The Billion Dollar Contract: The Executive Collection (6 page)

Ethan Cole was a handsome man. A rich man. A man who made it clear he wanted to sleep with her, over and over. In the realm of the world it didn’t sound like a special offer. Yet Ethan was a very special man indeed.

Jasmine had to decide if she wanted to appeal to this man as a possible sexual companion or as someone vying to be his equal.

At her feet, Blackbeard yowled. Even he knew what a ridiculous consideration that was.
Of course I’m not his equal. I never will be.
The only way Jasmine would get that man to take her seriously was if she appealed to that base instinct. No time to wear a frumpy sweater-dress. Jasmine had to get out the nicest, sexed-up look in her wardrobe.

“My body’s a weapon,” she muttered as she unhooked a hanger in her closet and pulled out the only dress she had yet to finger that night. Silk. Red. Queen Anne. The skirt hugged her hips and legs until it ended above her knees. She had a pair of basic black shoes to wear with it, but deciding how she wanted to accentuate her bust was another matter. She could either leave it like it was, with her cleavage teasing of more to come, or she could put on a teardrop necklace and hope the illusion had Ethan Cole thinking of no one but her all night.

Jasmine went with nothing. The thought of something dipping into her cleavage all night was too much.

“Goodbye, Blackbeard.” She patted the top of her cat’s head before picking up her purse. “I’m off to sell my soul. And possibly my body. We’ll see how it plays out.”

The cat fell over on the bed, shaking the whole frame.

While it was not the first time Jasmine walked through her neighborhood dressed up after dark, it was the first time she was wholly aware of it. She was taking the bus to the opera house but still had to wait beside the street full of newspapers, fast food wrappers, and pieces of plastic that once belonged to all sorts of things. A skinny man wearing a wool hat shuffled around the bench where she sat but did not bother her. Until he took a call confirming that he “had the stuff.” Jasmine had never been so grateful for the bus’s arrival.

It was a fifteen minute ride to the opera house, during which Jasmine pulled out her phone and did the usual evening perusal of the local online job posting board. During this time of the day new ones went up, and if Jasmine was quick enough she could apply to everything she qualified for. Which she did on the bus, her thumb tapping “Submit” every time she found a job posting she could answer.

Submit. That’s what Ethan Cole wants me to do.

Nobody on that bus knew what had happened to Jasmine that week. Nor would they know, for the opera house came into view and the driver announced the stop. Jasmine was the only one who got off there.

There must have been a show going on that night, for a crowd of well-dressed people moseyed toward the building.
This was not thought through.
How was Jasmine supposed to find Ethan with so many people around?
He may have been the richest one here, but he was still a generic good-looking man in a designer suit when compared to the appearance of every other man under thirty-five in the surging crowd. Jasmine stood off to the side and took her phone out again. Maybe Ethan would text her when he arrived and saw this chaos for himself.

“Miss Bliss.”

That echoing voice reached Jasmine’s ear in another second. She looked to her right. There, parked along the side of the avenue, was a black limo recently shined. Standing outside the nearest back door was Ethan. His shoes were also recently shined, his hair styled, and his suit tailored to fit every turn of his body. With the soft light of the streetlamp pouring onto him, handsome shadows played upon his visage and admittedly made Jasmine weak in the knees.
That’s where it should end.
There was nothing wrong with some rich jerk arousing Jasmine on sight. She was human, after all. But she was about to get in the back of this limo with a man she barely knew. A man who was used to getting what he wanted.

“Please, allow me.” Ethan opened the door and motioned for Jasmine to step in. She was still a good ten feet away from the limo, and the occasional opera house straggler passed between them to beat the crowd. It wasn’t until a winter’s chill claimed her that Jasmine darted for the comfort of a well-heated car.

I’ve never been in one of these things before.
Not even for her senior prom nearly a decade ago. Jasmine had seen the interiors of limos plenty of times in the movies, but she had a feeling that this was a man’s custom and personal limousine. She curled up on the far side of a plush leather couch, complete with seatbelt that was probably never used, and stared in awe at the easy-on-the-eyes lighting, the flat screen TV that folded down from the ceiling, the small wet bar, and enough USB and electrical docks to play a million iPods, iPhones, and iArmies. Jasmine almost forgot where she was until she heard the door slam behind her and felt the limo lurch forward down the avenue.

“I take it you are well?” Ethan fixed his jacket as he relaxed into the leather seating. He did not put on his seatbelt.

Jasmine glanced away from the tinted windows and remembered who she was with. At this point she still had her red coat on, so Ethan Cole was looking right at her face. Or her hair, since her head was turned most of the time. “I’m fine. You?”

“Good. In response to both.” The limo already stopped at a red light. “We don’t have very far to go. I hope you like French food. The place we’re going to is one of my favorites.”

“I’ve never had French food before.”

“I see. Then it will be a good chance to broaden your horizons.”

Jasmine did not respond.
What do you say to a billionaire who wants to bone you?
Especially ones also trying to patronize her?

She kept her hands folded in her lap as she looked around the limo, sniffing the air freshener and running her hands along felt and leather. The ride was smooth, as she expected from a machine of this caliber, but she could still feel the familiar whirring of a car going down a busy road. If she didn’t do these things she would be forced to acknowledge the awkward silence in the limo.

“I’m glad you decided to discuss this with me,” Ethan said, pulling out his large smartphone and punching something in. When Jasmine became worried that he was going to ignore her for texts and emails, Ethan put his phone away again and crossed his legs. “I was worried that I had scared you off.”

“Let’s wait to discuss it when I have some food in my stomach.” Jasmine had not eaten since her light breakfast of fruit and toast.

“As you wish.”

The discomfort Jasmine felt as the limo cruised down the road was something that she did not think she would ever feel before. While thus far Ethan was the perfect gentleman, Jasmine had not forgotten his original terms. This man wanted a sub, and he wanted that sub to be her. Whatever his reason for choosing her did not matter. He could be psychic and decided that she was the perfect woman for him, including her beauty, her smarts, her humor, and the way she walked down the hallway. But it was not enough to entice Jasmine at the moment. She was aware that this man really only wanted her for one thing, and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to give up that one thing to him yet. Hence why she wanted to keep the business talk for the restaurant. If they were surrounded by people, even strangers, it was still better than being alone in the back of this strange man’s limo.

They continued to ride in silence all the way to the restaurant, which they arrived at about five minutes later. The limo pulled up along the curb, Ethan being the first to get out and insisting that Jasmine stay in the car. Like a proper gentleman, he rounded the car and opened her door for her. “Allow me, Miss Bliss.” Ethan extended his hand.

Jasmine was hesitant to take his hand into hers. This would be the first time they touched since their initial handshake, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. He probably had soft hands, the kind that hadn’t worked hard much of his life. She couldn’t imagine this man out toiling in any field, garden, or even yard. Did self-made billionaires still have to weed their own lawns? Of course they didn’t. Jasmine didn’t doubt that this man had about one-billion people working for him. A billion people for a billion dollars.

She was not disappointed when she took his hand and discovered that he must’ve used some special Dove soap. Or at least no special Dove soap she ever got at Target
.
You idiot. This man must buy soap from a different country altogether. Probably somewhere in Europe.
Disgusted, Jasmine got out of the limo and promptly took her hand out of his. She turned away with a huff, her purse swinging behind her and smacking him on the arm.

She didn’t know where they were going, so Ethan came up behind her, took her by the arm, and led her toward the French restaurant. Nevertheless, Jasmine refused to admit defeat, and kept her nose firmly up in the air as she walked in stride with his steps.

The maître d’ waited for them at the front of the restaurant. “Good evening, Monsieur. Would you like your regular table?”

“If it’s available, that is.” Ethan straightened his tie, as if he had to impress the maître d’. Jasmine rolled her eyes, and she was sure it would not be the last time that night.

“The table’s always reserved for you Sir.” The maître d’ winked at Ethan. They shared a knowing look, and Jasmine figured that this was not the first time they had an exchange like this in front of one of Ethan’s dates. Even when a billionaire, a man cannot help himself in trying to impress a woman.

And even though Ethan apparently owned this table in this fancy French restaurant, he still had the maître d’ escort them to the back of the restaurant. There the lights were low, soft even, but not too dim that Jasmine could not see what was going on. For one thing, there was nobody else around. No tables, no waiters, and certainly no cleaning staff or stragglers. This meant they would have plenty of privacy… exactly what Jasmine did not want that night.

Ethan pulled out Jasmine’s chair for her, while the maître d’ pulled out Ethan’s chair. Jasmine smoothed the length of her skirt along the back of her legs before she sat down. Menus plopped down in front of her, but Ethan did not look at his after sitting down. Instead, he seemed content to stare at her from across the table. Jasmine supposed that most women would be quite flattered to have such a handsome and disgustingly rich man stare at her for so long. Almost adoringly, really. He had the kind of look about him that could soften up most women. Jasmine, however, did not want to become his next victim so willingly. So she opened up the menu and read a bunch of French words she had no idea the meaning to. Although the corner of her mouth twitched as she tried to make them out, she remained resolved that Ethan would never catch on.

“If you need help with that,” Ethan said as he reached to take her menu, “I would be more than delighted to teach you some French tonight.”

“That won’t be necessary. I know Spanish.” Jasmine knew how ridiculous that sounded, but she retained her serious face and stared at the French words, intent on making sense of them. As long as she didn’t order a frog, she would be okay.

Whether Ethan thought she was stupid, funny, or anything else, he did not let on. But within another few seconds, he hailed over a waiter and ordered a bottle of wine and a meal. One last look at Jasmine told him what he had to do. He ordered something for her as well.

The waiter took both of their menus and walked away, leaving Jasmine to stare blankly at the table. “I could have figured it out,” she said. “First thing you should know about me is that I am a very quick learner.”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “It was on your résumé after all.”

They were silent again for a while. Jasmine pretended that she was not enthralled by the decorations of this French restaurant. She didn’t even know what the name was. And even if she did, she doubted she would know how to pronounce it. She would not give Ethan the satisfaction of telling her what it was, or how he had spent half his life in France growing up, or how he once had a French model for a girlfriend, or how he once made love to this French girlfriend speaking nothing but French.
Does he want to have sex with me in French?
Jasmine kicked herself for thinking of such a thing right now.

“Tell me, Miss Bliss,” Ethan said as he sloshed some water around in his glass. “What made you change your mind and decide to call me after all?”

Jasmine didn’t want to deign him with a response. But she had to say something eventually, so she said, “You have to understand my situation.”

“And what situation is that?”

I’m poor. I’m in debt. At the rate I’m going I will never see the unpolluted sunshine again.
“I don’t have many options,” she said. “I’m not going to say that I am desperate, but it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work for someone like you.”