Paranormal Curves (BBW Collection) (10 page)

Billionaire Wolf Desire

              The
view from Seattle’s “Sky City Restaurant” is spectacular, and this was the first time I’d taken the time to appreciate my hometown. I guess I’m like all those New Yorker’s who’ve never been to the Statue of Liberty. Tonight I felt like a tourist, everything was new and exciting.

Dinner had been perfect. This was my third date with Craig and I was lowering my guard and raising my expectations. He was a good-looking guy, not movie star handsome, but he had character.

Does it sound strange that I’m surprised to be with a handsome man? Truth be told I’m a big girl and for us dating can be a minefield. I’d tried Internet dating but no matter how many times you prepare someone you can sense the disappointment when they see you for the first time. There are certain guys who embrace the whole big girl concept. I’ve encountered a few of those “chubby chasers” and it’s not cool. To them I’m not a person… I’m a fetish.

Big girls like me get objectified on both ends of the scale. To those who worship Hollywood concepts of beauty I’m a moped; fun to ride but you don’t want your friends to see you on one. For the “chasers” I’m not a person, just their favorite porn site personified. Neither one makes for a comfortable evening.

But Craig was different; we were two normal people with a growing attraction.

“You know Shelly, sometimes I think I picked the wrong part of the business,” he said smiling, “On this Boeing project only fifty percent of the budget goes to hardware, the rest is all navigation and guidance, and most of that’s just software. Nobody remembers us poor little guys designing the engine.” He stopped for a moment and laughed, “I’m sorry, engineers always forget how boring our jobs sound.”

He wasn’t boring me at all and it was nice to be with someone who wasn’t defined by his job. “Don’t worry,” I replied, “Whenever I’m on a plane I always think about who built the engine, or at least who screwed it onto the wings.”

“Those are just glued on… sometimes we only use duct tape,” He replied smiling.

We both laughed at our dumb jokes, happy to be sharing time together. The initial dating awkwardness had melted away so we could be our true nerdy selves and believe me… I’m the uber-nerd. On paper I’m a Biochemist, but technically I’m a Genetic Engineer. That sounds like a scary “Blade Runner” kind of job, so I just stick with Biochemist. I have my own business, one of thousands of small, privately run research facilities scattered around the country. We don’t advertise on “Yelp”, but there’s more of us out there than you might think. Most of them do pretty mundane stuff, but I’d gotten lucky.

I used our brief moment of silence as an excuse to touch his hand. It felt natural and right. “How’s your family doing,” I asked, knowing that family was his favorite subject.

“My sister had a little trouble with work, but it turned out fine. She’s twenty-two now and feeling really independent so she kind of drifted away from contact. Since she had that trouble we’ve been talking every other day. I think you need these little problems to remind you of what’s important in life.”

Did you hear that guys… family… important. Us gals like that. It’s like a first class ticket to our panties.

Craig continued for a bit, idealizing his sister to the point of sainthood. I’m willing to bet she’s hell on wheels in real life.

We finished our meal and spent time quietly admiring the view and finding excuses to accidentally on purpose touch hands. I may not be the most world’s most active dater but I still recognized the signs. I’d done an early spring-cleaning on my place, in case that became our destination. I even checked the expiration date on the stash of emergency condoms. I’m kidding, there’s no expiration date on condoms… except maybe the day you get so depressed seeing them collect dust you toss em.

We rode the elevator down, our bodies pressing against each other despite it being almost empty. There was electricity between us.

We walked the two blocks to where I parked in a non-awkward silence, there was plenty to say but it could all wait. When we reached the parking lot Craig took my hands and pulled me close. Our tentative kiss swelled to a passionate embrace, lips locked, tongues exploring. Then he pulled away so fast you could practically hear our lips popping apart.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said sounding breathless.

“So did I. I thought we might spend some more time, see how things progress?”

“I’d love that, I really would… but I have to go.”

“Are you okay?” Even in the dim street lamps he suddenly looked pale and sweaty.

“I’ll be fine, but I have to go,” he said leaning forward, giving me one last kiss. Then he turned and quickly walked around the corner without looking back. I stood there for a moment, wondering if it was something I did or said, but drew a complete blank. I got in my car to make a mature, dignified exit.

“
Shit
, shit, shit,” I yelled, pounding on the steering wheel… so much for a dignified exit. God damn it though, he was a great guy and quite honestly I was really horny. After six months of nothing my body had started revving up during the salad course. Now I was driving down the I5 alone… again. As a big girl I tend to blame things like this on my weight, part of the low self esteem society ingrains into us. If only I was thin, then I’d have a man, people would admire me, I’d be piloting a space ship… crap like that. There was no point in beating myself up or wallowing in self-pity. The only thing to do in a situation like this is head for the office and lose myself in work.

I arrived at the old candy factory that housed my office. Go ahead, big girl, candy factory… funny right? It was a beautiful brick building from the 1920’s on the outskirts of what had been the Seattle’s industrial district, now home to condos for self entitled MBA’s.

I pulled around back to the garage entrance and punched the key code into my phone. The clanking roll up door rose slowly. Though it looked and sounded ancient, in truth it was a modern, state of the art security gate. Our boss had ordered the installers to make it look old and battered to avoid attracting attention. Clever fellow.

Funny thing is I had no idea who my boss was. My salary, the building and everything inside were paid for by an anonymous corporate entity. Everything was legal and my weekly paycheck had deductions and withholding like anyone else’s. Hell I even had a 401K plan and full dental.

Pulling into the basement garage I noticed my assistant Denise’s car was still there. I swear that poor girl never sleeps. I took a look at her battered Honda Civic and decided I better get her a raise.

On the elevator ride up I pondered how strangers might react to what we publicly call “the office”. They’d probably think they’d stumbled into an episode of “Breaking Bad” and call the FBI. By the way private labs are always referred to as “the office” or “the store” to deflect unwanted attention from larcenous junkies looking for drugs.

As I stepped out of the elevator I took a moment to admire my second home. The former factory was jammed with chrome-plated machinery and polished glassware, all gleaming under the soft muted light of twenty huge salt-water aquariums housing my live specimens. The combined hum of machinery with the bubbling of the aquarium filters gave it a peaceful, Zen feel. It was nice place to spend every waking hour… which I pretty much did.

Denise was at her station pouring over data. After tonight’s disappointment I envied her naturally thin physique and wondered how she kept it considering she ate enough licorice every day to keep the “Twizzler” company in business.

She gave me a puzzled look, “Hey Shelly, I thought you had a big date tonight?”

“It ended earlier than I expected,” I said, barely hiding my frustration. I walked over to the aquarium housing my prize specimen, “Any progress on our expectant father?”

“Nothing yet, but Bob should be birthing within the next twenty four hours.”

Before you decide I’m some wanna-be “Doctor Mengele” let me clarify that my “live specimens” are all Hippocampus; more commonly known as seahorses. There are a thousand reasons seahorses’ are ideal for genetic research… and they’d all bore you senseless. Oh, the expectant father thing isn’t some weird gender experiment I concocted. Male seahorses naturally carry the fertilized eggs.

We called our prized seahorse Bob, because using cartoon character names makes our scary work seem all warm and fuzzy. I’d genetically altered Bob through Gene Shooting with a mix of actual gold and light emitting jellyfish DNA. The process transformed him into a radiant golden seahorse that was a sight to behold. But he wasn’t just a pretty face; the alterations had also made him resistant to toxic pollutants and bacteria that could eventually make seahorses extinct. Unfortunately being a golden glowing seahorse was like wearing a neon sign on your back saying, “Hello predators, please eat me!” But then Bob did something in response that defied all the laws of genetics.

I tapped lightly on the aquarium glass and Bob shut off his golden glow, like a light switch.

Denise smiled at me, “Can’t resist making Bob do his trick can you?”

“Sorry, but it still amazes me. I mean we made him glow, but that must have triggered some forgotten component in his DNA…”

“That allows him to turn the glow on and off” Denise chimed in, “something no known species is capable of.”

I realized I must have said the same thing a thousand times, “Hey, if I wanted a parrot…”

“… You’d genetically engineer yourself one!” And we laughed, because that’s what passes for humor in a genetics lab. See why we never get invited to the cool kids parties?

We had analyzed DNA samples from Bob in his glowing and non-glowing states. For all intents and purposes they were entirely different species- a scientific impossibility. Here’s a simple explanation of why that can’t happen. Over thousands of years a grizzly bear can evolve into a polar bear, because a white bear can hunt more successfully in the arctic. That’s all part of natural selection… thank you so much Charlie Darwin. But a grizzly bear cannot evolve into a mountain lion because he doesn’t possess the right genetic raw material. No creature can become two species at the same time. But somehow Bob had done just that… though it would have been way cooler if he was a grizzly bear that glowed in the dark. 

I stared at my genetic wonder pony, “Pretty soon we’ll find out if he’s passing his superpower onto the next generation. If he doesn’t that means he’s a one of kind mutation, if he does we’ve created a dual species… so hurry up and give birth Bob, cause you’re killing us here!” Needless to say Bob didn’t respond, so I scrambled around for something to occupy my mind. “Did we hear anything from ‘Fearless Leader’ today?” That was the clever name I’d given our mysterious benefactor.

“Yeah, three emails” Denise replied, sounding bored, “But all the same thing, ‘inform us the moment anything develops’. They’re really chomping at the bit aren’t they?”

“Yeah… whoever they are.”

“Does it ever worry you?” Denise asked inquisitively, “I mean not knowing who we’re actually working for, or why they want this research done?”

“No… maybe… sometimes. But we’re not doing anything that could be weaponized or harm anyone. If we succeed we’ll be able to eradicate genes that lead to cancer, or preserve endangered genes of animals heading for extinction. We can help humanity and the animals we’ve almost destroyed. Deep down I hope that our benefactor shares that ideal.” I took a moment to ponder my deep thought, “Plus, how many people can order a Genetic Sequencer or Indonesian Jellyfish DNA and have it arrive the next day… no questions asked? That’s pretty sweet.”

“I guess it beats academia where you have to blow the dean just to get Xerox paper.”

“Exactly, and please, never blow anybody for Xerox paper, cause you might still run out of toner.”

Feeling restless I turned on the flat screen monitor. When I get frustrated I’m like a teenager on too much Ritalin; I need some background distraction. I channel surfed to the all news network, “Let’s see if anything important happened today, like World War Three, or Kim got a boob job.”

It was business news, which usually bores me… except when it’s about Jonas Nilsson. Maybe it was because he was incredibly handsome, or because he was worth over a billion dollars or because he was a genius with a slight but very sexy European accent. Who am I kidding? It was because he was an incredibly handsome-billionaire-genius-with a sexy accent. Call me superficial.

Nilsson had been on the cutting edge of every tech development for the last decade, and today he was unveiling his company’s latest consumer breakthrough. It was a mobile device light years ahead of the competition. According to the news his stocks had just risen from very high to orbiting around Jupiter.

Jonas Nilsson stood before a crowd of media, marketing executives and techno groupies. He wore an impeccably tailored suit, his hair showed traces of silver that enhanced his piercing gray eyes. I read somewhere that gray eyes indicate a personality that doesn’t visualize the world in black and white but understands the subtle nuances other’s miss. It’s considered a sign of inner strength, analytical thinking and leadership. Being a genetics geek I know it means that a recessive ocular gene came to the forefront during fetal development… Did I mention that we don’t get invited to cool parties?

“Today we introduce a revolution in personal technology,” Nilsson said with practiced confidence, “But more importantly it is a breakthrough in communication, a way to unite people across the globe allowing them not only to share voice, images and messages but also their thoughts, hopes and dreams. Communication is the only thing that can unite humanity, bringing us closer to a new age of enlightenment. I hope that in some small way we will contribute to that enlightenment.”

His charisma was undeniable. I flashed back to college literature courses, recalling Anthony’s speech from ‘Julius Caesar’ ‘I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him’. Anthony took a simple eulogy and used it to turn Rome against Caesar’s assassins. Nilsson was taking a retail gadget and using it as a clarion call for peace and unity. I hoped that deep down his message was sincere.

Denise must have noticed my schoolgirl crush expression, “He’s a fascinating man isn’t he? I mean to have accomplished so much so young?”

“True, and most people don’t even know about his real breakthroughs. I mean half the stuff orbiting the earth uses his technology. Hell half the stuff in this lab probably has his fingerprints on it.”

The news report shifted to the public persona of Jonas Nilsson. The exotic car collection, the luxury villas, the private planes he piloted himself and, of course, the endless parade of supermodels and Hollywood starlets that hung on his arm. 

“See,” I added, not hiding my annoyance, “Why do they only focus on the cars, girls and planes?”

“I guess when someone’s that powerful people want to know about him.”

I shook my head, “But that stuff’s all image, I’ve never seen anything that defines the man himself. Even his company biography only lists his place of birth as Sweden… how vague is that? He could be a damn Volvo for all we know!”

Denise just grinned.

“Not that I spend hours studying him, I’m just saying… ” But my justifying babble trailed off.

To be honest I’d studied Nilsson intensely, and not just because of his looks and wealth. There was something commanding about him; the alpha male personified. Even on television his gaze went right through you like a shot of truth serum. But those piercing gray eyes somehow seemed… haunted. Jonas Nilsson was like looking at the pyramids; a solid object and a mystery rolled into one.

“So you do find him interesting?” Denise asked, pressing the issue.

“Honey I would definitely blow him, no Xerox paper required. So now that I’ve confessed can we get back to work? I mean you’ve only been here sixteen hours for goodness sake.”

I shut off the monitor and the sudden dimness revealed that Bob’s tank was now filled with sparkling lights the size of pinheads. There must have been three hundred newborn “fry” whirling around, exploring their new world. The proud poppa seemed to be glowing brighter than ever.

I looked at Denise and nervously approached the tank, the moment of truth. I raised my hand and gently tapped on the glass. Three hundred glowing fairy lights snapped off as one.

Almost shaking I turned to Denise, “We’ve done it, I don’t quite know how but we’ve created a dual species!”

“A shifter,” Denise said in whispered reverence.

I had never heard that term before, “Well I guess you could call them that. Okay, we should leave them be and file our report. I hope fearless leader is sitting down when he gets it.”

The next two hours was a whirlwind of data compilation, email messages and burnt coffee. By midnight we’d transmitted all of our findings. Fifteen minutes later we received a three word email reading “congratulations, sleep well” followed by silence.

“I guess we’re done for tonight,” I said to Denise, “So why don’t you go home, I’m going to wrap up a few things.”

Even the inexhaustible Denise looked beat, “No argument from me, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She picked up her bag and headed for the door.

“Technically it’s already tomorrow morning, so get some sleep and come in around 1:00PM.”