Duet Part One - I Had The Money...
The woman she kept chatting with behind the bar was pretty. No, not pretty, stunning. Small, with short, cropped black hair. Pixie cut, I think they call it. The name suited her.
Over the next few days I’m sharing my Millionaire Seduction stories.
If you can’t wait, grab the book instead…
Millionaire Seduction
I Had The Money...
My first million.
I sat back and gazed at the zeros on my bank balance.
It happened. Just as I knew it would.
The school bullies, the social media trolls, the late nights, the stupid number of video calls and board room meetings. All of it had been worthwhile.
I did it.
Me.
Now was the time to celebrate.
Not shoving cocaine up my nose like so many of those ex-public schoolboys. I’d worked damn hard to get here and wouldn’t waste the rewards lining some dealer’s pockets. I was legit, and it felt great.
That’s one thing you never see millionaires say, yes millionaires, I’m one now. You never hear them say how fucking amazing it feels to be rich!
Maybe they haven’t had to work for it, like me. Trust me. It feels amazing to be rich.
I raised a glass to mum, whoever she was, wherever she might be, and then dived in the shower. In the best hotel in the city, the venue for my stock market launch.
They’d put me in the penthouse for free. Ironic that I could now afford to pay for it, but they wouldn’t take my money. Not this week. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that would last.
After my shower I dressed, dinner suit without the tie, no socks, just because, then I headed to the restaurant.
It was on the top floor, partially open air. The first thing that hit me when I exited the lift was how quiet it was. No sound of a kitchen and clashing pans, no chatter from over exuberant guests at the bar. It had the feel of a gentleman’s club, not that I’d ever been in one.
A couple of dedicated staff served me. They couldn’t do enough. It was taking some getting used to all this yes sir no sir stuff. I soon had to tell them to stop.
One of the staff kept calling at the bar on the way to and from my table. I couldn’t work it out at first. The woman she kept chatting with behind the bar was pretty. No, not pretty, stunning. Small, with short, cropped black hair. Pixie cut, I think they call it. The name suited her.
She had a line of tiny gold studs up the side of one ear, highlighted against her dark skin. False eyelashes a mile long. Apart from that, no jewellery and very little makeup. She gave off a confident, I know who I am vibe. I liked that. It’s the thing I look for when recruiting to my staff. No BS, just here I am. I’m good at what I do, take it or leave it.
I wanted to take it.
Mind you, I guessed maybe she had a thing going with my server. Now, how to tackle this. I didn’t want to get her in trouble. They’d have a strictly no fraternising rule.
Each time she reached up for a glass, or across the bar to wipe the counter, I got a glimpse of her defined arms, slim neck, small breasts, waist highlighted by the smart snug uniform.
When she chatted with someone, I watched her lips. A natural generous pout, animated speech, happy to smile.
Damn, I’d never been so instantly attracted to someone before.
I sipped my wine, tried not to allow my crotch to harden anymore than it was already. Grateful for the long tablecloth at my lap.
After I’d eaten, my server brought me a glass, poured from a dark, chunky bottle, and stood to wait.
I hadn’t ordered, explained they must be at the wrong table, but she told me it was from the bar manager. She was sure I’d like it.
McCallan single malt.
I’d never been a whisky man, but took a sip. It burnt, then it didn’t. Imagine comparing a plastic bottle of cheap beer with a top end artisan brew. They tasted so different. This was smooth. I’d never understood that term until that moment. Maybe I was a whisky man after all.
I raised my glass to the server, then to the bar manager. My gorgeous pixie at the bar.
She nodded, smiled, and walked away to serve another customer.
As I walked from my table, I’d decided I’d call at the bar to say thank you in person and drop my business card. Gutted!
By the time I got to the bar, she’d already left her shift. I’d missed my chance. I might be a millionaire but I couldn’t get a date!
I sauntered back to my suite alone to watch a movie.
As James Bond started his race against time and yet another car chase, I heard a quiet knock on the door. I hadn’t ordered room service. I turned down the TV, in case it was my imagination. It wasn’t. The second knock more confident.
I walked to the door. The floor was by card access only, but I still took the precaution of glancing through the peephole.
Pixie.
My crotch twitched, a smile half touched my lips. I yanked the door open. She looked up at me, then shoved her arm out and hit my chest with a bottle of the expensive McCallan whisky.
‘Ouch. Er, thanks?’
She laughed, blushed, and I heard her speak for the first time.
‘Sorry, I had all this planned out. What to say. But then you answered looking like that and…’
A slight accent I couldn’t place, maybe a mix of Australia and Asia. She looked me up and down, waved her hand at me to illustrate the point. The other still holding the bottle into my chest.
I glanced down. I was still wearing my black trousers, belt now unleashed. My white dinner shirt hung open. Naked feet and chest completed the image. My very own James Bond impression. I couldn’t have planned it better if I tried.
And believe me, I would have tried if I’d have known this was about to happen.
‘You’d better come in. Is this part of the service?’
I laughed, then realised as I watched the horror on her face that it sounded as if I thought she was here to service me. I hoped she was, but not in a paid way. More like in a ‘god you’re gorgeous I want to fuck you bandy’ kind of way.
I quickly retreated into the room, apologised, grovelled, panicked and took the whisky to the minibar, all in a rush of inexperience and embarrassment. Tried my best to make her realise I wasn’t a player. I was new to this.
Why did I care so much about what she thought?
I offered her a drink to make up for my clumsy thanks. Luckily, she accepted. She sat on the sofa, pulled her legs up beneath her and laughed as James Bond almost died again.
‘Oh, I love this one.’
We sat and watched the movie.
It was her last night at the bar. She was leaving to travel to a new job in Singapore the next day. She’d taken a risk on me. Didn’t have a clue who I was. No surprise there. That’s why she kept asking the server for information about me.
I ordered food, she ate, and I watched.
Her skill with chopsticks and enthusiasm for wonderful food made me want her more. I love to see people truly enjoy life, and food was, for me, a good part of that. It’s why I spend so long in the gym.
The movie ended.
We sauntered outside to sit on the huge balcony. Candles in fancy jars, storm lanterns, placed around the space. No doubt candle-lighting formed part of the evening routine for the unseen staff.
The patio sprawled out, almost as big as the room itself, the city lights bright below us.
We gazed down at the hotel pool far below, glowing bright blue. Midnight swimmers dedicated to their fitness regime.
She moved to my side, and we kissed. It seemed like the right thing to do.
I pulled her to me, my arms easily wrapped around her tiny waist. She reached up and her arms looped around my neck. Her lips soft, her tongue slowly wrapped around mine. Her hands dropped to my waist, and I felt her guide me towards the enormous round day bed.
I knew wherever she would lead, I would follow.
Over the next few days I’m sharing my Millionaire Seduction stories.
If you can’t wait, grab the book instead…
Millionaire Seduction