Juice: An Alpha Male Billionaire Romance - Part 5 (Juice: The Series) by Victoria Starke Page B
Authors: Victoria Starke
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calls back, exiting the bathroom
naked, and treating me to a view of his cute butt walking away.
“How do you keep up with this place?”
“I have a staff. Actually, her name is Theresa. She’s the
best. You’ll meet her if you dawdle here long enough,” he says eyeing me as I
sit on the bed.
“Anyway,” he says, “I want to discuss the business.”
My heart jumps. His investment in my business, our business,
what does this all mean?
“I know I’ve been at times a distraction, and I want you to
get back to what you do best,” he says, taking my hand. “Promoting Namaste .”
A smile spreads on his face, and I mirror him. I can’t
believe he’s talking to me this way, and giving me encouragement.
“I want you writing again. Every day. The company blog is
the best promotional tool we have at our disposal, and I want you leveraging
that to its full potential. Can you commit to that?”
“Yes sir!” I beam.
“Bron, we’re partners in this, call me Everett. Only sir,
when I’m fucking you,” he says and pushes me onto the bed. His physical power
is so overwhelming. His voice is at once joking and serious.
“Ha!” I giggle and though he just had me, I feel an urge to
have him again. I could spend every moment with him and never tire.
“So, not to break the mood,” he says, “but I want you to do
something. Something big.” I look into his eyes eagerly.
“Quit your job at Dunbar, and commit to this full time,” he
says, eyes unblinking.
“God,” I say, looking to the side, “I would love to.”
“What are you worried about?” he asks.
His question sends me back to that terrible day I was pulled
out early from school, the day my father died. Thoughts swirl and rest on the
uncertainties I’ve carried with me since. I knew ultimately I was responsible
for myself and others could leave at any moment. The last conversation with my
mother flips into my consciousness. It was at least six months ago, when I told
her I was moving to New York. On the surface she was encouraging, but every
question was followed up with a contingency of ‘when you move back home…’ But
every day here, this feels more like home. Every day with Everett, feels more
like I’m in the right place. Quitting my job, my last shred of security and independence
would put me at his mercy.
“I want to,” I start, “but what does that mean for me? I- I don’t
know how to run a company,” I stammer, looking away.
“Yes. Yes you do,” he says in a gruff tone, then stands and
walks off. I immediately regret revealing my self-doubt. Deep down, I feel this
is everything I wanted, but my mind still feels terrified, and I’m worried I’m
already failing.
How can I run a company with Everett, really? He’s a
billionaire. A billion. Would he even listen to my opinions on the business?
“So, again, what’s holding you back?” he asks, now from the
kitchen.
“Nothing,” I lie and scratch at my legs. He appears again at
the doorway, with a bottle in hand. Its dark green contents reveal it’s Awake ,
our morning tonic. The bottle looks tiny in his hand. He cracks the top and
takes a huge gulp. He looks like a paid spokesman, not the main investor.
He watches me intently. “Do you feel uncomfortable?” he
asks, noticing my nervous tics.
“A bit. I mean, yes, I am,” I struggle finding the words to
express to him the torrent of thoughts swirling in my brain. Leaving my job,
falling in love with a dominating man, and feeling I may be losing my own
identity have me on the edge of a meltdown.
“Listen,” he says and places his large and strong right hand
under my chin and thumbs my lower lip while leaning in toward my face. “As I
was building my company, Pulsr, deep down I knew I had no idea what I
was doing.” I look up and his eyes unfocus and gaze off into that memory.
“But,” he says, again training his eyes on mine, “I have
enough regret to fill a lifetime. My rule now is to never leave anything
naked, and treating me to a view of his cute butt walking away.
“How do you keep up with this place?”
“I have a staff. Actually, her name is Theresa. She’s the
best. You’ll meet her if you dawdle here long enough,” he says eyeing me as I
sit on the bed.
“Anyway,” he says, “I want to discuss the business.”
My heart jumps. His investment in my business, our business,
what does this all mean?
“I know I’ve been at times a distraction, and I want you to
get back to what you do best,” he says, taking my hand. “Promoting Namaste .”
A smile spreads on his face, and I mirror him. I can’t
believe he’s talking to me this way, and giving me encouragement.
“I want you writing again. Every day. The company blog is
the best promotional tool we have at our disposal, and I want you leveraging
that to its full potential. Can you commit to that?”
“Yes sir!” I beam.
“Bron, we’re partners in this, call me Everett. Only sir,
when I’m fucking you,” he says and pushes me onto the bed. His physical power
is so overwhelming. His voice is at once joking and serious.
“Ha!” I giggle and though he just had me, I feel an urge to
have him again. I could spend every moment with him and never tire.
“So, not to break the mood,” he says, “but I want you to do
something. Something big.” I look into his eyes eagerly.
“Quit your job at Dunbar, and commit to this full time,” he
says, eyes unblinking.
“God,” I say, looking to the side, “I would love to.”
“What are you worried about?” he asks.
His question sends me back to that terrible day I was pulled
out early from school, the day my father died. Thoughts swirl and rest on the
uncertainties I’ve carried with me since. I knew ultimately I was responsible
for myself and others could leave at any moment. The last conversation with my
mother flips into my consciousness. It was at least six months ago, when I told
her I was moving to New York. On the surface she was encouraging, but every
question was followed up with a contingency of ‘when you move back home…’ But
every day here, this feels more like home. Every day with Everett, feels more
like I’m in the right place. Quitting my job, my last shred of security and independence
would put me at his mercy.
“I want to,” I start, “but what does that mean for me? I- I don’t
know how to run a company,” I stammer, looking away.
“Yes. Yes you do,” he says in a gruff tone, then stands and
walks off. I immediately regret revealing my self-doubt. Deep down, I feel this
is everything I wanted, but my mind still feels terrified, and I’m worried I’m
already failing.
How can I run a company with Everett, really? He’s a
billionaire. A billion. Would he even listen to my opinions on the business?
“So, again, what’s holding you back?” he asks, now from the
kitchen.
“Nothing,” I lie and scratch at my legs. He appears again at
the doorway, with a bottle in hand. Its dark green contents reveal it’s Awake ,
our morning tonic. The bottle looks tiny in his hand. He cracks the top and
takes a huge gulp. He looks like a paid spokesman, not the main investor.
He watches me intently. “Do you feel uncomfortable?” he
asks, noticing my nervous tics.
“A bit. I mean, yes, I am,” I struggle finding the words to
express to him the torrent of thoughts swirling in my brain. Leaving my job,
falling in love with a dominating man, and feeling I may be losing my own
identity have me on the edge of a meltdown.
“Listen,” he says and places his large and strong right hand
under my chin and thumbs my lower lip while leaning in toward my face. “As I
was building my company, Pulsr, deep down I knew I had no idea what I
was doing.” I look up and his eyes unfocus and gaze off into that memory.
“But,” he says, again training his eyes on mine, “I have
enough regret to fill a lifetime. My rule now is to never leave anything
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