Read The Billionaire's Contract (His Submissive 1) for Free Online

my speech was engaging and powerful; by far the favorite at an event where Dr. Seuss quotes and “follow your dreams” were the norm. But now, facing the billionaire playboy in the flesh, I found myself flabbergasted, red with embarrassment, and unable to string two cohesive words together.
    "I, er, I'm, it's-"
    He moved closer and his smell, warm with a hint of lime and musk, wrapped tight around my vocal chords. I stood like an idiot as people hustled around us. Not that they mattered. As far as I was concerned, it was just the two of us.
    "What's your name?" The authoritative snap behind his question caught me off guard, but it shouldn't have. He was worth a crapload of money and just a glance at my Jcpenney skirt and worn blouse said that I was definitely not. There was no mistaking who was in charge and who decidedly was not.
    "M-My name?" I stammered.
    “Yes.” He raised a brow. “Those things one is given at birth?”
    I cleared my throat. Rich and snarky . "Leila."
    "New hire?"
    Of course it was obvious that I wasn’t an employee since I’d been wandering around like a dolt. And the fact that I wasn't a blond, leggy carbon copy of most of the women that strut past made me stick out like a sore thumb. I didn’t trust my words to not glom to each other so I just shook my head.
    He frowned. "Then what brings you to my building?"
    "Interview," I croaked. "Research aide."
    "Huh," he said, running a quick hand through his hair. The dark waves crashed back around his face effortlessly. "I suppose that makes sense."
    The haze of being in his presence was starting to wear off and the dismissive tone of his voice made me jut my lip out defiantly. "What is that supposed to mean?"
    Surprise flitted across his face. "That research seems a suitable fit for you."
    "Somewhere tucked in a dank cubicle where the cameras wouldn't dare venture?" As soon as the retort came out I slapped a hand over my mouth. Jesus Christ, Lay! Calling out Jacob Whitmore? Right before your interview?!
    Something unreadable flashed in his eyes and before I could apologize effusively or duck out of the building, he reached out and gripped my forearm. "You're coming with me."
    His tight hold made a protest rise in my throat, but he was on the move, bobbing and weaving as he drug me along like an anchor. Eyes cast our way only took us in for a moment before dutifully glancing away.
    As we marched past the main elevator and made a sharp left down a darkened corridor, fear began to bubble in my gut. Where was he taking me? And even better, why was I letting him take me anywhere?
    Just as I gathered the backbone to pull from his hold, he retrieved a slender id card from his breast pocket and swiped it through the reader. A green light flashed and he pushed open a metal door, gesturing for me to enter. I glanced in and my heart raced when I scanned the poorly lit stairwell.
    "After you," he said smoothly.
    I took a small step backward. "My interview-"
    "I'm about to administer a preliminary interview." he cut in. "Personally."
    The erotic edge to his words should have made me run, kicking and screaming, in the opposite direction. Instead, the throbbing in my heart was met by a pulsing decidedly lower.
    I began the descent and told myself I didn’t have to let on that I'd do anything to work for his company. That would make me seem desperate. Whore-y. And I was neither. I was just someone that knew what I wanted and would get it--by any means necessary.
    As far back as I could remember I’ve been the queen of spin, able to talk my way out of just about anything. Missing curfew, bringing home a B- instead of an A, mastering the 'it's me, it's not you', and even talking my way out of a flurry of speeding tickets.
    At Whitmore and Creighton I'd get a chance to use my silver tongue to segue into the lives of the rich and famous. When shit hit the fan and Dick and Jane in Everytown, USA read about the latest mess a prominent figure was embroiled in, I would be