Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire (Single and Sassy in the city Book 2)
Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire: Chapter 12

Ethan

I stare at the email that Sarah sent me this morning and read it for the hundredth time. Each time I read it, I don’t know what to think.

‘Is this woman crazy?’ I exclaim for what must be the tenth time.

‘Did she seriously ask me if I was going to bring dollars to the meeting on Monday?’

I want to chuckle because it’s kind of funny. But I know, as the boss, I can’t just let it go. I just don’t get her, and that is something that makes me uncomfortable. Normally, I know what a woman wants, especially from me. Normally, they want to win me over and bed me or try and catch me, as old-fashioned people would say, but Sarah Kahan, I have no clue what she’s really after.

Does she want me for a night? Does she want me for life? Does she just not want me at all? Is she just a weirdo? It’s looking very likely that she’s a weirdo, but I just don’t know. There’s something about how her blue eyes twinkle when she’s being sarcastic or angry and how the dimples in her cheek deepen when she laughs at something she thinks is funny.

It set off something in me when I saw those dimples; it made me feel proud that I brought them out and made her laugh. You wouldn’t even know she had dimples half the time because she always seems so judgmental and annoyed. Though, that thought is a bit of a stretch because I don’t know her very well, had never even noticed her before this week, so I don’t know if that’s how she always looks or conducts herself.

I stare at my response and wonder if she’ll reply.

‘Today’s meeting is back on. Meet me at my home address at noon.’

I don’t know why I suggested that. It had been impetuous and impulsive, and a gut reaction to her stating that she was interested in knowing how many singles I was going to bring to the meeting on Monday.

I should meet her in my office; that’s professional, but I feel like we’ve already crossed the line from professional. I feel like we’re teetering on an invisible line of flirtation, hate, and animosity all in one.

I can tell we both aren’t sure what to make of each other. I can also tell that she doesn’t absolutely hate me. There was a little bit of flirtation on her side, as well, but I know that she was cautious. I know that she also thinks I’m an arrogant prick, which isn’t surprising, as many women think that about me. In fact, it was a persona I craved, a way to keep the women at bay who believed they could break down my walls and get a sixth date with me.

I don’t know how she’s going to respond to my email. Maybe she’ll say she’s quitting. Maybe she’ll say she’s reporting me to HR for being too friendly. Though, that isn’t very true, my email was anything but friendly, but maybe she thinks I’m trying to solicit her.

I don’t know. It does make me slightly tense wondering what she’s thinking. I am about to email her again when I see that she responded. I open it immediately.

‘If I’m coming to your house, I need to know your address.’

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‘So, she’s coming,’ I mutter. I jump out of my chair, head toward my large floor-to-ceiling windows, and stare at the skyline. I don’t know why I’ve invited her to my place. I don’t know what the conversation will be about. I don’t know how to ask her about the personal ad and why she did it or her response about the money. I don’t know what she wants or what she’s expecting. All I know is that I want to see her. I want to talk to her, and I want it to be in an environment that isn’t one hundred percent work-related, which is weird because our conversation will be one hundred percent work-related.

I know I have no other option other than to be professional.

I’m not going to flirt with her any more than I already have. Perhaps this will be a test to see if the ad was truly a mistake or not.

Maybe she was testing the waters to see if I’d bite. So maybe I’ll test the waters to see if she’s trying to test me. Maybe this is a way for me to figure out if she’s just trying to catch herself a billionaire whose name is Ethan Rosser or not.

She most probably saw the article. In fact, hadn’t she told me she’d seen the article?

Interesting.

Maybe she thinks I’ll be the one to provide her the penthouse, which is definitely not going to happen. I don’t even live in a penthouse, though I could if I wanted to. I feel like it’s pretentious, and I am not pretentious. Well, not about most things. There is a certain element of pretentiousness that comes along with being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and having a Harvard MBA, but that is because of other people’s perception, not because of who I am. At least, that’s what I hope.

I text her my address and stand there for a few minutes. If she’s on time, she’ll be here soon. I need a shower. I need to have some coffee so my brain is switched on right, and I need to figure out why the hell I invited her to my place and what I’m going to talk about. I know I’m crossing a million ethical lines, and I know if anyone else in my company were to even suggest such a thing to one of my employees, I’d have HR fire them on the spot. But then again, I am the company.

I make the rules.

‘You should abide by the rules you set, Ethan,’ I mumble, trying to remind myself that I can’t cross the line. If my employees can’t cross the line, then I can’t cross the line. I pride myself on one rule for everyone at the company, one policy for all, open door talks, etc.

It’s just a different door that’s open now. I chuckle to myself and shake my head. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I figure I have… I look at my watch for a second… fifty-eight minutes to figure it out. Fifty-eight minutes to find a reason to have invited Sarah Kahan to my apartment. Fifty-eight minutes to find out everything I can about her online and in her HR file. Fifty-eight minutes to figure out if this woman is trying to pull my leg or if she’s just the biggest goofball. I think about the jingle we have to write for Lord Chambers and the conversation that we will have.

I can make the meeting about the jingle.

I can make the jingle part of the marketing plan for the new home renovation stores we’re about to open, which will sell ninety-five percent of our products. Many people in the company, including Sarah, don’t yet know about this launch.

However, maybe that’s the reason I can give her to having her come to my home instead of the office.

‘You got it, boy.’ I smile to myself as I head to my bathroom to shower.

I pull off my shirt and boxer shorts, turn on the water, and wait for it to get hot. I step in and take a big, deep breath as the hot water cascades down my body. I grab the shampoo, squeeze it into my palm, rub it into my hair, and close my eyes. All I can think about is Sarah in there with me, naked except for a thong and maybe some heels, dancing, grinding on me, taking her bun down and shaking out her hair, taking off her glasses and batting her big blue eyes, and then dropping to her knees and taking my cock in her mouth.

‘Fuck,’ I say as my palm finds my cock and starts moving back and forth. The last thing I need is to have a dirty fantasy about the woman that’s going to be in my apartment within an hour or so, but I can’t stop myself. I don’t even know what she looks like naked, but I’ve seen her shape through her clothes. She looks like she’s got a beautiful, curvy body, just the way I like; big boobs and a big ass. Fuck, I could fuck her so hard and so fast. I’d love to hear her screaming out in pleasure. I’d love to hear her calling out my name. I’d love to hear her begging me.

‘Oh, hell,’ I say as my hand starts moving faster and faster. ‘You’re in trouble, Ethan,’ I mumble as I explode into the shower, and my cum goes down the drain. I know it’s better for me to release my pent-up sexual desire for this woman now rather than when she arrives. The last thing I need is to suggest that she earn those singles today while grinding on my lap because, even if I’m joking, I don’t know what will happen.

There’s a part of me that feels like she’ll slap me across the face and tell me off, and another part of me feels like she’ll be delighted by the offer and give me the lap dance of my life. I already know she’s got the moves. I’ve already seen her swinging her hips. I’ve seen her parted lips and sweaty brow. It would be very hard to stop her if anything got going.

It would be even harder to stop me. In fact, I know there would be no stopping me. The last thing in the world I need right now is a lap dance from Sarah Kahan, because I don’t know what would come after that.

Or maybe the problem is, I do know. Maybe the problem is that I kind of want it to happen. I know it can’t. She knows it can’t. I cannot cross that line. No matter how badly I want to. I don’t even know how I’d tell her about my five-night rule. Though, I know I’d enjoy each and every one of those nights. I’d savor them. I’d have her coming so hard, that she’d realize she’s never had an orgasm before me.

But I know I can’t go down that road. Not at all. It would be bad news. I have to focus on work. Like always. Work is what is important.

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