Rush (Billionaire Bared: Rush) (Erotic Romance) (3 page)

“I…. Thank you, Eric.”

I turned to walk out, my legs wobbly, and my mind racing. I heard Eric Gambit pick up his glass of scotch.

“Wait,” I spun around to ask one final question. “My predecessor… what happened to her? Why was she fired?”

I had to know.

“Fired?” Eric laughed. “She received an offer from a competitor, and in response, I promoted her – she works at the LA branch now. From what I’ve heard, it was her dream to live there.”

“She was… promoted?”

“Let me guess,” he said, walking towards me, a smile framing his perfect set of teeth. “You were told some scandalous story taking place in this office?” He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me around towards the door.

“You’ve been hazed. Congratulations. My driver will take you to collect whatever belongings survived the fire from your hotel. Then he’ll show you to the pool house. That’s where you’ll be staying. Don’t let the term ‘pool house’ fool you however, it’s a fully furnished, full-sized flat. It’s just crying out for someone to live there.”

He gave me a light push towards the door
. Of course the story wasn’t true
. What a dolt I had been, falling for that. My mind flashed with anger for Lillian, who would surely be laughing if she knew I asked Eric directly about the office sex scandal.
Damn it
.

But, wow, I liked the feeling of his hands on me as he nudged me towards the open door.

“I won’t be there tonight, as I’ll be away on business. Most nights, actually, you’ll be totally alone. If you need something, my butler works full time in the main house, but you won’t see him unless you go inside the house looking. Help yourself to whatever.”

“I… thanks again, Eric. This really is too much.” I said, and turned my head to smile meekly.

“Like I said, I take care of my own. I have a feeling you’re going to like it there,” he said as he pushed me out the door with a light shove. “And no more of this one-cream-no-sugar garbage. Don’t make me tell you again.”

I turned back, and he winked as he closed the door.

I felt a flush creep over my entire body, starting at the wet spot between my thighs, and spreading to my hands and feet and head.

I must have floated back to my desk, because I barely took notice of Lillian following me, asking about what just happened.

“He wasn’t happy with his coffee order. Apparently, he said it was agitating him and costing him business.”

“Well, that’s a little harsh. Blaming something like that on you?” Lillian leaned back and looked at the door, shaking her head. “Very harsh. Not really like him, actually.”

“At least I wasn’t sprawled naked on his desk, though.”

“Ahem. Yeah. At least.”

Now the image in my mind was of me lying across Eric Gambit’s desk, wearing nothing but a necktie…

Chapter 5

I set my suitcase down with a clunk on the stone patio that encircled the pool house on Eric Gambit’s estate. To my left, the pool was aquiline and wrapped the front end of the patio like a semi-moat – complete with a tasteful stone waterfall, always running, always soothing. The sound of the waterfall’s gentle splashing filled my ears and I closed my eyes for a moment to let my other senses breathe. Chlorine; I smelled the chlorine. And the light scent of coconut sun tanning lotion – no wait, I was only imagining that. It seemed to go hand-in-hand with the chlorine scent. I felt the sun beating down on my skin; today was a real scorcher, and the rest of the week promised no less heat.

I wished my bikini had made it out of the fire. This pool was to die for.

As I took in the sights around me, the only term that came to mind was ‘
Gatsby-esque’
. I floundered about my words as I tried to describe it in my head, eventually deciding that ‘
Breathtaking’
would have to do.

Eric Gambit’s own mansion was the pinnacle of luxury; it looked startlingly foreign to me, a city girl, as I approached the estate. Big white walls, paved stone-white driveway, and a garage the size of any mansion I’d ever seen before. The main building looked quite a bit like some of the larger houses I’d seen while visiting my aunt in California – the sprawling boxy kinds, with big windows, that seemed to stretch to fill the entire lot they occupied.

But Eric Gambit’s was bigger in every way; the walls were both taller and wider, the windows larger and more numerous. Actually, the biggest similarity between them was the fact that Eric’s mansion retained that cube-inspired design; the house was all straight angles and squares. I think that’s what made me draw the initial comparison.

Beyond that, Gambit’s estate was a veritable wonderland for a girl like me. I could just imagine lounging on his patio in his backyard, tanning, with a margarita in hand. Sunglasses propped up over my forehead, eyelids tanning – because why not, I don’t want that damn sunglasses tan that I always got every year when I went to the beach.
Every damn year
.

I suddenly realized that if I spent as much time tanning here as I wanted to, everyone in the office would think I’d been laying on top of my apartment building – or that I’d been fake tanning.
Ah, fake tanning
- in this day and age, it was becoming more and more of a crime as people became more health-conscious. Those things give you cancer, did you know?
Yes, we all know
.

The pool house itself was bigger than my aunt’s manse. It wouldn’t have been out of place in a real estate magazine listing million-dollar mansions. But as magnificent as it was, it didn’t hold a candle to the main house – which was like ten mansions put together.

 I supposed one mansion would suffice to house me.

I put the key in the white wood door that I considered to be the front door, as it faced the pool. The keyhole clicked. It worked! Somehow, I thought that as soon as I put the key in, I’d realize that this whole thing had been a joke played on me. And I would have laughed along with my coworkers as they sprung up from the bushes, because what else could I do? It was funny –
Ha ha
. Why else would the billionaire bachelor Eric Gambit give me the reigns to his pool house?

But somehow, the key worked, and the door silently nudged open. As I stepped inside, I realized I had not used the front door at all – merely the pool door. I was in a change room of sorts.
Woops
. I waddled past the rows of towels and changing stalls (this place was designed for parties, I noted) and into the main foyer.

Then I saw the front door, a spectacular creature of white polished wood and glass, reaching all the way to the top of the rather high ceiling of the flat. Seashell inspired artwork filtered through the entire floor. An interior decorator had a field day with this nautical theme. I laughed; the place was beautiful, but the seashells were oddly tacky. I made a mental note to change them. Then I snapped back to my sense –
you don’t get to change anything, Emma!
You are a guest, not a permanent resident.

The flat was beautiful otherwise. Richly-dyed antique rugs at the center of each room over a hard-wood floor. Attached to the living room was a boutique-styled reading room, dimly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. There were four bedrooms - each with a walk-in closet - four bathrooms, a spacious living room and kitchen, as well as a sliding panel in the wood that could be activated to access a special theatre room, in which it seemed Eric Gambit had collected every movie ever released on film reels. Or, at least every movie I could possibly imagine.

I took a look at the kitchen, each appliance appeared to be sparkling new and unused; the fridge was fully stocked – it was prepared for me. A bowl of fresh fruits graced the wooden kitchen table. Letting go of my suitcase, I picked up a peach. It was soft and perfectly ripened. After taking a bite and letting the juices dribble down my chin, I noticed I was starving.

I looked at my nemesis, the stove – there was a note.

Careful. –Eric

Cute.

I unpacked my things and set up shop in the bedroom that I considered to be the master bedroom. I thought it was slightly larger and more prominently located than the others, but I could be wrong. My only experience with home-owning had been my apartment. And I burned that down, so.

Mental note: don’t burn down Eric Gambit’s pool house.

I wondered if placing me in the pool house was some kind of subtle jab.
In case of fire, jump in the pool.

“This place is a dream,” I said to no one in particular as I sprawled out on the bed, content with my lot in life.

The next few days were as easy as Eric had promised. The driver waited for me each day to and from work, and life around the estate was both relaxing and fun. Work was great. Things continued to go well, although Lillian repeatedly asked where I was staying.

“My cousin’s apartment. She has a spare bedroom.”

“What street?”

“It’s just a street over from my old place.” I tried to think of what street was parallel to my old apartment.

“And the name of the street is?”

“Lillian, you know I’m bad with street names.”

That much was true.

But as far as I could tell, no one seemed to know I was living at the boss’s pool house. The only problem was I got a little lonely. Eric Gambit was not kidding when he said he was never home. And the mysterious butler, who I’d only heard of, strictly spent his time on the main property. I wasn’t about to become the unwanted guest and trouble him. No, I would just keep to myself, and in turn, keep myself out of trouble.

I didn’t even masturbate – although I wanted to. It felt too strange to pleasure yourself when you were a guest at someone’s house. And even though the thought of Eric Gambit and his perfectly shaped features made me feel tingly all over, I couldn’t bring myself to touch my lady bits in his own pool house.

Although I came close.

One morning I woke up, and I was humping my pillow, rubbing it along my clit over my pajama pants. I was dreaming of Eric Gambit. I had dreamt he came home, stumbled drunk into the pool house, and took me right then and there, scotch still on his breath.

Just thinking about Eric Gambit made me hot. So hot in fact, that I thought it might be refreshing to dip my feet in the pool. Okay, maybe it was just an excuse to sit poolside.

For whatever reason, I still hadn’t bought a bathing suit. I didn’t want Eric Gambit to finally come home and catch me swimming half-naked, watching the sway of my bikini-clad breasts as I pulled myself from the pool to gather my towel.

I’d rather he stop by and see me perusing literature in the reading room, or hell, even proof-reading some paperwork from the office. I desperately wanted to make a good impression.
I’m more than just a pretty face and a pair of tits, Eric.

And my inner-Lillian would nod approvingly.

Oh God, my ‘inner-Lillian’?

I had clearly spent too much time alone.

Screw it, it was getting dark. Time for bed.

I went into the living room, and placed my hand on a wooden panel to steady myself while I put on my slippers. The panel unlatched and slid across the wall, spilling me onto the floor, and revealing an entire row of expensive bottles of alcohol.

As I steadied myself, I studied the various labels glossed over the glass bottles of gold, white, and copper liquids. Whiskeys, ports, madeiras, cognacs, rums, gins, tequilas, brandies.  Running my fingers along the clinking bottles, I landed on a clear brown liquid labeled Mezcal. The rest of the writing on the label was Spanish, and at the bottom of the bottle sat a thin white worm, drowned in booze.

“The tequila with the worm in it?” I’d only heard of it before, and never tried it.

Looking at the dust on the panel and bottles, I wagered that Eric Gambit had not opened this wall panel in months and months. Never the less, some bottles had been opened and drank from, as evidence from their varying degrees of fullness or emptiness. This was a collection – but meant for drinking. Why else would he place it in the ‘party’ house?

The body of Mezcal itself was already opened.

Maybe I could take a shot before bed?

Just to see what it’s like.

Chapter 6

Eric Gambit had told me to make use
of whatever I wanted or needed. What if I needed a little help easing myself to sleep? Surely he’d appreciate my adventurous nature.

Besides, it wasn’t a big deal. He wouldn’t even notice, truth be told, if one tiny sliver of liquid disappeared from his collection, right? I had the bottle in my hand, and was slowly moving towards the counter in the kitchen as I deliberated.

“To drink, or not to drink,” I said aloud. “That is the… question.”

I opened the cupboard, and pulled out a shot glass. Alright, where’s the lime?

I seized the cupboard drawer and pulled out a cutting knife, placing it upon the cutting board on the counter. In one swift movement, I plucked a lime from the fruit bowl and began to slice. Within a few seconds, I had little slices of lime all lined up along the counter, a shot glass at the ready, and a salt shaker to tie the whole thing together.

Okay how did it go? Tequila – then salt – then lime? Or salt – then lime – then tequila? No, the lime was definitely last. I knew that much.

Salt
. I licked a swab of salt from the back of my hand.
Tequila
. I downed the glass of light rusty liquid.
Lime
. I bit into a slice of lime to drown the sharp alcoholic taste of the mezcal. I kept my teeth pinched into the lime as long as possible, dribbling the juice down my face as I waved my free hand about in the air, trying to fan away the taste of the tequila.

And I made it! One shot down the hatch. I thought back to my college years, where a night of booze always led to misadventure. Tequila nights, in particular, were the worst. I found myself missing some of the girls I used to know from school and parties. I wondered where they were now; we always had plans to go to clubbing once we had turned twenty one, and now here I was – twenty one, and still I’d never been to a bar or club.