Entangled To The CEO

Rainer’s [POV]

“Give me the weekend, and I promise I can have this place feeling like home,” the interior designer said. She smiled and me as she took my arm and led me through the marble-floored foyer.

“Wow, that’s some echo,” I said.

My voice bounced off the gleaming floor and seemed to reach up to the arched dome above the crystal chandelier. The interior designer patted my arm.

“A nice Berber rug will solve that. Let Sheila take care of you.”

Sheila squeezed my arm with another flirtatious smile as we clattered through the foyer and up the curved staircase to the second floor.

There we paused to look over the balcony to the great room.

She listed a hundred changes she was going to make, totaling god knows how much money, but I still wasn’t convinced.

The Presidio Heights mansion was outstanding, but it was cold, and her voice rattled through the empty spaces.

It looked more like a blank gallery space, or maybe a museum. I knew I could spend a million more and the mansion would never feel like a home.

A memory nagged at me: the childhood weekend I had spent at my classmate’s house. It was a small, two-bedroom bungalow in the East Bay hills.

I remember every room was jammed packed with books and photographs.

The floor was littered with shoes and toys, and everywhere I went I ran into someone. I had always been jealous of that home.

“Or would you prefer brick?” Sheila asked.

“I’m sorry, what?” I tried to concentrate on the white-walled expanse of the great room below us. Sheila snuggled closer.

“For the fireplace. The white tile is too feminine for you. I was thinking slate or perhaps brick. Something more suited to your tastes.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Oh, Rainer.” Sheila laughed and let go of me long enough to lead the way to the master bedroom.

I watched her tight skirt and swinging hips with absent-minded interest.

The address was elite, the commute to work easy, and nothing could beat the up-close views of the Golden Gate Bridge, but I still wasn’t convinced it was the dream home I should be lavishing my billions on. Sheila noticed my skeptical expression.

“Don’t worry, Rainer. The pastels will be gone, we’ll put in more substantial window treatments, and make it a room fit for a man. What do you think of plaid?” she asked.

“I was never much of a hunter,” I said. Sheila tossed back her glossy hair and laughed.

“Funny, I was thinking just the opposite. And this would be the heart of your lodge, your lair. Imagine a heavy, four-post bed right here, smooth Egyptian cotton contrasting with the dark quilt.”

She scooped her hair up and wriggled her body as if settling into a sinfully comfortable bed.

“Sounds good,” I said. Her glance warmed.

“There’s more. Follow me.” I trailed after her to the master bedroom and stifled a yawn.

The early morning appointment was amazing considering Sheila’s high demand and busy schedule, but it was taking a lot longer than I thought.

I didn’t care about the heated floor tiles or the sunken bathtub or the built-in coffee bar with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“People make coffee in the bathroom?” I asked.

“An added luxury for the successful businessman,” Sheila said.

Before I could follow that thought and check my watch, she turned and leaned her elbows on the coffee bar.

“Enjoying the view?” My eyes automatically dropped to her curves as Sheila dragged one high heel up her bare leg.

She caught my eyes in the bathroom mirror and popped open the top button on her sheer blouse.

Then she pressed her ripe breasts together and swayed her rounded backside in a hypnotic rhythm.

“Maybe I should get a closer look,” I said. Sheila nodded and loosened another button as I stepped behind her and ran my hands over her shoulders and down to her tight waist.

With a purr, she snuggled her backside against me and hooked her high heel around the back of my calf.

I rubbed against her and reached forward to tease the tempting lace of her exposed bra.

Her full lips parted in a lusty smile. The offer was clear, and the temptation was hard to deny.

My body pulsed with the desire to tug up her skirt and take her right there.

We could both enjoy the view while we enjoyed each other, but something wasn’t right.

It would just be sex, and it felt empty, like the mansion itself. I cleared my throat and backed off, prying my fingers from her supple waist.

“As much as I am enjoying this, I really should be getting to work.” Sheila turned around and flung her arms around my neck.

“Did I mention there’s a Jacuzzi hot tub out on the patio downstairs? I turned it on before you arrived, so it is nice and hot by now.”

I didn’t blame her, I didn’t believe the words I was saying either.

“Another time. I’ve got an early meeting today.”

“After the billions you made Hyperion? I think they’ll let you be late.” Sheila pressed her open blouse and plunging cleavage against me.

“They would, but work is work. You know?” I bit my lip and forced my eyes to stay on her face.

Sheila pouted as I pulled her arms from around my neck.

“A man like you doesn’t even need to work anymore. Why not enjoy yourself a little?” I gripped her still-teasing hands and shook my head.

“That’s the funny thing about making a billion dollars. Now that I don’t have any other worries, work is the only interesting thing I’ve got going.”

The interior designer tugged herself free and fluffed her hair.

“You’re right. We should get back to work. I’ll have the designs drawn up and ready for you later in the week.”

I was sure that had our encounter satisfied her more, my house would have been completely decorated over the weekend, but it didn’t matter.

I was looking forward to getting to the office, and I needed to hurry.

I didn’t want to miss the look on Tasha’s face when I didn’t miss the early meeting she had set.

I waved goodbye to a sulky Sheila and pulled out past the white pillars of my new driveway. I took the meandering route from Presidio Heights down past Crissy Field.

Brightly colored clumps of tourists wandered along the shore of the bay and gaped at the intrepid surfers that dared the waves underneath Golden Gate Bridge.

I waved when they turned to track my new sports car as I cruised along.

One confident little boy jumped up and down and waved back with both hands.

I turned back to the road with a smile, thinking of how I would have acted the same not long ago.

I had stood in awe of the ultra-rich my whole life, spurred on by my father and our family tradition of gathering greed.

But, that was all behind me now.

Two curt congratulatory voicemails left on my phone the night before told me that my father and brother knew it was all over.

I won. Feeling a sense of relief and freedom, I cruised along the Embarcadero, and into the thick of the skyscrapers that dominated San Francisco.

When I pulled into Hyperion Industries, there was a brief scuffle between the valets.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Maxwell.” The first valet to the car was out of breath but grinning.

“Some people don’t understand seniority.”

“Understood,” I said. I got out of the car and couldn’t help giving the shiny new Maserati one last look.

“It’s a great car, Mr. Maxwell,” the valet said.

He slid carefully into the driver’s seat and sat with a look of awe. I laughed.

“I was hoping you’d be impressed. Everyone around here knows you guys are the first and last word on who’s doing the best.”

The other valets grinned, and one spoke up.

“We’ve seen a few other new cars, but they were sedans, not two-door sports models. They blamed their families.”

“They don’t know how to live,” I said because it was expected of me. Inside I felt a twinge.

I wondered if those family men had bought new houses and never noticed the empty, echoing feeling.

All thoughts stopped as a long pair of legs in killer boots walked by at a fast clip.

The black pencil skirt had a ruffled flare at the bottom that flipped with every graceful step.

The valets’ grins faded to open looks of longing.

I traced my eyes up the curves of the skirt to the thin leather belt around a tight waist.

From there, a sheer black blouse floated over a lace camisole that did just enough to hide the mouth-watering shape underneath.

The demure neckline only tantalized me more, tickled as it was by long, coppery curls.

“Mr. Maxwell,” Tasha said with a curt nod. My heart rate shot up so fast that my head spun.

The gorgeous woman in a sleek, new business sexy suit was Tasha, and the realization trampled through my system like the running of the bulls.

It took a long ten seconds before I was able to form a word, but the bravest valet beat me to it.

“Good morning, Ms. Nichols. How are you?” the young man asked.

“Fine, thank you,” she said.

Tasha gave the valet a guarded smile, but it was enough to turn him beet red.

“Did you walk?” I asked. Her dark brown eyes slashed over me.

“I commute from the East Bay and the traffic is ridiculous.”

“Maybe you should get a helicopter,” the valet suggested.

Tasha laughed, a short bubble that sent my blood sizzling.

“Land on the roof and miss seeing you? No thanks.” The valet melted against the key stand with a soft jingle.

“I take the BART train too.”

“Smart man,” Tasha said. She glanced at my new Maserati.

“Let me guess: your new toy?” she asked. The valet in the driver’s seat broke out of his daze.

“Brand new, Ms. Nichols; what do you think?”

Tasha sighed and turned to give the car a polite once-over.

“I like the color. How do you stand sitting in all that commute traffic?”

“I just moved,” I said.

“Presidio Heights.” The valets whistled in appreciation, but Tasha just raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose that fits your image,” she said.

“Sleek marble floors and modern minimalist furniture, or dark hardwood and ultra-masculine plaids?” I bristled and tugged down the sleeves of my new suit.

“Do you think I’d wear plaid?” I asked.

“I think I’m late for a meeting. Have a nice day, gentlemen,” she said.

We all stood rooted to our places as she trotted up the steps.

The ruffled hem parted in the back just enough for a peek of a satin and lace slip. I let out a long, low whistle just to clear my head. The valet at the stand stood up with a sharp jangle.

“Ms. Nichols is the nicest executive in this entire building,” he said to me.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

“I agree.” The valet in my car shut the door and drove into the garage while his two co-workers crossed their arms and gave me a look.

“What?” I asked.

“I heard that you’re trying to make Ms. Nichols your next conquest,” the valet at the stand said. The other valet snorted.

“No offense, Mr. Maxwell, but good luck.”

“What, you don’t think I’m her type?” I asked.

They both shook their heads.

“No way,” the first valet said.

“Game over,” the other one said. I looked up the steps to where Tasha was walking through the glassed-in atrium.

“We’ve got a lot in common. Especially these days.” The valet leaned on the stand and shook his head.

“She rides public transit, like us.”

“You’ve got a thing for her,” I said.

The valet laughed. “I’m not the one staring.”