slumped.
    “What are you doing here?” he asks again.
    “I’ve finished pricing for the album.”
    “Working at midnight?” his tone mocks me, “Nothing better to do?  No friends to see?”
    “Of course I’ve got something better to do!” I bite back.
    In reality, I don’t have anything better to do.  This is my world.  It always has been.
    “When you blush, it is so cute,” he is still mocking me.
    “Don’t call me cute,” I respond.
    “It must be hard for you.  Pouring your life into the business only to realize that you are a dispensable employee.  It must be hard to realize that you are worth nothing more than your wage.”
    His words cut through me.
    “Why buy this company if you don’t care about music?” I snap back.
    “That’s a good question.”
    “Then you should answer it.”
    He considers his thoughts and then replies, “It’s because I love success.  I love making money.  I wake up in the middle of the night to check my bank account. Every night. That’s how much I love it.  I haven’t slept more than three hours in a row for nearly ten years.  Every few hours, I wake, check my bank accounts on my phone and go back to sleep.  I love making money.”
    “It’s only money all that you care about?”
    “Money and power.  Never underestimate the value of power,” he looks off into the distance, “I love the control.  I love owning people’s lives.  I love owning people.  I have power in my hands.  If I choose to, I could crush the lives of one thousand people in a day.  I love that sort of power.”
    He has confessed more to me now than he would have told me if he was sober.  Probably more than he has ever told anyone.
    I study him. 
    His beautiful body couldn’t be more in contrast to mine.  His bronzed, strong, smooth physique is a contrast to my petite and pale look.  I don’t have time to go to the gym or get a tan – I am always working too hard.
    “Do you like what you see?” he notices my staring and it instantly makes me blush.
    “I should be going,” I react in embarrassment.
    Don’t be caught by the lust.
    “Where to?  Who have you got at home waiting for you?  Your parents?”
    “I don’t live with my parents!” I retort.
    “My apologies,” his smirk sends blood rushing through my body.  There is something different in his eyes.  I can’t quite tell what it is but there is something different about the way he is looking at me. 
    If I stay much longer, any resistance I have to his beautiful looks will go out the window.
    I turn to leave.
    “Don’t go,” he reaches out to me.
    I look down to his eyes and for the first time, I see the vulnerability. 
    He looks alone.  The walking picture of success looks vulnerable.
    “Stay here.  Talk to me.  Tell me anything.”
    “Like what?”
    “Where do you live?”
    I hesitate.
    “No, don’t tell me that.  Tell me something else.  Why did you end up in the music industry?”
    Should I respond?  Or should I walk out the door?
    “I started here because that was the first job I got out of school,” I open up to him, “I didn’t have a desire to go into the music industry but once I started here, I loved it.  I love supporting the industry.  Music gives joy to a lot of people.”
    “Joy,” Mitchell scoffs.
    “What’s wrong with experiencing joy?” I ask.
    “Joy, like happiness, is a fleeting experience.  It is there for only a moment before it is taken away by another emotion.  They are both useless emotions.” 
    “They are not useless…”
    “Power, on the other hand,” he interrupts me, “Power is long lasting.  Once you have power, you have that for a very long time.”
    I don’t respond to his philosophical comment.  I disagree with the comment so deeply, that I fear I would slap him if I responded.
    “Sit down,” he pats the couch next to him.
    Against my better judgment, I do as I’m told. 
    Slowly, I sit next to him and he moves his