Page 31 of Grumpy Billionaire Seeking Wife (Billionaires Seeking Wives Club #1)

Chapter Seventeen

S abrina

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say as innocently as possible, though my body is shaking.

Wes's hands are around my neck. And while the pressure isn't too much, it feels incredibly sexy.

I feel like a different person standing here with him.

I don't know what it is, but I suddenly feel the most alive I've ever felt.

I think about all the phone calls he's been inundated with, and I feel incredibly guilty.

This is my fault, and I'm not sure how he's going to take it when I tell him what I've done.

"Sabrina," he says in a sing-song voice as his right hand slips down the front of my body towards my belt buckle.

"I just put these clothes back on," I say, turning my neck slightly to look into his eyes. They're dark and brooding and teasing. I feel like I could fall into them.

"Sabrina, you've got five seconds before I have these jeans down and my cock is in your?—"

"Fine," I say, cutting him off. "I do know why you're getting the phone calls, but it has nothing to do with Erica. She didn't even know about it up until about an hour ago, or maybe two. How long have you been here?"

He lets out a low chuckle and spins me around. "Okay, so tell me what's going on. Did you put a job ad up or something? Why are all these women calling me?"

"I wouldn't quite say it's a job ad, but..." I bite down on my lower lip. I really don't want him to be mad, and I really don't want him to fuck me so loudly that everyone on the floor can hear, though I do want him to fuck me again. Maybe not right now, though, because I do have work I need to do.

"Sabrina, I'm going to give you ten seconds to tell me what's going on and then..."

"And then what, big boy?" I say, reaching my hand to the side of his face and running it across his stubble. He growls as he grabs my hand and pulls my index finger to his mouth. I gasp as he opens his lips and sucks on it.

"Now, are you going to be a good girl?"

"Oh, of course, I am," I say in a sweet little voice. And he growls again.

"I'm warning you, Sabrina."

"What? What are you going to do?"

"I think you want me to do something. I think you're teasing and taunting me on purpose because you want me to take control." He chuckles. I see the glint in his eyes as he tilts his head to the side and looks me up and down.

"I didn't know you were such a tease, and I didn't know you were submissive."

"What?" I start laughing. "I'm not submissive. Trust me."

"But I think you like it when I'm dominant. Is that why you like me so much?"

"I didn't say I like you, period, let alone so much . And, I mean, yeah, I like you taking control sometimes. That doesn't mean I'm not also going to take control. Next time we fuck," I say, pushing him down on the bed and straddling him, "I'm going to be on top."

"Ooh, I like the sound of that," he says, shifting me so that now I am hovering on top of his cock. "In fact, I wouldn't mind if you rode me right now. However"—there's a glint in his eyes as he rolls me onto my back—"I want you to tell me what's going on."

"Fine. Do you remember the other night when you were going on and on about how you could have any woman you wanted?"

"No, I don't remember that," he says, shaking his head.

"Well, basically, you intimated something like that, so I thought, well, if he thinks he can get anyone, why not see what options he really has?"

"Why not see what options I really have," he repeats dumbly. "What does that mean?"

"I posted a personal ad for you."

"You did what?" His eyes widen, and his jaw drops. I've never seen him look more astounded in my life, and I've seen many expressions on his face. "Repeat that for me please, Sabrina."

"I posted an ad with your picture and phone number in a couple of places around town, basically saying that you were a billionaire, and you were looking for a wife and that you didn't mind if..." I paused.

"I didn't mind what?"

"Well…that you would take them on sudden trips to Paris, and they shouldn't mind if you were sarcastic and some other stuff."

"You did what? How many places did you post this?"

"I don't know," I say, mumbling under my breath.

"Sabrina."

"I mean, I didn't count, Wes. I'm not 100 percent sure how many. Maybe fifty or sixty. Maybe 100.”

“Oh, my gosh. So there are 100 posters of me all over the city in random places. Is that why I'm getting so many calls?"

"I didn't think you would get that many, but yeah, maybe."

"Oh, my gosh. Sabrina, what have you done?"

"I'm sorry. I mean, it was impulsive, and I wasn't really thinking and..." I wrinkled my nose. "Are you terribly mad at me?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I can't say I'm happy, but let's go get these posters and take them down."

"That's not going to help," I say, shaking my head quickly and looking away from him.

"Why are you averting your gaze from me, Sabrina? What else do I not know?"

"Nothing much," I say innocently. "Well, I mean, this one is really not my fault."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I kind of placed a small ad in a newspaper because I thought it would be fun and that's what they did in the olden days."

"Uh-huh. And?

"And what?" I say, sitting up and trying to get off the bed. He wraps his arms around my waist and doesn't let me move.

"Sabrina," he says, whispering in my ear. The feel of his breath is ticklish, and I feel a shiver run down my spine.

"What"? I say, trying to sound as innocent as possible. I have a feeling he's not going to take this news quite as well as he took the other news.

"Sabrina, tell me what's going on."

"Why do you keep saying my name? It's not like I've forgotten it already."

"Tell me."

"So, the newspaper editor may or may not have seen the personal ad and gotten really excited because I guess you're kind of a big deal, being handsome and an eligible bachelor. And well..."

"Well, what?"

"You may or may not be on the front page of the newspaper tomorrow, and your phone number may or may not be a part of that.

I'm so sorry. Maybe people aren't going to see it.

It's not like it's the New York Times or anything," I say, trying to repeat the words that had been said in my conversation with Erica.

"I'm going to be on the front page of the paper tomorrow," he groans, "with a personal ad saying I'm looking for a wife?"

"Yeah, maybe. Kind of. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" His phone starts ringing, and I cringe.

"I think you should answer this, Sabrina."

"But..."

"But nothing." He looks at the screen. "Actually, you're lucky."

"Why am I lucky?"

"It's Miles." He answers the phone. "Hey, what's going on?" He puts it on speakerphone so that I can hear, as well.

"Hey, bro, you will not believe what I just heard."

"What?" Wes says. "By the way, you're on speakerphone. I'm here with Sabrina."

"You're with Sabrina. Why?"

"Long story, but what did you hear?"

"Did you know that some psycho has put a personal ad out for you?

There are posters all over the city, man.

I just heard in a bar that a couple of women have gotten together and are making more photocopies.

It's become this big thing where everyone's trying to see who's going to win the heart and become the wife of Wes Carrington. "

"You're fucking kidding me," Wes says, scowling. "You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm not joking. What's going on? Some crazy ex do this?"

"No, you won't believe who did it."

"Oh, shit. It wasn't Erica, was it?" Miles bursts out laughing. "She didn't tell me that. Why? What happened? Is it because you gatecrashed her date the other night, and?—"

"It was Ms. Sabrina here."

"Hey, I didn't know you would get so many people interested," I say quickly. “I didn't know, Miles. I feel horrible.”

"Oh, so that's why you're with Sabrina. Hey, Sab."

"Hey, Miles, how's it going?"

"Good. Just about to?—"

"Enough." Wes cuts off the conversation. "This is not the time for you guys to be exchanging pleasantries. This is the time for me to not lose my..." His phone beeps. "Hold on, Miles. I'm getting another call." He presses something on the screen. "Hello," he says loudly.

"Hi," a female voice says in a sultry tone. "I want to speak to Wes Carrington, please."

"This is he, and I'm not looking for a wife."

"Oh, but you haven't met me yet. My name is Tangerine."

"What did you just say?"

"I said my name is Tangerine."

"Tangerine, like the fruit?" Wes looks befuddled.

"Yeah. I mean, it's unique, right? It could have been orange or watermelon or banana, but it's not. It's Tangerine. And I will tell you that every guy I meet says that."

"Honey, I am sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm not interested."

"But I only just called. I want a date and a trip to Paris. I want you to take me to Cartier and Hermès and Louis Vuitton. Please, I'll do anything you want. I've heard that I'm really good on my knees and..."

"He's got to go," I say, reaching over and hanging up the phone.

"Oh, now you want to hang up the phone," Wes says. "What am I going to do, Sabrina?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. Change your number."

I can't change my number," he says, shaking his head. "This is not only my business number, but it’s also my personal number that my friends and family and top clients call," he says. "You're going to have to take care of this for me."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"You're going to have to become my personal assistant and answer the phone for me."

"But... What?"

He stares at me. "I mean, that's the only thing we can do.

You're going to have to stay with me and answer the phone twenty-four seven until this dies down.

When it's someone I want to talk to, business-related, you'll hand it to me.

And when it's someone I don't want to talk to, you'll tell them that the position is no longer open. "

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean you'll tell them I'm engaged."

"But you're not engaged."

"I'm not, but I'm also not looking for a wife."

"So you want me to lie?"

"Well, you lied when you put the poster up in the first place." He looks at me considerably. "So, what do you say?"

"I cannot be with you twenty-four seven, Wes. I have school and a job. And speaking of jobs, I need to..."

"Sabrina, you're not understanding the severity of the situation.

" His phone starts ringing again. "I've got another call, again.

They're coming in fast and furious. I have fifteen voicemails.

I'm not listening to each one of them to see if they're important.

You're going to have to take care of that. "

I feel really bad, but I don't know what to do. "But, Wes, I really cannot do this full-time."

"How many more finals do you have?" he asks.

"I have two exams and then a paper and..."

"You'll have to work on them at my place."

"What?"

"You'll have to work on your papers and study for finals at my place," he says.

"But..."

"But nothing. You will work for me, answering the phone, until this dies down. You owe me, Sabrina.”

“I don’t...” I pause. “Okay, so maybe I kind of owe you, and I feel really bad, but can't you just hire someone who would actually want this sort of job? I don't. I don't want to live with you. I don't want to answer your phone."

" I guess I'll pay you, Sabrina."

"I'm not taking money for this, Wes. I'm sorry, but..."

"But what?"

"I have another job anyway. I can't do it."

"Don't you only work two days a week?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But nothing," he says. "When you're not there or at school, you'll answer the calls. And I think I have another idea."

"What's your other idea?" I ask him.

"I think that I am going to need you to do something for me."

"I'm not giving you head again right now. I don't think this is..."

"No, Sabrina." He leans back and chuckles. "That's not what I'm asking."

"Then what?"

"I think in two weeks..."

"Yeah?"

"We're going to pretend that we're engaged."

"We’re what? No, I..."

"Yeah. I think that's going to be the best way to get this to die down without it looking completely unrealistic."

"Oh, yeah, because it's not going to look unrealistic that we got engaged in two weeks."

"Not if we sell it right. I have a couple of work dinners and a high society gala to go to. You'll attend the gala with me and one of the dinners."

"But why?"

"Because there will be newspapers and magazines and reporters," he says, his eyes glinting.

"And maybe I'll get another front-page article about me, and maybe this time it will be in the New York Times, and I'll be able to say that I'm taken and that everyone who's been calling to be my wife should stop. You see where I'm going with this?"

I nod slowly. "I guess so. I mean, if you think it's the only way to fix the issue."

"Fix the issue that you caused, remember?"

"I know it's because of me, but..."

"But what?"

"Fine, I'll do it. When do I have to start?"

"Monday," he says.

"Oh, but that's in..."

"I could say you're starting tonight."

"I can't start tonight. I have things going on."

"Exactly, and that's why I've given you a day and a half."

"It's hardly a day and a half when the day is already over."

"I can say you start tomorrow. Would you prefer that?"

"No." I glare at him. "You're horrible."

"That's not what you were saying a couple of hours ago when I..."

"Don't even bring that up. By the way, Wes."

"Yes, Sabrina?"

"I'm not going to be sleeping with you," I say as I stare at him. "Don't think that you're going to have your cake and eat it, too.”

“What does that mean?” he says.

“I mean, I may be living with you, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to be fucking you. Don’t think that this is going to be some sort of kinky way for you to get sex from me every day without...”

“Without what?” he says.

“Without... I don’t know. I’m just letting you know the sexual side of our relationship is done.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding. "If you say so."

"What do you mean, if I say so?" I glare at him. Does he not even want to sleep with me again? Why isn't he putting up a fuss? Why isn't he begging me to change my mind?

"I'm saying, Sabrina, if you really think that you don't ever want to have sex with me again, then that's up to you.

I'm not going to force myself on you. I'm not going to make it happen.

You've made claims before, but maybe you've had your fill of me.

You've used me for a couple of hours of mindless sex. And now..."

"Oh, shut up, Wes."

He bursts out laughing. "My feelings are hurt. How could you speak to me like that?"

"Your feelings are not hurt."

"True. I do have thousands of women calling me, wanting to hook up. Why on earth would I still want you?" He laughs some more.