Sweet for You: A BBW Billionaire Romance

A Taste of the Romance Inside

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

“W
ould you like to know what I thought when I saw you in the tasting room?” Stephen asked.

Abby was trembling. “Y-y-yes.”

“I thought you were stunning.”

“Stunning? Me?”

“Oh yes. I was quite taken by how your soft, blonde hair caressed your shoulders and how your sparkling blue eyes danced with mischief. And your lips...”

“What about them?” Abby asked with a soft sigh.

“From the moment I saw your luscious, pink lips taste my dessert, I’ve wanted to taste them in return.” Stephen reached out and traced Abby’s mouth with his fingertip, slowly, seductively. “You have enticing lips, Miss Branson. Plump, succulent, and very kissable lips.”

~~~

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~~~

T
he flyer was on a table at the back of room 106, sandwiched between a stack of business cards for a bariatric surgery center and brochures for a hypnotherapist specializing in weight management. The single sheet of lavender paper with the giant cupcake in the center caught Abby Branson’s eye. It read:

TASTE TESTERS WANTED

Get Paid Up to $1,000 for Your Honest Opinions

About a New Line of Gourmet Diet Desserts

Under the cupcake was a toll free telephone number to learn more.

Some company was paying people to eat dessert? Abby’s sweet tooth salivated at the thought, but she didn’t pick up the flyer.

She was in room 106 for the weekly BBW Support Group meeting. Although the table of literature might indicate otherwise, the group for Big Beautiful Women wasn’t about weight loss. It was about empowerment.

While Abby didn’t have any close friends in the group, she felt a bit of camaraderie with everyone there. The two dozen women in the room ranged in age from under 20 to over 50, and they all had one thing in common: curves. The BBW Support Group was one place where Abby didn’t feel self-conscious about her weight and where she was accepted for who she was rather than what she looked like. Plus, the free presentations were usually pretty interesting.

Tonight’s topic was plus-size fashion. The speaker would be discussing “How Curvy Girls Can Dress for Success” and hosting a virtual fashion show displayed on the big screen with before and after photos.

Abby was looking forward to the presentation. Her low-level admin job was getting old and she was thinking of applying for a higher position. Before she did, she needed to step up her game in the clothing department. Nobody was going to promote a lowly admin dressed in yoga pants and a tunic top to executive assistant, not even if she was a natural blonde with a pretty face.

Choosing a seat that had a good view of the screen, Abby took a spiral notebook out of her tote bag. While waiting for the session to start, she doodled, drawing a larger-than-life cupcake like the one on the flyer. Quickly flipping the page, she scolded herself for getting distracted.

Abby had never met a sweet she didn’t like: cookies, pie, chocolates, donuts, and yes, cupcakes. Sugar was her downfall and the main reason why her figure had curves. Well, that and the fact that she wasn’t willing to starve herself to fit into a size that was more socially acceptable. Even as a little girl, she had been chunky. Her mom chalked her weight up to genetics; Abby chalked it up to fate.

The year before turning 30, Abby had made the decision to stop beating herself up for being a BBW. That was when she joined the support group and began to discover how to embrace her curves.

The presentation was about to begin so she turned her focus away from the flyer to pay attention. The speaker introduced herself as Lois Carlyle. Like the rest of the women in the room, Lois was a BBW, yet her well-tailored suit downplayed her imperfections and highlighted her attributes. Her polished hair and makeup conveyed a level of class than nobody else in the room had.

As a public speaker, Lois was engaging. She soon had the group responding with claps and groans as she used humor to describe the challenges of dressing a plus-size figure and provided tips for shedding baggy styles and sweatpants.

Abby wished that her curvy little sister lived close enough to attend the BBW support group with her. Claire had a great sense of humor and would have loved watching Lois Carlyle in action. But the four hour drive round trip was just too much for an evening of empowerment, no matter how entertaining it was. 

Although Lois’ pep talk was empowering, the highlight of the evening was the fashion show. Like a supersized edition of
What Not to Wear
, the show brought Lois’ advice to life and Abby furiously scribbled down notes as she explained each model’s “Before” mistakes and “After” recommendations.

Lois concluded her presentation with a plug for her plus-size personal shopper business before opening the floor to questions.

“How much should we expect to spend on some of the wardrobe basics?” a woman at the front asked.

“The cost can vary depending on fabric quality, designer, and other factors,” Lois replied. “With a couple hundred dollars, you can certainly add a few separates to your closet. If you have a thousand dollars or more to spend, you should be able to buy the core items we talked about tonight.”

Abby’s heart sank.
A thousand dollars?
At her current salary, it would take her a whole year to save that much money. When the Q&A segment wrapped up, she was still dejected, but also determined. On her way out the door, she grabbed the lavender flyer from the back table and shoved it in her bag. One way or another, she was going to get the money to dress for success.

~~~

S
till energized by Lois’ presentation, Abby called the number on the flyer when she got home, expecting to get an automated messaging system.

“Operator,” a live voice answered.

“Oh...I would like extension 24906 please.”

“Please hold while I connect you.”

While orchestra music played in the background, Abby flipped through the latest issue of
Food Fest
magazine. The cover featured a dashing image of Stephen Blake with promises of a tell-all interview beginning on page 19.

Mr. Blake was a celebrity in female foodie circles, best known for inheriting the CEO position at Blake Foods, Inc. at a fairly young age and for dating skinny supermodels that clearly steered clear of the gourmet foods his company produced. Abby had harbored a secret crush on the food magnate for years and bought every magazine that interviewed him. She had even applied for an administrative position at his company once but didn’t get past the first round of interviews.

She had already read the
Food Fest
magazine interview and it certainly wasn’t a tell-all. In fact, it was nothing more than a thinly-veiled advertisement for the company’s gourmet foods. Yet with Mr. Blake’s image on the cover, she couldn’t quite bring herself to toss the issue into the recycle bin.

Touching the magazine, Abby wondered what it would be like to let her fingertips trail across Mr. Blake’s firm jaw in real life. Would his skin be smooth and supple, with a hint of musky aftershave? Or would there be a trace of roughness where his stubborn beard refused to be eradicated? Simply thinking about him made her heart race and her belly flutter.

While the orchestra music continued to play, Abby fantasized about meeting Mr. Blake. She stared at his picture on the magazine cover and pretended they were at a fancy ball.

Their eyes would meet across the crowded ballroom and he would look at her as if she was the only other person in the room. Looking breathtakingly handsome in his impeccably tailored black tuxedo, he would walk slowly but purposely toward her, never letting go of her gaze.

After complimenting her on her beauty, he would hold out his hand and ask her to dance. Leading her out to the dance floor, her gossamer gown with an empire waist would flow freely around her curves, and the fitted bodice, cut scandalously low, would highlight her ample cleavage.

He would twirl her around the dance floor, and the skinny girls with flat chests standing on the sidelines would secretly wish that their bodies were as luscious as hers so that, just maybe, he would ask them to dance next. As the orchestra music hit a crescendo, he would pause and pull her close, crushing her full breasts against his hard chest.

Time would seem to stand still as they both realized that they were meant to be together. He would bend his head and slowly bring his lips toward hers—

Just then, the music stopped and Abby’s fantasy vanished with it. After a series of clicks, another voice came on the line. “Research Institute. This is Mary. How may I help you?”

“Huh-hi Mary,” Abby stammered, turning the magazine over as she tried to regain her composure. “I picked up one of your flyers about a taste testing. Of desserts. For money.”

“Of course,” Mary replied pleasantly. “We do have a few spots left. Would you mind answering some questions to see if you qualify for our paid tasting experience?”

“I guess not,” Abby said, assuming that not answering would be cause for an automatic disqualification.

“Excellent. I can tell by your voice that you are a woman. Let’s start with your name.”

“Abigale Branson. But I go by Abby.”

“Perfect, Abby. Can you give me your age?”

“Twenty-nine.”
Don’t all women fudge their weight – and their age?

“So far so good, Abby. Your age is definitely within our target demographic.” Abby could tell by the way Mary kept repeating her name that she had a sales background. Frankly, she found the technique to be a little grating.

“Are you single, married, divorced, or other?” Mary asked.

“Single.”

“Fantastic. One more question, Abby, and we’ll be all set. What was the last diet food you purchased and when did you purchase it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know that question may seem a bit intrusive, but it’s one of the qualifying questions our client required us to ask. After all, this tasting experience is for a new line of diet desserts. I’ll understand if you prefer not to share your answer. But without it, I won’t know if you qualify.” Another sales technique: Dangle the carrot and then threaten to yank it back.

“Who is your client?” Abby asked.

“Blake Foods. Are you familiar with them? They’re a gourmet foods company based right here in the Pacific Northwest.”

Abby clutched the
Food Fest
magazine to her chest. “I’m more than just familiar with Blake Foods; I’m a bit of a fan girl. Will Stephen Blake be at the tasting experience? I would love to meet him.”

“Mr. Blake doesn’t usually get involved with these kinds of things, but if he does show up, I’ll see what I can do to make an introduction,” Mary promised. “That is, if you qualify. You never answered my last question.”

“Oh yeah, the last diet food I purchased. Just this morning I bought a sugar-free, non-fat latte,” Abby responded, leaving off the fact that she also bought a chocolate donut.

“Thank you, Abby, and congratulations! You have qualified for Phase I of our tasting experience. For this first phase, we need about an hour of your time. The pay will be $200 in cash. Are you available next Saturday?”

“Yes, I am,” Abby said, excited at the prospect of starting her new wardrobe fund.

“Wonderful. I’ve put you down for one o’clock in the afternoon. Now, if I can get your email address, I will send you directions to the Blake Foods tasting offices.”

B
y lunch time on Saturday, the Blake Foods product team was frustrated and bored. So far, none of the morning taste testers had offered useful feedback about their diet desserts.

First was Jeannie, the Nibbler. After nibbling on each dessert, her only comment was, “It tastes fine.” When Mary had asked her to elaborate, she couldn’t seem to find any other words to describe their desserts.

Next was Brenda, the Gobbler. Brenda was a big girl with a huge mouth who devoured each serving of dessert with gusto. She loved everything she had tried, but couldn’t quite put her finger on why. After Mary said, “Thank you,” and handed the taster her payment envelope, Brenda asked if she could box up a few treats to eat on the bus ride home.