One Weekend with the Billionaire

u

o take the subway. I'm afraid I might get harassed. So I splurge on the taxicab ride. O

the Christmas party I attended here last December. I had worn a red dress I'd bought just for the occasion. I remembered thinking I looked pretty nice, but Jeff was out of sorts all night because he did not like the amount of c

. The bodice has thin straps, and it shows the tops of my breasts, a

not answered any of them. I send him another one, letting him know I've arrived. I don't know where to go once I wa

ances at me and then does a double-take, hanging up the phone quickly. "Yes, miss?" he says, lookin

ssociates," I explain. "My husband is waiting for

e name?" h

me. Does he want to know my name or my husbands?

?" he

e," I tell him

rty-fifth floor," he says. "That

n head to the elevator, pushing the correc

five past. Since most people don't want to be early or exactly on time, I was assuming a lot of

even some dancing. Trays of drinks and snacks are coming by on the hands of waiters and waitresses dressed in matching uniforms. I look around for Jeff but don't see him anywhere.

way. Braxton Merriweather, the Chief Executive Officer of Jeff's company, one of the richest men in the world and the most eligible bachelor in our city, which is say

husband leaning against a wall with a drink in his hand, talking to a couple of other guys. They are laughing and carrying on, and i

tely don't want to make him angry, I swallow my agitation down and make my way across the room to